“The rest of the high magical houses have pledged their support to his plan. Now I’m asking for yours,” Kellan says. “I’m not asking to be your leader for life. Just through this transition, so you can safely choose who you want governing Lunameade going forward. Thank you for hearing me out.”

The crowd erupts into cheering and clapping. The mood is more celebratory than I expected, but maybe I underestimated how it would feel for them to be out from under Harrick’s punitive rule.

Kellan crosses the stage and steps down beside us, his gaze fixed on Harlow.

“You were Rochelli this whole time, Kel?” she says breathlessly. “I know it’s only been intense this past year, but there were murmurs of him for a long time before that. I suppose you could keep it going by being both captain of the city guard and target of the guard’s investigation.”

He shrugs sheepishly. Gone is the confident leader who spoke to the crowd with poise. In his place is a worried older brother—who Harlow apparently almost killed last night.

“It was the only way,” Kellan says. “I couldn’t challenge them outright, but I could create a persona and see how they rose to meet him.”

Harlow shakes her head. “That’s a huge risk to take. How did you keep it a secret?”

Kellan swallows thickly. “You know my magic, Low. It’s not that hard to use it to direct suspicion elsewhere. That and Aidia gave me a glamoured cuff so I could change my appearance. I started rumors a few years back when I found out about the Vardek-blessed children, but I intensified it when I realized Rafe was beating Aidia. I just didn’t work fast enough.”

Harlow looks away for a moment, and when she looks back at him, her eyes are glassy. “You set me up to kill Henry,” she says, her voice cutting through the crowd’s cheering.

Kellan leans in close. “I wasn’t about to let our parents ship you off, too, Low. I set you up to meet him, and I figured if he was the good guy I met years ago at the last Dark Star Festival before the fort fell, he wouldn’t take you upstairs. And if he wasn’t, then he would die, and you would be safe again.” He smiles sheepishly at me. “No offense.”

I hold up a hand. “None taken. I had a sister, too.”

Harlow glowers at him. “You could have told me.”

Kellan shakes his head and waves to the crowd. “No, I couldn’t have. But I’m happy I can now. We can catch up later.” He kisses her cheek and disappears into the crush of people.

I hardly know what to do with myself. This is a victory, albeit not in the way I expected. Harrick is dead, and while the people of Lunameade will never know the full extent of his crimes, that public apology was more than I was expecting to get out of this arrangement.

So was a wife I’m in love with.

It’s like Harlow can feel me thinking about her. She notices that she’s holding my hand and releases it. I’ve never been so bereft by the loss of such simple intimacy.

She tucks her arms behind her back. “This doesn’t change anything.”

When she turns to go, I catch her wrist.

“Come to North Hold at sundown.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Just say you’ll come.”

She looks out at the crowd instead of meeting my eye. “I’ll think about it,” she says after a long pause.

It’s as good as I can hope for. I’m not giving up on her, but it’s going to take a Divine-damn miracle to win her back.

OceanofPDF.com

64HARLOW

The dark feels the slightest bit less oppressive as I climb up the stairs in front of North Hold. I told myself I only came here to avoid Kellan, who spent most of the afternoon hunting me from bar to bar around the city, trying to talk.

Fortunately for me, he’s become the most popular man in Lunameade, so it was easy to lose him in a crowd of enthusiastic citizens.

Eventually, I’ll be forced to hear him out, to unpack the complicated mix of anger, relief, and gratitude that he fought for me when I thought he had given up. For now, I need space.

For some reason, that space has led me to the last place I ever thought I’d go willingly.

I knock, but there’s no answer. Apprehension swells in my stomach. I knock twice more with no reply.

I should leave. Run. Go find the tunnel key and force my siblings to take me through it. Anything would be better than standing suspended in the threshold of North Hold, as afraid to step inside as I am to walk away. I’m not a coward, but I’m so afraid of what new horror stepping into my sister’s home will unleash.

I can’t decide if it’s worse to wonder what Aidia didn’t tell me about what happened to her behind closed doors, or if finding evidence of specific horrors will make it worse.

Finally, I summon enough courage to open the door and step inside. The grand staircase in the entryway is bright, lit by an array of sunstones that gleam off the white marble floor and bounce off the glass-blown chandelier hanging from the third-story ceiling.

A faint groan sounds from somewhere in the house, but I can’t place it.

“Hello?” I call.

Movement overhead catches my eye. Henry leans over the third-floor banister. “We’re up here.”

I climb the stairs slowly, uneasiness churning in my stomach as I reach the second-floor landing. Another flight of stairs and I’m breathless from fear.

I round the railing and draw up short.

Henry stands over Rafe, brandishing a fire poker. He looks feral. His hair is damp with sweat and hanging in his eyes. The top few buttons of his white shirt are undone, his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing strong forearms, and his hands are covered in blood.

“What do you think?” he asks, pointing the poker at Rafe. “Is it enough?”

Rafe’s face is mottled with bruises. His left eye is swollen closed, his nose looks broken, and his chin is covered with dried blood. His right wrist hangs at an odd angle, and he’s curled over his ribs like some of them are broken.

No. It’s not enough. It would be impossible to make him feel the claustrophobic fear I’ve felt ebbing, trapped in a body out of my control—to make him hurt the way I’ve hurt.

“This is the second go,” Henry says. “I already healed him up once. I figured it’s only fair since he did it to both of you.”

He sounds so casual about recreating my wounds and Aidia’s on the man who delivered them to us.

My chest feels too full. Seeing Rafe always brings back bad memories, but seeing how meticulously Henry paid attention—how he made sure to deliver all the same injuries—is strangely romantic. This violent intimacy should horrify me, but I’m more turned on than disgusted and more relieved than sad.

Rafe blinks up at me and mumbles something through his broken teeth.

“Don’t speak to my wife,” Henry snaps. His voice carries the same menace as the scrape of Drained claws over the city gates. “Speak to me.”

Rafe winces.

It feels good to see him afraid.

Henry holds the poker out to me. “Do you want a turn?”

I’m surprised that I don’t. For so long, all I wanted to do was beat him to a bloody pulp for making me kill the person I loved most in the world. But now that he has no power left, I just want to stop giving him my energy and attention.

He has to die, not just for what he’s done, but because men like him will always find a way to turn a second chance into an opportunity to be so much worse. Much as I might like to watch him suffer being powerless in the interim, it wouldn’t be worth the dread I’d live with knowing he’s still breathing.

“No. I just want him gone,” I say.

Henry smiles wickedly. “Gladly.” He yanks Rafe to his feet, ignoring the mayor’s protests. “Rafe, go stand on the railing.”

Rafe stumbles forward to the railing. It’s satisfying watching him try to resist and fail. He struggles to climb up onto the narrow wooden banister, his battered body protesting the movements. At least this one is flat.