Page 2 of Godbound
And for a heartbeat, I almost step back. Almost.
Underneath the fear, something harder takes hold. I glower at Eleanor’s hand, at the glinting glass vial.
“This—this is what it’s about,” I say, jabbing a finger toward the skeleton tangled in flowers. “This is what I am now. Dying quietly while pretending to be alive. And all those women we watched suffer, and all the ones we never bothered to see…” My voice cracks. “I carry the weight of every girl you called ruined, whether you want me to or not.”
Eleanor narrows her eyes, the pronounced lines crumple together turning her already drooping eyes to slits. “You carried it silently for years, my lady,” she hisses. “What’s a few more days? One more lashing?”
“I know her, Eleanor,” I say as my fingers curl into fists. “Brienne didn’t betray anyone. She’s just a young girl who fell in love.”
Brienne and I aren’t close friends, but she is a kind person who had a long, happy life ahead of her. Why must she get punished so severely for a single moment of weakness?
Eleanor licks her dry lips, her fingers slipping from the vial. “The only thing your absence will accomplish is embarrassment for your future husband, His Majesty the King. Half the consuls already snicker behind his back for choosing a bride with your family’s…stain.” Her voice takes on a craftier note. “You think that by witnessing the lashing you condone it. But have you ever considered that you might offer comfort to the punished, by your silent witness?”
I know what she’s alluding to. Eleanor knows I would’ve given up every dress, every trinket, everything I owned just to go back and visit my mother during the long years of her banishment, before that final day. To be there. To make sure that as she bled out on that pole, at least one pair of eyes looked on in grief. That she saw, just once, that someone still loved her.
Or, in my wildest, most selfish dream, find a way to stop it. To save her.
Whatever my duenna sees on my face must be enough for her to know that she’s won.
She turns around and walks back to the carriage without waiting for me. I look at her back, the sorrow for my mother nearly making my knees buckle. But instead, I lean over, pick up the intertwined bones and fiery red blooms.
Turning away from injustice won’t absolve me. It would only quiet my conscience. It won’t save Brienne.
It won’t save anyone.
I will go. I will bear witness. But I will not be silent. Not anymore.
And as sunlight catches the curve of bone and the petals still tangled in its ribs, I brush the dust away and walk toward the carriage.
We ridethe rest of the way in taut silence. Eleanor’s frown settles permanently into her brow, as if she’s finally realized that no amount of coaxing will make me part with my grotesque centerpiece.
The bones and flowers sit firmly on my lap. And when my racing heart finally slows, I still don’t quite understand what I’m going to do with them. But as we arrive at the Grand Plaza, and one of the footmen offers his hand to help me down, I clutch the bundle as if someone might rip it from my grasp.
Our carriage stops at the designated path, beside the empty royal carriage. From there, I follow the way marked by the guards, cutting through the crowd to the royal dais.
The plaza is encircled by the Goldspears, Ryker’s personal guard in golden armor, Borrowglass glinting at their throats. Today’s spectacle is reserved for nobles alone. The commoners are penned behind the glittering wall of soldiers, craning for a glimpse of the scene within.
The usual noise of vendors and performers is gone. In its place stands a pole—not the old wooden stake on the city’s edge, its grain darkened by decades of spilled blood, but a newly planted post of stark iron.
Stone tiers rise up in clean, perfect rows, scrubbed and cushioned for the noble class. Across the way, a dais gleams in white and gold, a throne waiting at its center. The banners and flowers do their best to soften the scene, but nothing can hide what this place was made for.
Ryker’s bright blue eyes find mine the moment I step into view, and his handsome face, framed by neatly groomed sandy hair, softens with a flicker of light. For a heartbeat, he almost smiles, but the weight of what’s to come presses the expression tight again.
His lean toned frame fits perfectly into the tailored white-and-gold of royal attire.
Usually, looking at him feels like witnessing the first ray of spring sunlight breaking through the last fog of autumn. But now, surrounded by so much ugliness, our gazes meet in quiet solidarity and shared understanding that neither of us wants this, yet we must endure it. At least for now. He’s still newly crowned, barely two months since his father’s death, and still fighting to cement his power.
But then his gaze drops. A flicker of confusion passes through his eyes as he takes in the thing I carry, the bones and the blooms.
Our eyes meet again across the distance, and for a moment, something unspoken lingers between us. A question. The beginning of concern.
Then he gives the slightest shake of his head, almost a smile, almost a sigh, and looks away, as if to say he won’t question me. He never does.
And I’ve never given him a reason to start. He was the boy who once made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t. Now, in a month, I’ll be his queen.
I lower my gaze, shoulders stiff as I move toward my seat. Not on the dais beside him, not yet, but below it, where his brother, Mael, already sits.
Eleanor’s shuffling steps trail behind me as we cross the plaza.
