I relax into him anyway, my heart rate slowing at the contact. It’s frustrating that I’ve spent my entire life holding people at arm’s length for their own safety, and now the one chance I have at casual intimacy is this maddening man, who is the last obstacle between me and Aidia and freedom. What a Divine-damned joke.
As we round the front of North Hold, the glare from the sun flashes off of the windows, and I wonder if my sister is watching me from somewhere safe inside.
Henry slows the horses as we near the front entrance of the house. A huge crowd looms ahead of us, arching around the front steps, and there, atop the stairs, stands Rafe Mattingly, arms lifted and voice raised like a king holding court.
I search for Aidia, but there’s no sign of her. It’s not a surprise that she’s not beside Rafe like a dutiful wife. She has often resisted his publicity stunts, but given how she looked before I left, I know the more likely reason is the state of her face and her unwillingness to glamour away his violence. I respect her conviction, but I hate it right now. Her absence fills me with a cold, impotent terror because I see her bruised, hopeless face every time I close my eyes. I feel her flinching away when I try to hug her. I just want to see her eyes to know that she can hold on a little longer. I’m so close to getting us to the freedom we’ve dreamed about for years.
My parents and Able are on the top step behind Rafe. Most people can’t read the subtle expressions hidden within Harrick Carrenwell’s scowls, but I can. I have to make a quick study of him; I can read his supreme displeasure, just like I can read the mad, swirling blue cloud of his aura like a fierce stormfront moving in.
My mother stands beside him. She’s fabulously outfitted in a dark purple fur-lined coat. Her black hair is pulled back in a severe chignon, and her deep violet eyes are fixed in a look of calm sympathy.
Able is not so well-mastered. He stares holes into the back of Rafe’s head. My oldest brother has always been quick-tempered, with a dark blue aura that spits off little firework sparks when he’s angry, but now those sparks are full-blown explosions. Anyone close with any semblance of magic is sure to feel it.
Fortunately, the crowd seems to be full of those with no Divine blessings, and Rafe seems wholly unbothered, perhaps even a touch delighted by their dismay.
The people are entranced by his impassioned speaking.
“These times test all of our faith, and this failure is mine alone. Don’t blame our leaders. They have done everything they can—have used the power you’ve bought them with your blood—to keep our city safe and secure. The threats outside our walls grow stronger daily and their commitment is unwavering. It is I who has let you all down. As the man you chose to be a voice and advocate for you at the magical tables of Lunameade, I have done my best as mayor to balance what is best for all of you with what is necessary to protect this great city. That’s why I made sure that the blood tithe would never be paid by retired guardsmen.”
I bristle. My father was already going to include that provision, though more for the sake of bolstering his waning popularity than magnanimity. Unfortunately, Rafe has a way of speaking loudest and first. If he were anyone else, I would be entertained by the efficiency with which he antagonizes my father. But his brutality and manipulation have robbed these speeches of any joy.
Able’s aura spins into a full-blown tempest. It builds and builds until I’m genuinely concerned he might have a fit right here in front of everyone. My mother turns to glance at him, and that’s all it takes for him to master it—one cold, disapproving look from Liza Carrenwell.
Still, it’s a bad sign. I have only been gone a few days and Able seems somehow worse.
“It is important at times like these that we honor the dead. Unfortunately, every one of us here knows what it’s like to lose,” Rafe says. He bows his head as if overcome by the loss. “But what I know is that you are all resilient. We are all here because we know how to endure—how to rely on the care of our communities to rebuild after loss. I am grateful that Divine Polm granted me the power to help the North Hold guardsmen stop the attack swiftly. But make no mistake: those ten lives lost are no less felt to me than if I’d lost a hundred of my people. I feel your grief alongside you. I mourn with you.”
Heads nod and people whisper prayers to the Divine. Rafe Mattingly should really have gone into theater because this performance is flawless.
Rafe’s wording is intentional. He takes responsibility and begs forgiveness, while praising my family for coming to the rescue. It’s as much a subtle reminder that they have the power to do that as it is a reminder that he is also merely someone who serves the Carrenwells.
It’s a tactic that my father and Able can’t use. While I’ve watched Rafe’s subtle barbs for years, I still marvel at the ease with which he manages to paint himself as a humble servant of the common people of Lunameade, instead of the wealthy, self-serving, Divine-blessed predator he is.
The rage inside me is like a lightning strike in a dry forest. I am so tired of waiting for him to mess up enough that I can bring him down. Between the panic about the attack and the fact that he’s making himself the foundation of the community daily, that chance might never come. Potent rage swells in my throat.
“Harlow.” Henry’s voice is low and calm in my ear, but his hand presses hard against my chest. “Breathe.”
The words ground me, bring me back into my body and away from the spinning anger. My lips are tingling. My poison. He must have felt it coming on.
Although the Carrenwells are the only family who can see magic through auras, most of the Divine-blessed can feel it.
This kind of slip-up is unacceptable. I am not normally rattled like this, and I’m even more aggravated that Henry knows.
“The noble women of the North Hold pleasure block will not be forgotten. May the Divine deliver them peacefully beyond the veil and may Asher welcome them home,” Rafe says, pressing his fingers to his lips and opening his palm toward the crowd in blessing.
I still. Much as it’s killing me to not hear him talk about her explicitly, the fact that Rafe hasn’t mentioned Aidia in his speech is a good sign. If she had been wounded or killed in the attack, he would have played the sympathy card for all it was worth.
There’s only minimal satisfaction in that. The women of the pleasure block were attacked—as in the women who help with my spying. The fact that it’s all women is concerning. Rafe is saying they were killed, but it’s entirely possible that they’re just missing.
My mind pulls up the nightmarish image of the Breeder’s dark, soulless eyes on me, of the nightmarish scrape of its voice.
I crane my neck to glance at Henry. “Do you think—”
“That it’s the work of Breeders? Maybe. I’ll send Bryce and Carter to get more information once we’ve seen you safely to South Hold.”
On the rare occasions that Henry works with me instead of against me, he’s actually not unbearable as a husband.
At the rear of the crowd, I spot Kellan standing among ten of his guardsmen. He scans the crowd, not as if he’s looking for someone, but at everyone. The crowd is entranced, which can’t be a good thing for him and the rest of the guards.
“I know you’re worried, and in times of crisis, we want to put our anxieties into action, but you are already doing everything in your power to help us maintain the security of the city,” Rafe continues. “I’m grateful for that, and I know our leaders, the Carrenwells, are too. But the sun is growing low and the hour late. The replacement gate will be up within the hour and you can sleep soundly tonight. Go home and be with your families and tomorrow we will do what we have always done after a breach. Thrive.”
