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Chapter fifty-two

A strid lowered her head in prayer alongside her fellow parishioners. Constantine forced the soul weavers of his kingdom to live in the absence of the Three-Faced Mother, yet demanded their service.

Ambrose’s father was as foolish as he was shortsighted. He bemoaned the serpents and cursed the gift they bestowed upon him.

A Death Spirit son.

Astrid wouldn’t discard Dimitri. In the wake of cruelty repeated so often and by so many, her sword clung to the tiniest fragment of affection.

Mothers hear me, Astrid began. Thank you for the weapon you’ve delivered to my hand. A blade honed so sharp he struck down her enemies as easily as he cut her. Doubt festered, souring her soul. Could she trust him? Would he hold her above his brother or would he force her to bow?

She replayed the conversation they had last night. How much of their evening did Dimitri remember? He’d objected to his brother’s assassination while she rested her head on his chest.

“I could seduce him and kill him for you,” Astrid had offered, tracing the lines cut through his chiseled muscles.

His chest rose and fell before he’d said, “He won’t have you.”

Astrid laughed. Dimitri knew nothing of males. “He would. I see the way he looks at me.”

“I’m not a male who shares my belongings, but my blood is cursed,” he’d said as his fingers wove through her hair. “The whole court saw you swallow my blood after you stabbed me in the dining hall. You’re as tainted as I am, neva.”

His self-loathing was evident in his voice, rooted in decades of pain.

Ledivites put too much weight into their ridiculous superstitions. A few public kills would rectify their backward opinions.

One, if she made it bloody.

“I could kill him with a touch,” she’d offered sweetly. “No seduction necessary.”

He’d hugged her closer. “I promised my mother I would take care of him. Set your sights on Clorea, and I’ll retrieve your crown.”

Astrid put their evening out of her mind and glanced up at the three hooded statues. At the egg, the serpent, and the shed they cradled in their outstretched hands.

Would his mother’s wishes always come before her? Would his brother?

The rasp of scales on stone surrounded her. Comforted her. Dimitri had been true to his word, adding snakes to the temple of the Three-Faced Mother. She missed Foxglove’s presence, but Dimitri would deliver her albino cobra when he returned from his next assignment.

A female, dressed in a white blouse and a long gray shirt—the uniform of a maid or kitchen help—strolled up beside Astrid. She emptied a silver bowl of raw meat onto the altar and placed the empty dish to the side.

“Princess Noctis,” she greeted, bowing her head in respect before lowering to her knees.

Astrid watched her hands. She folded them, holding her index and middle finger together beneath her other palm.

She had a message. Finally . If the female didn’t have a team ready to help her mother escape, Astrid would send a message of her own. Perhaps in the form of the spy’s soulless body left as an offering to the Three-Faced Mother.

Astrid straightened her skirt while gesturing, Are they ready?

We’ll free your mother the next time Dimitri leaves.