Page 59 of The Shrouded Queen
“Ah, Finan.” She sighed mournfully. “The promise of reunitingwith a loved one can be all too tempting.” At my look, she elaborated. “Some people feel drawn to the Shroud. We’re not sure why not everyone succumbs to its call, but we think its darkness calls to the darkness in us. Those with more darkness feel the pull stronger.”
My skin prickled, and dread fell like a stone in my gut. That wall of night stood tall and proud. While it looked frightening, I couldn’t deny that I found it alluring, too. A desire to feel its gentle touch on my skin again.Those with more darkness…
“Do you mean… the Shroud only calls to evil people?” I asked in a small voice.
Velka shook her head. “We all have darkness in us, Your Majesty. Some just have a greater propensity for it. We think the Shroud exploits that. That’s how it gets its claws in. And once it does…” She shrugged sadly. Oblivious to my mounting unease, she went on, “Finan’s wife walked into it years ago. I imagine he hoped she was still in there, the way he remembered. But she’s not.”
I recalled, “Keir said the Shroud infests people.”
“It does. And he would know better than any of us.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because he—”
“Velka!” a furious voice barked. We peered over the edge to see Keir seething up at us.
“There you are,” Velka called back. “We were looking all over for you.”
“Get down herenow.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fun’s over. Let’s go, before that vein in his forehead explodes.”
My conversation with Velka plagued me the rest of the day and well into dinner. What did she mean, agreater propensity for darkness? Velka hadn’t seemed to think too much of it—but then again, she and her friends were tried-and-true killers. I was nothing that horrible. Other than lying for the Gods-Chosen, I had never done anything bad in my entire life. The gods were strict in their expectations,and they wanted their children to act with honor, kindness, and obedience. Which I tried to do. Always.
Part of me thought I should tell Velka I felt that call, so that she could tell me what to do to combat it. She’d help me.
But maybe she was wrong. After all, she had also said they weren’t sure. So maybe it had nothing to do with darkness. Maybe it was arbitrary. A sorry luck of the draw. That felt like a better fit. The very fact that I was in Kaldfold was a testament to just how rotten my luck was. Unlucky, but not a disappointment to my gods.
None of my reassurances loosened the knot of dread around my chest.
TWENTY-THREEAMUNET
The crackle and pop of the pyre was a consistent roar in my ears, mercifully drowning out the scraping in my head. The only mercy the giant flame would bestow on me. Prayers rolled through my mind like sand down a hill, gathering grains and speed, one plea following the next. Yet the back of my neck continued to burn.
The way I’d figured it, a pyre was like one huge candle, with the bonus of fifteen sacrificial bodies. It was worth a shot to try to reach out to Shaya here.
On the other side of the flames, Nasir spoke with families of the deceased, gold-flecked eyes glittering with sympathy as mothers cried in his arms. It appeared genuine.
Not too far away, slightly distorted by heat waves, Jasim struck up conversations with soldiers to figure out why the fuck we were still here. The bodies were burned to scorched crisps. Funeral was over. Time to move.
With each extra second, my paranoia rose, and my side throbbed with the reminder of the assassin’s blade. The sweat searing its way down my neck wasn’t helping matters. My whole body shook as I resisted the urge to scratch. Thousands of scorching pinpricks crawled farther up my skull. I’d chucked my wig to the ground some time ago, unable to handle even that minor touch. Comfort seemed like a fairy tale, like something I’d never known.
A deep, familiar chuckle sounded directly in my ear. I flinched and squeezed my eyes shut. Just another symptom of my separation from Shaya, like the itch, like the claws in my head.
Yet the feeling of eyes on me lifted the hairs along my arms.
I blew out a hard breath through my nose and focused on the roar of the pyre, on the heat of the sun on the top of my shaved head.
Stop this, Amunet, chided a familiar, creaky voice.You look like a fool.
I bit my lip harder against the answer that jumped to the tip of my tongue. He wasn’t here. Talking to him would only make—
You know why Shaya’s not answering, King Zaid goaded.He’s not punishing you. He doesn’t care enough to punish you. He’s moved on. After all, twenty years is a long time to wait for someone to become useful.
He was wrong. He hadn’t moved on. I was his daughter.
Like you were mine?
