Page 51 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

Junius shifted and, for the first time, looked nervous. “He recently presided over a funeral held for members of my family.”

“ Members of your family ,” Erik intoned. “Is that what you’re calling your staff nowadays?”

Ice flooded me, stilling my body. My hand solidified in Erik’s.

No.

No.

Unbelievably, Junius straightened. “Many of our staff members raised me, Your Majesty. They fed me and clothed me and cared for me in my illnesses. One of them delivered me into this world. So yes, they were my family. And they deserved a proper burial in the presence of the gods.”

I felt my head shaking. No, no, no.

I’d told Junius where to locate his buried staff, not thinking of the consequence. Not realizing the danger I would be putting him in.

Erik licked his lips, amused. “What a moving sentiment. There is one problem, however. Weren’t those family members executed by my Hunters as Wielders?”

“They were, Your Majesty.”

“And in accordance with our laws, do Wielders have the right to funerals? Or are they cut down and discarded like the animals they are?”

A gasp swept through the crowd, and then the guards were at our backs, swords crossed in defense as Keil stormed toward us.

Erik glanced languidly between the blades. “Is there a problem, Ambassador Arcus?”

Keil stood taut as a bowstring, fists clenched, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Shouldn’t this be handled in private?”

“I don’t recall asking for your advice, Ambassador. Why don’t you settle in with the rest of the audience.”

“ Audience? ” Keil hissed. “This is to be a show?”

“This shall be whatever I want it to be,” Erik said softly. “Welcome to Daradon.”

Keil’s eyes darkened. “Think well on what you’re about to do.”

At that, Erik turned fully. “Careful, Ambassador. That almost sounded like a threat. Remember, your immunity only protects you so long as you remain passive.”

“Erik,” I said, dizzy with panic. “You have diplomatic relations to think about.”

“Lady Alissa is right,” Keil said, his stare fixed on the king. “My empress extended a hand of friendship toward you. I wouldn’t recommend knocking it aside.”

“Hmm.” Erik looked him over blandly. “That would be quite the tragedy. Especially since you’ve been so very amiable with my court, Ambassador. Attempting to foster all manner of... friendships .”

The king increased pressure around my hand, and my breathing quickened.

Keil must have heard the change, because he glanced at me for half a second—his only giveaway that Erik had touched upon a truth.

But the brief locking of our eyes was worse than a continued stare; our gazes skimmed like flint and steel, with a spark-forming friction.

And I feared it had given away enough.

“Your empress knew our laws before sending you here,” Erik said with a calmness that contradicted my thumping pulse against his palm. “If she’s as smart as you say, she wouldn’t risk future peace because her ambassador doesn’t like how we handle lawbreakers.”

Keil faltered, and I knew: The empress wouldn’t back him in this.

He had obeyed her once before—had held back at her command—and his sister had suffered for it. What would it take for him to defy his empress now?

His eyes flickered, like he was trying to work out the answer himself.

With a cold smile, Erik turned back to Junius. “Well?” he drawled. “Nothing more to say?”

Junius held the king’s gaze for longer than he should have. With pained reluctance, he unfastened his bonestone earring and sank to his knees.

“I submit to your judgment,” he said quietly, mechanically. “On behalf of the Jacombs, I beg forgiveness, my king.”

His mother must have said those same words at the Jacomb trial—must have set her jewelry on the marble floor just as Junius did now, in ultimate submission. She had pleaded ignorant of housing Wielders, and Erik had pardoned her.

But now, the Jacombs couldn’t pretend. They had voluntarily exhumed those Wielders. They had knowingly taken the risk.

And I’d given them the means to do it.

The room held its breath as Erik considered. Then he cocked his head and said, “I think I’ve had my fill of Jacomb jewelry.”

My stomach dropped. Erik nodded to his guards, and Junius didn’t struggle as they hauled him forward.

He would die because of me.

I tugged on Erik’s hand. “Exile him from court,” I said, desperate. “Let him endure the humiliation.”

Before Erik could answer, Carmen’s voice trilled out: “Be reasonable, Cousin.” She elbowed to the front of the crowd, her face ashen. “Junius is one of us. Give him a slap on the wrist and let us enjoy the evening.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

As the gentry murmured in agreement, and a hopeful smile pulled at Carmen’s lips, Erik’s expression sharpened.

“Does my court agree with the princess?” he called. “Do you all believe that treason should go unpunished?”

That quickly, the courtiers ducked their heads. Some whispered, while others cleared their throats as if preparing to speak up. But just like when Erik had aimed that arrow at Perla’s foot, nobody spoke up.

Nobody ever did.

My specter writhed with violent memory. Sunlight on steel and a wet, heaving torso. Erik’s sharp laughter, shaving out into the air. And open, voiceless mouths—such resounding silence—

But this wasn’t the Opal. There were no cracked cobblestones to drink up the blood tonight. The blood would puddle on the marble and seep up my skirts, marring me. Damning me.

If your beloved husband-to-be delivered the same sentence to another, what would you do?

I thought I’d known the answer. But as Junius bowed his head and began praying, I knew I couldn’t bear to watch the light drain from those shrewd, earnest eyes.

I grabbed Erik’s jacket with my free hand, forcing him to face me. Someone in the crowd gasped.

“You can’t execute your own nobles,” I said with vicious finality.

Erik looked down at my fist, curled against his chest. His hand lifted, and I flinched without meaning to. But he didn’t strike me; he stroked those shockingly cold knuckles down my cheek in a caress.

“You misunderstand, my love. Nobody is being executed tonight.” Cruel anticipation glazed his eyes. “There is no suffering in death.”

My specter lurched at the words.

Erik started to pull away, but I heaved him back. I’d told Tari I could sway the king—I’d believed I could. Now I had to prove it.

“Junius’s mother is the ruling lady of Dawning,” I said, voice low.

“If you harm him, you will lose her allegiance forever. How will we ever achieve more than your predecessors if we can’t keep our kingdom united?

” And because Erik’s gaze sparked hungrily at my phrasing— our kingdom —I dared to press closer.

I made myself go loose against him in a last, desperate attempt, and whispered, “Gods cannot stand alone.”

A pause. Erik’s eyes narrowed, flicking doubtfully over my face. He raised the hand still holding mine and adjusted his grip to enclose both my wrists.

I tensed; he’d seen through me. And now he would toss me to my knees beside Junius. I heard the guards shifting behind us and knew that Keil had moved closer.

Then, branching one hand into my hair to angle my head back, Erik brought his mouth down on mine.

I gasped, and he swallowed the sound. My body went rigid. Far away, the crowd was rustling—growing louder—and my specter, my specter —

Erik released me as the first waves of power rolled across my skin. I began to tremble. If he touched me again, it would be over.

“Lady Alissa is a wise and compassionate woman,” Erik declared. “She has counseled mercy for the lord. On this night, I am inclined to heed her counsel.”

The congregation gave a unanimous sigh, and Erik was smiling at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. His figure wavered beyond the gauzy layers of my specter, now shimmering around me like heat off a blaze.

Erik turned to a still-kneeling Junius, whose eyes shone with tears.

“Of course,” Erik murmured, “there remains the question of who will receive your punishment.”

The crowd went silent. I couldn’t process the words.

Then Erik gestured to his guards, and they yanked Quincy between them.

“No!” Junius thrashed against his jailors. “Please, Your Majesty. Punish me! It was my fault!”

Junius was wrong. This was my fault—all of it, my fault .

“The man is innocent!” Keil’s voice boomed out. More guards had come to stand between us.

“Cease!” one of them barked. “Or we will restrain you.”

Keil’s eyes glinted, knife-sharp. “You can try.”

My specter palpitated, fogging my vision. My ears popped from the strain of holding it back.

Junius was still pleading. Quincy had wriggled from the guards and was crawling to me. “Please, my lady, don’t let them hurt me. Please, my lady—”

They wrenched him up again.

“Stop,” I whispered.

One of the guards drew a knife from his belt. Carmen turned her head, shoulders shaking.

“ Stop ,” I pleaded again.

Junius was sobbing now, and Erik was laughing. Just like last time, he was laughing.

Not again, not again, not again. My specter would gush from me in a flood and I couldn’t do this again .

The guard sliced Quincy’s tunic, baring his chest. Somebody screamed.

Erik said, with a terrible half-smile, “Begin.”

“No!” A spasm jerked through me, and my control snapped like a breaking bone.

But my specter wasn’t a flood as I’d imagined. It was a fist.

And its only target was the king of Daradon.