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“Beta Egith Hartsfeld of Strategos is here to teach you battle strategy.” I can’t help but notice that her introduction was significantly shorter and without flair. Guess Stark’s ass is the only one he’s interested in kissing. He gestures to a pale man in his thirties with a shock of blond hair. “Samson Whyte, Gamma of Kryptos, will teach you communication and concealment.” Finally, he nods to a middle-aged woman with olive skin and dark hair. “And Elinor Gardiner, Gamma of Phylax, will instruct you in history and pack dynamics.”
Anassa’s voice fills my head, thick with wrath. “Some people deserve to die.”
His eyes glow again. He liked that answer. “You should… What are you writing?” I lift up the page to show him what I’ve scrawled out as my first priority. Work on my glower.
And in case my implication is not crystal fucking clear: You touch her again and I’ll cull you myself.”
Goddess, I almost forgot how devastating grief is. How it leaves you husked and raw, but never numb.
The pain is like a gaping wound—one no dressing can cover, no shield can truly protect. The agony of it might lessen, but it never truly leaves. It’s not just one feeling, either. Grief has layers and layers: sadness, bitterness, guilt, regret…
The drawings are extraordinarily detailed and unnervingly repetitive. Most depict a crown in intricate detail: two wolves leaping at each other over a delicate circlet laden with jewels. Between the drawings are scattered notes—references to someone named “Lumina,” mentions of “Nocturn,” and the word “Astreon” appear as frequently as the crown drawings. Like the names of our two countries, but wrong.
Through our bond, Anassa tells me what I already know. “This will mark you.”
“I’m the rightful queen of Nocturna, aren’t I?” I ask. Stark’s eyes spark, he takes a single step back, and he bows down on one knee, hand to his chest. “Welcome home, my queen.”
“Give me the word and I’ll tear out his throat. All the lives I’ve ever taken were just training for this moment, my queen. Make me your instrument of vengeance. Let my hands act out your every savage, depraved thought. Use me. I’m yours.”
deaths were well earned. You found her?” He inclines his head. “We recovered the children. Venna is guarding Saela in my office.
