The Half King

34

Because there was no one left to scold her, Cerise dressed for the day in a gauzy linen tunic and leggings and then gathered her hair at the nape of her neck in a plain braid that was more befitting of a lady’s maid than a lady of the temple. She didn’t care. She was the high priestess of Shiera now, and she could do as she pleased. She wasn’t going back to the temple—not now, not ever—and to prove it, she pulled her black-and-white gowns from the closet and tossed them off the balcony. When the last dress had flittered over the railing, she donned a pair of sandals and returned to the sanctuary to see if Blue was awake.

She tried to stop her gaze from wandering to the empty spot inside the prayer room where Nina’s body had lain, but naturally that was the first place she looked. A deep throb was her punishment. The floor tiles were scrubbed to a high shine, all traces of fire and death removed. The sanctuary looked the same as ever, aside from the missing curtains…and the presence of a massive dog snoring in the middle of the room.

She knelt down next to Blue. Settling a hand on his head, she willed him to wake slowly, for his mind to stir and his body to rest. As her magic passed over him, his snores quieted and his eyelids fluttered. Blue opened and closed his eyes several times before he blinked alert and sharpened his gaze. He peered first at the floor and the walls as if to orient himself. When he eventually focused on her face, his stumpy tail wagged in a thump thump thump against the tile.

She smiled. “Feeling better?”

The thumping quickened.

“Good. Let’s get you on your feet.” She awoke the rest of him and warned, “Slowly, now. Don’t jump—”

Instantly, he leaped to his enormous paws and shook out his pelt. He arched his back in a stretch and then bounced in excitement as if waiting for her to throw a stick. She laughed and pressed a silencing hand over her mouth. It seemed too soon for laughter, almost like a betrayal. But her ribs continued to quake, and each chuckle released so much pressure from her chest that she refused to hold it back. She ruffled Blue’s head and laughed until her stomach hurt. Then Blue’s own stomach rumbled loud enough to quake the ground.

“Healing is hard work. No wonder you’re hungry. Come on,” she said, standing. “If we hurry, there might be leftover sausages from breakfast.”

She crossed the threshold into the open-air corridor and found a palace guard waiting for her there, scratching his jaw and peering into the sanctuary as if he didn’t know whether or not he was allowed inside now that the priests were gone.

“My lady,” he greeted. “Or should I say Your Grace ?”

Cerise shook her head. She refused to be called Your Grace . It reminded her too much of Father Padron or the Reverend Mother. “ My lady will suffice.”

“Very well, my lady,” the guard told her. “We apprehended a young man at the gates. He says he’s here to see you.”

“A young man?” she asked.

“Yes, a local boy, by the look of him. Tall, built like a bull, not very talkative. He claims you summoned him here.”

She drew a sharp breath. Nero . “That’s right. I did. Where is he now?”

“At the front gate, my lady.”

“I’ll meet him there,” she said as Blue’s stomach growled even louder than before. “Will you please take Blue to the kitchens and ask them to spare as many sausages as they can? If there aren’t enough sausages, raw chickens will do.”

The guard cast a wary glance at Blue, who likely outweighed the man by ten stones.

“He’ll be on his best behavior,” Cerise promised. “Won’t you, sweet boy?”

Blue yipped in response and then heeled next to the guard, eager for his breakfast. The two of them departed for the kitchens, and Cerise made her way toward the gatehouse.

She soon identified Nero in the distance, walking alongside Kian and General Petros. She watched the group ambling along the tree-lined path leading to the castle. None of them had noticed her yet, and the sight of them reminded her of an afternoon they had spent hunting jackrabbits on the mountain. She had watched them return from the hunt, and she had smiled at how boyish they had looked then, swinging their arms, pelts draped over their shoulders, their heads tipped back in laughter.

They weren’t laughing now.

Nero’s shoulders were stiff and raised. Clearly, he had heard about the battle with the priests and—more importantly—the news that Father Padron had escaped into the city and was now free to use his magic in any way that he chose. The threat of a rogue priest would worry any rational person, but it had to worry Nero in particular. He and other wielders of “unusual” gifts still weren’t safe from persecution. If anything, Nero and the other fire bloods were more vulnerable now that Kian no longer had control over Father Padron—or any of the surviving priests that Padron might be able to recruit.

Cerise hated the idea of having to fight again, but she had to prepare herself for it. Transitions of power were rarely smooth, and Father Padron wasn’t the kind of man who would quietly surrender. One battle had ended, but another would soon begin.

General Petros likely knew it. He still hadn’t recovered fully from his injuries, but he was on his feet, limping along while favoring his left hand. He kept the pace a few steps behind Kian, who moved with a slow, deliberate gait that hinted at more than just exhaustion. He must have injured himself in the battle, too.

Cerise waved at them and met them on the palace lawn.

General Petros was the first to speak. He cupped her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, my girl. I heard about what happened to your mother, and I said a prayer for you when I visited my healer at the temple.”

“Thank you,” she told him. “I appreciate that.”

The general peered down at her with a sad smile. It was the first time since breaking the curse that she paid attention to him, and she noticed that his eyes were soft and warm, his hands no longer trembling with pent-up rage. She had never seen him so free.

At least she had done one thing right.

“I’m sorry, too,” Nero added in a voice that sounded as numb and as blank as the expression on his face. “The high priest of Shiera is your father. It explains much, but I still can’t believe it.”

Neither could Cerise. She didn’t want to think of Padron as her father. He wasn’t worthy of the role. “The former high priest,” she corrected. “He’s a common fugitive now.”

“Common?” Nero asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not common,” she admitted. “But one that bleeds.”

Kian stood beside her and settled a hand on her lower back. He brushed his thumb over her thin blouse, and the comfort of his touch made her relax the shoulder muscles she hadn’t known were clenched. “We’ve been gathering allies,” he told Nero. “But what we really need is magic. If you would be willing to recruit more of your kind to fight with us, we stand a better chance of ending Padron with minimal casualties.”

Nero frowned and went thoughtful for a moment. “The umbra sangi are private and scattered. But I can try. The high priest is a threat to us all.”

“The former high priest,” Cerise reminded him. “Titles carry power and legitimacy. Padron doesn’t deserve our respect. Call him a sadist or a traitor or anything you like, but not a high priest.”

Nero nodded in agreement, and then the discussion turned to his recruitment of fire bloods, how long the journey might last, and the supplies he would need along the way. While they spoke, Daerick came outside to join them. He listened for a while before offering a suggestion of his own.

“I want to board the next ship to Calatris and visit my brother before he leaves his temple,” Daerick said. “To give him a firsthand account of what happened here. We don’t know what rumors are spreading, but we can be sure that Padron will twist the truth to his advantage.”

Cerise realized how right Daerick was. “He won’t even have to twist the truth. All he has to do is tell it simply. I killed every priest in the palace, I stabbed him with the Petros Blade, and then I took his place as the head of the Order. If that’s all the priests hear, they’ll think I’m the monster.”

“We need to get ahead of the rumors,” Daerick said. “My brother will believe me. He trusts me, and the others trust him.”

“Then go to him,” Kian told Daerick. “Hire a private ship if you have to. Take as much from the treasury as you need.”

“Let’s send word to my old temple, too,” Cerise said. “The Reverend Mother foresaw something like this. She probably knows what’s coming, but we should warn her anyway.”

“I’ll handle it,” Daerick said.

Kian clapped him on the shoulder. “Safe journey.”

“Just one thing first,” Daerick said, turning his attention to Cerise. He smiled at her warmly and wrapped one arm around her in a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. “You saved me from a lifetime of torment, and I know what it cost you. I can never repay my debt to you, but I can make sure every noble family in the realm knows that you’re the one who broke their curse.”

She returned his hug while tears of gratitude welled in her eyes. She’d been so focused on what she had lost that she hadn’t seen all she’d gained. Daerick was restored, and Kian, and General Petros, and all of the other noble firstborns who had suffered for the crimes of their ancestors. They were all free because of her, and so was the realm—free from the old ways of the Order. She had done more than one thing right.

“I can’t take all the praise,” she told Daerick. “I had a good teacher.”

Sometime later, Cerise and Kian snuck into the hedge maze and hid themselves away in the secret courtyard at the center. They sat side by side on a stone bench facing the fountain, and as Cerise rested her head on Kian’s shoulder, she thought of all the nights they had spent in the shadows, sitting on a dark replica of that same stone bench. She would miss their quiet hours together but not that place. She shivered just to imagine it.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” Kian said. “I was waiting for the right time, and now that we’ve had a chance to slow down and catch our breath, I think you’ll be happy to hear it.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s something I saw in the underworld, right before you broke the curse,” he said. “I was walking in the labyrinth, pacing away the hours, much like any other night. I passed the souls of the damned, and they didn’t see me. They never did. And then, out of nowhere, all of them vanished. Every last soul that I could see was gone, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And then I blinked, and I was standing next to you in the sanctuary. I didn’t understand what was happening at the time, but now I think I do.”

Cerise peered up at him, hope stirring in her chest. “Their souls are free?”

“So it seems,” he said. “Free from a thousand years of torment. You wondered why you were able to follow me into the shadows, and now we know what purpose your gift served. I believe your presence there had something to do with their release.”

“I am happy to hear that,” she told him. More than happy. The souls of the Mortara firstborns never should have been trapped at all. Only the priests and the nobles with whom they had colluded deserved to be punished, and not even forever. “I suppose we were right about the replica of the courtyard in the underworld.” She glanced around them. “This must have been where it happened all those centuries ago—where the priests and the Mortaras met.”

“Undoubtedly,” Kian said. He shifted on the bench and then winced in pain, massaging his knee. “Damnation. I almost forgot how long it takes for an injury to heal. I might need your help with this, if you don’t mind. It hurts more than anything else.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” She was glad he had finally asked. She held a palm above his leg and willed her energy to mend his flesh.

He tested his knee, moving it to and fro.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much. Thank you, my love.”

She laced their fingers together and warned, “Be careful; you don’t get a new body at sunrise anymore. This one has to last, and I’m rather attached to it.”

“Are you?” he asked. He made a show of pondering her advice before he delivered a mockingly serious look. “Well, in that case, I’m afraid I have to rescind my offer to let you stab me in the heart.”

That made her smile. “A pity I missed my chance.”

“Indeed,” he said, then added a tsk . “Those who hesitate are lost.”

She leaned aside to scan his body for visible signs of damage. “Are you hurt anywhere else? I’m getting better at healing, I think.”

“I don’t want to drain you.”

“You won’t,” she told him, and then she explained what Nero had taught her about accessing her supply of magic. “My magic is like a flagon of water. The energy is there, but I can’t use it all at once. I can only draw from what’s in my cup. Last night, I drained every last drop. That’s why I was exhausted. But today, my cup is almost full again.”

Kian made a noise of contemplation. “So in what way does love make your gift stronger? Does it increase the volume of the flagon or the cup?”

“Both, I think. But it’s hard to know.”

“Then yes,” he said. “You may heal me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, may I?”

He winked at her. “I will permit it.”

“All right. Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere,” he repeated. “I might actually be dying.”

She bit her lip against a grin. He truly had no tolerance for pain. She placed her palms on Kian’s chest and closed her eyes, imagining her energy traveling through his body and mending him, much like she had done for Blue. When she finished, she sat back and watched his reaction.

Kian groaned in relief as he stretched his muscles and tested his limbs. He thanked her again and placed a kiss on the back of her hand, and then he gave her a smile so warm and genuine that the rest of the world fell away, and for one suspended heartbeat, there was only the two of them. “If the act of love strengthens your gift,” he said with a teasing gleam in his eyes, “then I’m ready to do my part in helping you become the most powerful wielder of magic who ever lived.”

She chuckled. “That’s quite generous of you.”

“As always, I’m yours to command, my lady.”

“Then you had better rest up,” she said, examining the dark circles beneath his eyes. “You look tired.”

“I am tired,” he admitted. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like to need sleep.” He grinned as if he had just realized something. “And to dream. I haven’t had a proper one of those in ages.”

Cerise hadn’t considered that. Now that his body had been restored, other things would change, too. He would spend his nights in a real bed instead of in the underworld, and at sunrise, he would awake in that same bed instead of materializing by her side. The two of them would no longer spend their dreaming hours together—at least she didn’t think so. She assumed her gift of dream walking had ended with the curse.

She sighed. “I’ve gotten used to you appearing next to me each morning. I’m going to miss our sunrises together.”

“Miss them?” Kian asked. “Nonsense. All of my sunrises belong to you. Will you stay with me tonight?”

She pretended to think it over. “Is Blue invited?”

“Will he bite me again?”

“Quite possibly.”

“For you, I’ll risk it.”

“Then yes,” she told him. “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

“And all the nights after that?”

There was a serious undertone beneath his teasing, a question she wasn’t prepared to answer because she’d never allowed herself to consider it. She had always known their time together would end. Much had changed in their lives, but he was still a king in need of legitimate heirs, and high priestess or not, she was a second-born given in service to the temple.

Her life belonged to the goddess.

Kian’s throat shifted as he swallowed. Her silence seemed to unnerve him. “Do you still love me?”

She drew a sharp breath and took his face between her hands. “Always,” she told him, mortified that he had felt the need to ask. She moved her gaze over the planes of his face, drinking in the storm-cloud eyes that had never failed to see the heart of her. Now more than ever, she loved him. She would die loving him, and in the afterlife, her spirit would love him still. “Always,” she told him again.

He looked to her with urgency. “Then be my queen.”

“But ladies of the temple aren’t—”

“The old ways are gone,” he interrupted. “Don’t you think the old rules should go with them?”

Her lips parted. She hadn’t thought of it like that.

“I’m the king,” he said. “You’re the high priestess of Shiera. If anyone deserves to write their own rules, it’s us. Let’s decide for ourselves which path to take.”

A warmth appeared inside her chest—a gentle glow, like an embrace from within. She recognized the sensation because she’d felt it a hundred times before, in quiet temple corners or on jagged mountain summits, where she had knelt in prayer.

Shiera had given her blessing.

“Be my queen,” Kian repeated. “You have my soul. I won’t share the throne with anyone but you. Look at what we’ve already accomplished. The two of us could do anything.”

Cerise didn’t need to think any more about it. “Yes,” she told him as she gazed in wonder at her love, her future husband, her “half king” made whole. She’d never imagined her heart could feel so full.

He was right. Together, they would be unstoppable.