Almost.
Jase.
He was alive.
That was all I needed to remember.
And that tomorrow was almost here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JASE
If I’d thought the arena was bad, the town was worse. Maybe it was desperation that made me think things would go in my favor just for once. Or that the gods would intercede. Surely all my vows and prayers had to count for something.
But not today.
Hell’s Mouth was always gray in winter. The frost on the tembris dulled their leaves, as it did the skies, but this gray reached deeper, like a leech had sucked away the town’s lifeblood. It was cold in a way I had never seen before, even the faces that passed me. None had life in them. Though the air was frigid, my temples blazed. I wanted to run, hunt down the king and kill him. Why hadn’t someone already done it? Where were my magistrates? Wren jerked me closer to her side, sensing a madness overtaking me.
“Careful, husband,” Synové warned. “We knew it would be bad.” But I heard the catch in her voice. It was overwhelming her too. The brokenness wasn’t just in the buildings or the cobbled streets—it permeated the air—and soldiers posted at every avenue and every rooftop kept hopelessness pinned in place.
Kazi was alive. Here. Somewhere. Some part of me had thought we would walk down the main street and I would spot her coming from the other direction and I’d sweep her into one of the many hidden passages I knew here.
Wren sucked in a breath. She saw the temple before I did. Even from the far end of the street and our small sliver of view, I saw the piles of rubble.
Caemus had told me, but telling didn’t prepare me. The shining façade that had once greeted visitors was gone. The altar was still oddly erect, frozen out in the open, like a deer caught unaware in a blind, too afraid to move. Every vow I had ever made began in the temple—
Except for one. One vow began in the wilderness with Kazi.
I swallowed.
Montegue was responsible for all this? I still didn’t believe it. He had no army and no money for one. He barely had an interest in ruling.
What about his tax money you keep? Could he be angry about that?
Kazi’s doubts circled in my head. When we sent the tax money, we always gave him a full accounting of where the one percent we kept was spent. Montegue had never responded or objected. I’d assumed that was because our accounting showed that the one percent didn’t begin to cover the costs of magistrates, repairs, cisterns, schools, the two infirmaries, and more. The list went on and on.
What if he deliberately chose a site that was in clear view of your memorial to aggravate you?
Montegue baiting us? I had thought that was impossible too because the king knew nothing about us or the memorial—but Zane did. And now I knew that Zane worked for the king. Anyone who lived in Hell’s Mouth for any length of time knew of our yearly family pilgrimage to the site to repair the simple memorial and offer prayers of thanks for Aaron Ballenger and his sacrifice. If the settlement location was deliberately chosen to rouse our anger, that would mean our recent trouble wasn’t a power struggle spurred on by my father’s death, as we had believed, but a plan that had been in the making for a very long time—before my father died.
I spotted Aleski, our post messenger, walking toward us, his white-blond hair wild and loose beneath his hat, his lips chapped and cracked from the cold. He pushed a barrow of supplies. He had family in town, but he was rarely here, usually on the trail. Aleski had worked for us for years. He and Titus had once been very close, but even after they parted ways, they remained friends. I had a split second to decide—let him pass, or question him. He would not betray Titus or the rest of the family. I was certain.
“Meester,” I called, lifting my hand in a stopping motion. We ambled toward him, and he lowered the barrow handles. When we were close, I whispered his name. His eyes widened and then filled with tears. “Patrei?” He swayed slightly, like he was ready to collapse.
“Pull it together, Aleski. We’re Kbaaki. You’re giving us directions. Point toward the mercantile.”
He nodded and lifted his hand, pointing, but tears spilled down his cheeks. “They watch everything.”
“I know. They’re watching us now,” I answered. Soldiers on the opposite corner had turned their attention toward us.
He wiped his nos
e. “We thought you were dead. That soldier who took you away said you’d been hanged. She said—”
“That soldier? You mean Kazi? Where is she?”
“She works for the king now, for the whole rotten bunch of them.”