Page 15 of A Court of Truth and Thorns (Royal Scout #2)

VIOLET

“ V iolet, you need to get up.” Leaf’s gentle voice coaxed Violet’s eyes open. “You need to get up,” Leaf said again, this time urgently, her cool fingers running along Violet’s skin.

Opening her eyes, Violet found Leaf sitting on the side of the bed.

Despite her small size, Leaf was older—twenty—and she’d lost both a sister and a mother too.

And a brother, in a way, given the stories Leaf told about Kal.

The crippled girl was the strangest creature Violet had ever met, yet Leaf’s very oddness completed Violet.

“Get up.” Leaf poked Violet’s ribs.

“Why bother?” Violet asked.

“Because,” Leaf said dryly, “His Mighty Pompousness the Bishop of Creative Truths is bound to slink in here sooner rather than later, and it would be better if he did not find you abed. He has enough ideas of his own without you suggesting more.”

“You really shouldn’t call the Messenger that,” said Violet, pushing herself up.

Violet was tired. So very tired. No matter how much she slept.

She did have to get up. That was the agreement the Messenger had made with her: Violet could have Leaf attend her in the palace, but only if Violet promised to get up and out of bed. Every day.

Leaf pulled a dress out of the closet. Something red and probably pretty, though Violet couldn’t bring herself to care about the details. The chamber itself was an echo of Violet’s old room; the damage from the fire she’d started had been repaired and repainted to suit the bishop’s taste.

“I’m a whisperer. I think that alone has sunk me to the rock-bottom of his scale and dug a hole,” said Leaf. “How are you feeling?”

Violet pulled on the offered dress. Unlike proper Children’s attire, the dress was designed to be formfitting, but it hung like a rag off Violet’s thin frame instead. Her body seemed to waste away more each night. How was she feeling? Like a doll being dressed into a queen.

“I’m afraid of my dreams,” said Violet. “Each time I close my eyes, I—it doesn’t matter. I mean, it’s normal. A tithe to balance the sins of my birth parents’ souls.”

Leaf said nothing to that.

Violet swallowed. The problem wasn’t the tithe; it was that Violet was just so tired of paying it.

Comforting thoughts, like the peace her actions would bring to her mother’s soul, were no longer enough.

Violet missed sharing a room with her sisters, working shoulder to shoulder beside them, rising each day knowing she was making a difference in her kingdom.

She never saw them nowadays. Zalia was busy as usual, and Dasha had discovered she was with child and had been instructed by Bahir to remain belowground and pray.

Any deviation from that, Bahir warned, risked upsetting the Goddess .

“There are other ways to make an impact, you know,” said Leaf, as if reading Violet’s thoughts. “Maybe someone else can save souls for a bit, and you can focus on more important things.”

“What could be more important?” asked Violet.

“Organizing socks,” said Leaf.

A knock at the door prevented Violet’s retort. The Messenger was here and the joy that his presence was supposed to herald was refusing to show itself.

Leaf kept her eyes lowered as she let the Messenger in and escorted him to the breakfast table, which a maid had already set for two while Violet slept. Eggs, fresh berries, tea. The sight of it turned Violet’s stomach.

Bahir waited for Leaf to depart and for Violet to pull a chair out for him. “Are you feeling better?” he asked, laying a calloused hand on Violet’s cheek before sitting down.

“I’m quite tired, Your Grace,” Violet murmured. A headache was already pressing against the back of her head, and Violet longed for one of Leaf’s droughts to soothe the pain.

“Poor lady.” Bahir moved his hand from Violet’s face to her shoulder. “Your body is treating you poorly these weeks, and it breaks my heart seeing you so.”

Violet nodded and started toward the second chair, but the Messenger’s hand on her shoulder tightened. “I held a vigil last night,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I asked for the Goddess’s guidance for how to ease this ailment that’s befallen you. How to best fill you with her love.”

Violet’s chest tightened. “What guidance did she give you, Your Grace?” If there was another tithe, more that she had to do...

Bahir’s thumb caressed Violet’s skin. “We are healing Dansil, you and I,” he murmured. “We are heralding the age of love and peace. The Goddess wants us to create life together.”

“I don’t understand.”

Bahir smiled kindly. “A child. Healthy and happy, holy with the Messenger’s seed. That is the gift the Goddess will grant you. And one you will in turn give your people.”

Nausea shifted Violet’s stomach. “I can’t. I—”

“You would deny the Goddess’s will?” Bahir demanded, pulling away his hand.

“I’m bleeding,” Violet said quickly. “My cycle. I—” Acid rose in Violet’s throat before she could finish the words, and she darted from the breakfast table to the chamber pot, heaving up her empty stomach.

Violet was still bent over the porcelain when she heard Bahir moving about the suite, shifting things around, before the door opened and closed with his departure.

Stumbling back to the table for a sip of water, Violet found a rose waiting on the white tablecloth. Beside the flower, a note penned in Bahir’s careful hand held three words.

Next week, then.