Page 28 of Wild Reverence

Enva gazed up at him, her expression inscrutable.

She could have been hewn from pale marble; her features were delicate, her comeliness unassuming.

It had always seemed to me that her beauty grew richer as time passed, like dark red wine, and that she clothed her emotions with a veil.

Only those closest to her—her allies, her apprentice musicians—ever saw her true face.

I had seen it occasionally, but she had always been fond of me, becoming the first person I could trust Skyward despite my father’s warning.

Do not let her music lull you into thinking you are safe with her.

“Thank you, my lord,” Enva said, bowing her head. Her voice was dulcet and smooth, commanding the air. “I am honored by your invitation.”

She was not honored by it. She was furious, but she hid it well.

And she could have fooled me in that moment with her performance.

Dacre took her hand, and that is when he at last looked at me. I knew the court would not acknowledge me until he did. I would be ignored until he welcomed me back into the fold.

“Greetings, Matilda,” he said, to my piercing relief. “We are pleased to see you have returned to us.”

“Lord.” I cast my eyes down in respect. “It is good to return.”

“You will stay with us awhile, I hope? I would like for you to celebrate the vows with us. The first wedding feast will be tonight.”

“Of course.” I glanced at Enva, but her eyes were fixed upon Dacre, studying him for a weakness, a crack in his facade.

Little did she know that she was his weakness.

No other divine had driven him to such emotion, such madness.

I sometimes wondered if he had broken his own laws and melted Skyward coins in his hearth, reveling in a brief stint of music.

If he had listened to a sound that haunted him, one he could never forget.

“I will be here to celebrate with you both.”

Dacre did not hear me. His attention had riveted to Enva again; there was a gleam of hunger in his eyes, as well as bewitchment. It made me uneasy, but this had not been my decision to make, and I stepped aside as the court was released.

Conversations hummed around me. I stayed to the outskirts, my eyes coasting the upper court for Bade.

“You have grown into something lovely.”

I turned to see Alva. Her eyes were bright, her blond hair falling around her like wisps of sunlight. She genuinely looked pleased to see me, as if she did not remember our last meeting. Quiet, she offered me a chalice of wine, and I took it, shoulders tight with misgiving.

“Have I?” I countered. “They cast bets in the Skyward court that you would not recognize me.”

“Then the Skywards are fools. Do they forget that we were the ones to raise you? You belonged to us first.” She took a sip of wine, continuing to study me. My eyes drifted to the crowd again. “You will not find him here.”

“Who?”

Alva’s smile deepened. “You know whom I speak of. That old, stubborn ally of yours.”

“I thought everyone was expected at court.”

“Then you have not heard?”

My heart gave a sudden lurch. “Heard what?”

If someone had killed Bade, stolen his magic, I would be devastated. The Underlings would regret welcoming me back into their hall.

But then I traced the moonstones on my belt and thought, No. I would know if he were dead.

Alva’s dark-stained lips were parting to speak, but she never had the chance to reply. Another goddess joined our circle, appearing at my periphery heavily perfumed with myrrh and jasmine and charred amber.

“Matilda! What a delight to see you again, child.”

That voice. The sound of it turned me to ice so cold that I burned. Slowly, I angled my face to see none other than Phelyra, dressed in a sumptuous gown and dripping in pearls.

“You have bloomed at last, I see,” Phelyra continued, eyes roving over me. “A true reflection of her beauty.”

Her as in Zenia, and no, I was not the image of my mother and her winter-forged radiance.

Phelyra was very fortunate that I was unarmed, although my fingers twitched, eager to recall my shield.

I gave myself one heady moment to imagine slamming it into her chest, knocking her to the ground.

Breaking her nose, her teeth. Watching her ichor creep across the floor, as I had once watched my mother’s.

I had never desired to kill, but I felt it then. A dark thread, tangling my insides. Pulling and yanking and knotting my lungs until I could not breathe.

“Matilda?” Alva said, a hint of amusement in her voice as if she could read my thoughts and was keen to see if I would enact them.

I set down the chalice, sloshing the wine in my haste. Quickly, I departed the hall. My blood was hot and I needed a long walk through cold fog and shadows to bank my rage.

But memory is a curious thing. I did not think about where I was going until the moonstones winked above me and I realized I had followed an old pattern. A route grooved down by childhood. My heart fell to a quiet beat as I came to a stop outside the door of my old burrow.