Page 43 of Godbound
Guilt stabs me, just another weight for the pile.
I’ve given her coin after that. I’ve sent food, but she always gives it all away.
Clutched in her hands is her worn leather notebook, the diary she always carries, though I’ve never seen her write in it. She holds it like a lifeline, as if having it near matters more than anything it might someday say.
Normally, it’s tucked away in the waistband of her pants or hiddenin an inside pocket, but this dress likely has neither. So she chose to carry it rather than leave it behind. And somehow, that makes me more curious than ever to know what’s inside.
My gaze drifts downward. Beneath the silk hem of her borrowed finery, her usual overworn boots peek out.
“There she is,” I murmur, a weary smile tugging at the edge of my mouth.
Peonica never exactly blends in. From the moment I first invited her, she’s treated the Palace like an open-air market—loud, nosy, and completely unbothered by protocol.
She’s slipped into restricted rooms, interrogated kitchen staff about their spice blends, and once nearly got herself banned for sneaking into the royal library, filled with centuries-old books, just to satisfy her curiosity about the origins of the gods. We’re still trying to curb her more... investigative tendencies.
Eva rushes toward me and throws a dramatic wave at Peonica’s boots. “Getting your little shadow to follow etiquette was like herding cats in the alley. But at least she let me shove her into one of my dresses.”
She moves closer, her arms outstretched, then halts as her gaze drops to my gloveless hands.
Peonica, of course, has no such restraint. She drops her notebook on the chair, darts behind me and throws her arms around my middle, pressing her cheek against my shoulder blade with a theatrical groan.
Sometimes I wonder if she was born without the part of the brain that registers fear. Or maybe it’s something more dangerous. Maybe she trusts me that completely.
“Are you okay?” she whispers. “After…” She doesn’t finish.
I don’t answer, I can’t. Because how could I possibly answer, when I don’t even know which ‘after’ she means?
After I got so drunk, I don’t remember kissing a man?
After I was nearly trapped into a marriage with the man that I kissed?
After I gave my blood to a forgotten goddess and my magic destroyed somany lives?
Peonica’s embrace shouldn’t hold me together, but somehow, it does. Her small frame, her familiar stubbornness, they’re a thread pulling me back from the edge.
“It’s Calcatra’s loss, Ray,” she mutters into my back.
“What is?” I ask, lifting my hands like a prisoner surrendering, careful to keep every inch of my blackened fingers away from her.
“To lose you as their queen,” she says, matter of fact, as if it’s the most obvious truth in the world.
The words are simple, but they strike hard, knocking the breath from my lungs with their finality.
Because until now, I haven’t truly let myself face it. I’ve only circled the edges of that truth, brushing against it like something too dangerous to touch. The idea that I won’t wear the crown.
It was that dream that lit my path through every humiliation. It was only when Ryker and I grew close that my father began to look at me again. Only then did he start saying my name like it didn’t shame him to speak it.
My hand twitches upward, instinctively reaching for the scar bisecting my brow, but I stop it, freezing mid-motion. I won’t let these cursed fingers drop any closer. Not while Peonica’s arms are still wrapped tightly around my waist.
But before I can scramble for a response that doesn’t reveal the full extent of my devastation, Peonica releases me just as abruptly and strides toward the table piled with food.
“Just so you know, Brienne’s safe in the Hollow,” she says, grabbing her notebook as she drops into a chair with absolutely no regard for decorum. “We got her settled in one of the empty houses. She wanted me to thank you for standing up for her.” She plucks a berry from a silver dish and tosses it into her mouth. “I told her I guilted you into it, but I don’t think she bought it.”
She shrugs like the whole thing weighs nothing at all, even as the words settle like cold wax hardening around my heart. Because beneath the teasing, she’s right. It was her voice echoing in my head that morning, needling at my conscience, stirring guilt that festered quietly on that cursed ride. The ride where I first saw the bone blooming withfiery-red flowers.
My gaze shifts toward the corner of the receiving room. There it is still. The ribcage half-swallowed by already wilting petals. Forgotten on a low stand.
“We watched most of the Challenge with the rest of the court through the Divinity Gaze here at the Palace,” Eva says, pulling me from my thoughts. Then, before I can ask, she adds, “I found Peonica outside the gates, cursing out the guards for not letting her in because hercustomer”—she shoots me a pointed look, unimpressed by my claim to be a loyal patron— “wasn’t inside.”
