Chapter Two

Roede couldn’t explain why he hadn’t told anyone about the Drest. Maybe it was the stern, disapproving look in the knight’s eyes, like Roede had stumbled across something he wasn’t supposed to see. Maybe it was because the man had been right - it would only cause panic if everyone knew the Drest had somehow gotten past their walls to roam the streets. Or maybe it had something to do with the weird sense of shame that had settled low in Roede stomach, as though he’d don’t something wrong.

Which was absurd. He’d barely spoken three words to the man. He’d expressed all the appropriate disdain for his kind, and kept an appropriate distance. At worst, he was guilty of letting the heathen go, but the knights seemed to have that well in hand.

Really, that’s what this was about. Of course Roede hadn’t said anything, because the man was already in custody. Sure, the knight hadn’t followed the usual protocol of binding the mage’s hands, but the situation had been handled. By someone other than Roede, because the Drest didn’t concern him anymore. He had bigger problems. War was easy, compared to Lady Adeline’s wedding preparations.

Still, he couldn’t put it out of his mind entirely. When he entered the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, the first thing he did was change the radio station to the news.

“I was listening to that,” Lyssie grumbled into a cup of coffee, as a pleasantly monotone voice rattled off the weather. (Cold and cloudy. It was always cold and cloudy, with an omnipresent haze that hadn’t concerned Roede until recently. It was only after he’d left Evalystine that he’d realized how blue the sky could be.)

She was still wearing a baby pink nightgown, one strap sliding down her delicate little shoulder. Her frizzy, untamed curls created a fuzzy, dark halo around her head. Every day, Roede thanked the goddess he hadn’t inherited their mother’s naturally curly hair. It seemed to require a great deal of care that he just didn’t have the patience for.

He lifted the little metal box from the marble counter top and placed it on a shelf above the sink. He folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at her. “Change it back then.”

“You’re a cruel bastard. You know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roede moved to the ice box, lifting the heavy metal lid with his good arm. “What do you want for breakfast? And don’t say muffins. You know how I feel about muffins.”

“That there’s a fine line between them and cake,” Lyssie said with a sigh. “Okay, but what if I have a muffin, and ‘real food’?”

Roede gave her his disappointed older brother stare. It was an art perfected over ten years of temper tantrums and outbursts.

“Fiiine. I guess we can have some eggs.”

“With cheese and peppers?”

“Any other way would be blasphemy, and we are a good, goddess-fearing household.”

Roede nodded his agreement as he pulled out the ingredients one by one. He chopped the fruit with a lethal precision that would have been better put to use on Drest heathens. Maybe then he wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. The muscles in his arm twinged and throbbed with the effort, as if to remind him of his failures. He’d overdone it the night before - not just with his attempt at a theatrical entrance, but with twirling Emilia around the dance floor.

As always, he pushed through it. As he diced and whisked and fried, the radio droned on. It talked about an address Empress Rayna III had given the day before. Their miniature monarch had been as poised and elegant as Evalyse Herself. It talked about construction on the South Gate, assuring the people of Evalystine that this was routine maintenance. Nothing to be concerned about. Then there was a feel-good story about House Selma raising money to aid children orphaned by the war by selling the same overpriced chocolates they always sold. They could hardly be expected to use their own money for such a noble cause.

There was nothing about the Drest man. There was nothing about any Drest.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Lyssie said, spooning a lump of fluffy, golden eggs onto a ceramic plate. “Of course the powers that be would keep this quiet. Can you imagine the panic if the people found out that even one of those heathens had somehow gotten past our walls? That they were just casually strolling through the city?”

“If it were just any Drest, I’d agree with you, but this is different. The knight who was with the ma- heathen called him Your Highness.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. There’s only one Your Highness in Drest, the Hierophant’s only son. Divine Prince Luxia. If he really were in custody, it would be everywhere. It would be all over the news. It would be all anyone talks about. They would parade him around the city in chains, as a show of Ateri might.”

Lyssie sank into one of the little metal chairs with a frown on her pretty face. “Wait, back up. How would the knights capture the Divine Prince in the first place? I thought the Hierophant was keeping him safe inside his palace. It might be true that the Drest can’t breach our walls, but we’ve never been able to set foot in Adom, either.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It doesn’t make any sense. If I didn’t know any better..” Roede stopped, unable to finish the thought in all its absurdity.

“If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was invited in. That he traveled here of his own volition, is that right?”

“What? No. I would never suggest something so blasphemous.”

“Of course not.” Lyssie raised her coffee mug, which was the same color as her nightgown, with a demure smile. “Anyway, since they’re obviously not going to talk about your Drest, can I have my music back?”

“He’s not my Drest,” Roede said, but flicked the dial to another station.

Lyssie gave him a long, appraising look. It was as though she were seeing not just his exterior, but everything inside him - thoughts and internal organs alike. A smug, catlike smile broke out on her face.

“Is that right? Then, do you want to tell me again about how black his eyes were?”

“No,” Roede said, suddenly defensive. “Why would I?”

“Why indeed? Relax, I’m just teasing. You should hurry up and eat before it gets cold. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Roede hadn’t thought it took much to hold a wedding. All you needed was a bride, a groom, some witnesses and a priestess. It sounded simple enough. He should have known that nothing could be that easy, where Lady Adeline was concerned. She’d taken the liberty of setting a date for them in the spring, which was supposed to be good luck or something, but that wasn’t half of what needed to be done. There were venues to tour and cakes to taste and invitations to be made.

“I don’t know why I have to be there,” Roede said, scooping up the now-lukewarm eggs. “It’s not like it matters what kind of tablecloths or flower arrangements I like. Lady Adeline is just gonna do whatever she wants, anyway.”

“I’m given to understand that ignoring the groom is just part of the planning process.”

“Lovely.”

“Don’t forget to take your medicine before you leave. Did you think I didn’t notice you wincing? You strained yourself last night, didn’t you? Honestly, I ought to wring Lady Adeline’s saggy little neck for not considering your injury.” She twitched her fingers, as if to do just that. “You simply must dance with Emilia, my ass.”

“Lyssie!”

“I’m right and you know it.”

Before any other violent impulses could come over her, Roede fished the ominously brown bottle out of the cabinet. As directed, he took only one spoonful and chased the taste away with a cup of tea. It didn’t help nearly as much as he pretended it did.

Lyssie still didn’t look pleased. She scowled at the little bottle as if it had offended their ancestors. “They should have given you something stronger.”

“We’ve been over this already. The healers did everything they could.”

“I don’t buy that, and you shouldn’t, either,” Lyssie said. “I suppose I should be glad that they can’t send you into battle again, but it makes my blood boil, thinking about how they could have fixed you."

“I’m not broken,” Roede said, though that wasn’t entirely true. He was in one piece, no thanks to the Drest, but he wasn’t whole, either. Not like he’d been before.

“You know what I mean. You don’t have to be in pain everyday. You shouldn’t have to live like this. They could have healed you, but they just tossed you to the side as soon as it was convenient to do so.”

“The situation didn’t call for it.”

“Bullshit! You could have died, and no one cared enough to do more than sew you up and send you home.”

“Lyssie-“

He didn’t have a good argument for that, but he was spared from making one, by a cheerfully ominous chiming sound. The doorbell. Thank the goddess for Lady Adeline.

“She’s early,” Lyssie said with a huff. “No, you sit down. I’ll get it. She can at least wait for you to finish breakfast.”

Lyssie hopped out of her chair, grumbling to herself about certain people having no respect for anyone else’s time. She marched through the arched doorway, like a soldier going to war for his honor.

Roede suppressed a fond smile by shoving a spoonful of egg and pepper into his mouth. It had gone cold, but he couldn’t be bothered to reheat it. Goddess help them all if Lady Adeline was kept waiting too long. As he ate, voices drifted into the kitchen - quiet at first, but growing louder by the second.

“I don’t care who you are,” Lyssie yelled, as though trying to be heard from Drest. “You can’t have my brother.”

Surely, she wasn’t yelling at Lady Adeline like that. She knew better by now, or so he hoped. He set his half-eaten breakfast aside, and stepped into the entrance, intent on rescuing his future mother-in-law from Lyssie’s misplaced aggression.

The entryway, if it could be called such, was a narrow corridor almost completely taken over by a set of stairs. On one side was the doorway to the kitchen, and on the other, an identical doorway to their sitting room. Lyssie stood in front of the outside door, face flushed from what he suspected was more than the cool autumn air, as she argued with a girl in a red-trimmed white dress.

Roede’s heart sank. What could the church possibly want with him? Their healers had already patched him up, and sent him on his way. He wasn’t expected to appear for any sort of follow-up. And okay, he and Lyssie weren’t great about attending service, but it had never been a problem before, unless...

Unless what? Roede couldn’t understand the feeling of dread that washed over him. Like he, specifically, was in trouble. Like the girl could see right through him, revealing his sins to the world, and to Evalyse Herself.

The girl was not looking at him. She was casting Lyssie a skeptical look. “I thought you said Sir Halene wasn’t home.”

“As far as you’re concerned, he’s not.”

“Lyssie, don’t be like that,” Roede said. “If there is something I can do for the church, I would be honored to.”

No matter what the pit in his stomach said, he hadn’t committed any crimes, and his sins were all the normal ones that came with being a living, breathing human. He didn’t have anything to hide.

“Fuck that,” Lyssie said, folding her chubby little arms across her chest. “You of all people should know that Roede was already injured in the line of duty.”

“Lyssie-“

“Don’t you Lyssie me. You almost died for these people, and their stupid war that we can’t fucking win. And before anyone gives me that spiel about the might of our goddess, save it. If we could have destroyed the Drest, we would have done so, instead of being locked in a goddess-forsaken stalemate for hundreds of years. You don’t owe them anything.”

“Elyssa!”

The use of her full name brought Lyssie up short. Her chest was heaving as though she’d run laps around the city, instead of going on a blasphemous tirade on their doorstep in her night clothes.

“You’re making a scene,” Roede said. “I appreciate that you’re concerned about me, but you need to stop. Life isn’t always about what you want. Sometimes, it’s what needs to be done.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that. I only care about you. You could stand to worry about yourself, too, every once in a while. What good is doing what you need to, if it makes you miserable? If it kills you?”

“It is an honor to die in service to the goddess.”

It’s the expected answer, and it rolls off his tongue before his brain can form the words. The words taste as sour as ever, like sucking on a lemon.

“Fine!” Lyssie snapped. “Do what must be done. Ruin your life, and get yourself killed. See what good their honor does you, when you’re cold and dead in the family tomb.”

She turned on her heel, and stomped up the stairs, in a whirlwind of black curls and teenage petulance. A moment later, her bedroom door slammed closed.

“She doesn’t mean that,” Roede said to the girl in white. It wasn’t true, but he had to salvage the situation before they dragged Lyssie to the church, too. Whatever they wanted with him, it had to be better than what they did to heretics.

“Don’t worry about it. The goddess tests us all from time to time, and Lady Halene is still young. A little rebellion is to be expected.” The girl said, though she couldn’t have been older than Lyssie.

“Yes. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I can’t explain here. Please, follow me to The Church of Our Lady Life.”