My stunned gaze snapped to Max. Why would the Queen—?
“Step forward, Maxantarius.”
He muttered a string of curse words beneath his breath. Then he released my shoulder and turned, pushing through the front of the crowd. I watched him with my heart lingering at the base of my throat, unable to shake the feeling that a dangerous shadow loomed over us.
It was only as I watched him approach the steps that I noticed Nura standing near the bottom of the stairs, hands behind her back. Beside her stood several other members of the Orders, each bearing the insignias of the Orders of Midnight or Daybreak.
I saw only the smallest hint of surprise glimmer across Nura’s face.
The Queen smiled at Max. “I remember you. I have very good memory, you know.”
Gods, she was such a child.
Max offered no response. I watched the stiff line of his back, shoulders square with his hands clasped in front of him.
“Do you know who this is, Lord Savoi?” the Queen asked.
“I— I do not, my Queen.” The man peered over his shoulder. “I am familiar with the Farlione name, but—”
“Maxantarius Farlione is nearly solely responsible for the end of the Great Ryvenai War. Specifically, our victory at the city of Sarlazai.”
No one made a sound, but the emotional response that tore through the air was so explosive that for one moment I forgot to breathe — as if I was being ripped in two, torn between stunned admiration and acidic revulsion. I clenched every muscle to keep myself upright.
I could have sworn I saw Max’s shoulders shudder.
The Queen gazed down at him admiringly for a moment, and I recognized the look on her face, that adoring doe-eyed smile that I had practiced in the mirror many times at her age. Then, it soured. “You were invited to the Palace to be honored after the end of the war. But you didn’t come.”
“You were only six years old then, my Queen. I thought it would likely be past your bedtime.”
A collective gasp. Mine joined it.
Stupid. Stupid. In Threll, such blatant disrespect could cost a man his life.
The remnants of the smile withered at the corners of the Queen’s mouth.
“You will address our Queen with respect,” one of the eyeless guards barked, her fingers tightening around that spear.
I vividly remembered the sound of Serel’s blade piercing Esmaris’s chest and my blood turned to ice, imagining that same wet crunch as the spear impaled Max —
I desperately, so desperately, wanted to grab him and yank him back into the crowd.
Max’s face turned just enough for me to see the edge of his profile over his shoulder.
“I was merely providing an explanation,” he said to the Queen, who frowned. Then she looked at the Valtain, who stared back at Max with a furrowed brow.
“Don’t even think about it, Tare,” Max hissed. But the wrinkle on the Valtain’s forehead only deepened, and Max’s fingers tightened at his temple.
When the Valtain glanced at the Queen and nodded, she released a visible breath.
“You only have lenience,” she said, her voice wavering, “because of all you sacrificed for my father.” Then, addressing Lord Savoi, who still knelt on the steps, “Do you wish to look into the eyes of such sacrifice and lie to him as well, Lord Savoi? You must have heard about the fate of the Farlione family. After everything he did for this country, he lost his kin to traitors like you, just as I did.”
It took me a moment to fully process her words. When I did, my heart clenched.
Lord Savoi looked down at Max. “I do not lie,” he said, pleadingly.
Queen Sesri turned back to the Valtain, who shook his head with a stony expression.
Her delicate hand curled into a fist. “You do lie. Why?
After what such lies have taken from me? From heroes like Captain Farlione—”
“Firstly, I’m not Captain anything anymore.” Max’s furious voice cut through hers. “I am no longer a member of the military. And secondly—”
The girl’s face went blank, stunned. “You will not—”
“Secondly, my Queen,” he spat, “what happened to my family was a tragedy, not a political statement. And this is not what they or your father died for. He would be ashamed to see you using his death to justify this circus.”
For a brief moment, I was certain I was about to witness Max’s death.
That is, until Nura darted from her spot on the sidelines, sliding in front of Max and dropping to her knees. “Please, forgive him, my Queen. The things he witnessed and lost during the war still linger, and his mind has never been the same. He does not know what he says.”
I could only imagine the look on Max’s face at that implication.
“I know exactly what I say,” Max snarled.
“The insane always think they do,” Nura said to the Queen, ignoring him.
“I know exactly what I say, and I will face the consequences if necessary.”
The challenge in his statement was clear, even without my particular talents.
Nura looked at Max as if he were truly mad, and frankly, I was beginning to wonder too.
The hooded guards’ bodies shifted in small, lethal movements, like coiled cats.
The Queen’s lips were pressed tight, her doll-like eyes shimmering, fists trembling at her sides. For the first time, her Valtain companion moved. He stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.
As if to silently say, *Don’t.*
But she looked only at Max. “You cannot speak to me that way. I am the Queen. My father would be proud of what I’ve done to avenge him.”
“Your father would—”
“Enough! You—”
The Valtain’s hand tightened on her shoulder. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, then stepped back, leaving Queen Sesri standing there with her chest heaving, a fierce internal struggle warring across her face.
“I know you saved my father’s life,” she said at last. “So in his memory, I grant you mercy, once.”
I choked on a strangled breath. But the Queen wasn’t finished.
She whirled around, lips curling into a furious sneer. “But you.” She pointed at Lord Savoi, who still knelt on the steps. “You are a liar. You are a traitor. And I will not repeat my father’s mistakes.”
“Please, my Queen—” Lord Savoi touched his forehead to the stone ground, his entire body shaking. As I looked at him, terror that didn’t belong to me flooded my veins. My vision began to blur.
“I know you lie. I know you conspire.”
“I do not—”
“I know you do!” Tears slid down her cheeks. “I am young, but I am not naive, and I am not weak.”
“Please—” Max jolted forward, hand outstretched.
But then, so swiftly that it felt like time had skipped—
Two hooded guards drove their spears through the cowering man’s back.
The world fell silent as his blood spilled over the Palace’s golden steps, dripping down in syrupy cascades. It pooled around Max’s feet.
One of the guards used her boot to push Lord Savoi’s twitching body off her spear, kicking it down the stairs.
“Let this be proof,” the Queen said, though I doubt anyone heard her. We all stood in silence as she, her soldiers, and her Valtain ascended the steps, her long blush gown trailing behind her.
As soon as they vanished behind the gates, I leapt to Max, who stood still as he watched the blood soak into the soles of his boots. I felt it seeping through mine, too. Still warm.
Like Esmaris’s had been. Like mine had been.
Before I could speak, Nura spun to us, fire glinting in her colorless eyes.
“If you want to die so badly,” she spat, “hang yourself like every other sorry bastard. I won’t put myself in that position to save you again.”
I was surprised by how quickly a barbed retort sprang to my lips. I had to catch it, reminding myself that I needed Nura’s favor.
Max hardly reacted. “You’re right, Nura,” he said flatly. “It must be hard to be so fucking selfless.”
His hand slipped into his pocket and retrieved a piece of parchment, which he slowly unfolded.
Lord Savoi’s lifeless face, just a few steps away, stared somewhere over my right shoulder. Behind us, the crowd began to disperse.
“Max—” I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say. I had so many questions, but felt too ill to untangle them. All my energy drained into separating my own thoughts from the fog of others’.
Max’s gaze fell on me, and something in it twisted, a wrinkle of concern forming between his brows. “Let’s go home.”
He tore two vicious lines through the paper, and the world began to wither and dissolve around us. I clutched his arm, tightening my grip as I realized, with a start, that he was shaking. Or maybe it was me.
The gentle, melodic silence of the garden was almost eerie as we arrived back at the cottage. Max said nothing as we headed to the house. The world still spun, and I think he sensed that because he didn’t try to pull his arm away.
I wanted to ask if he was alright, but it was a stupid question—clearly, he wasn’t. I wasn’t sure if I was, either. So instead, I said, “You were right.”
Tired blue eyes shifted to me. “What?”
“The man with the parrot. Not the strangest thing.”
Max hissed an angry, humorless laugh, and we barely spoke again.
—
I had discarded my bloody boots and bathed several times, but that night, I still smelled nothing but death and saw nothing but that lifeless face pressed against the golden steps.
The sound had been exactly as I had imagined—flesh and bone.
Max’s history in the war was more than I had realized. And his family—
His family—
Now, some things made more sense. Max’s isolation. His cynicism. His bitterness. I knew how tragedy like that, no matter the circumstances, could so easily become a core piece of your being. Mine had. I just set it on fire and let it fuel me. It could just as easily have consumed me.
I slid out of bed and paced my room, peering out the window to watch the moonlight settle into the delicate folds of flowers. I looked at my hands, willing cool blue light to ripple from my fingertips. It folded into a butterfly before I even had to instruct it. Pretty. But too delicate, too fragile.
Whatever had happened in Sarlazai was polarizing. I had never felt such strong disgust. Such hatred. Whatever Max had done there had won the crown their war, yes. But it had come with a heavy price.
But then, that was the nature of war, wasn’t it? I barely remembered the worst of the Threllian Wars, but I knew that even Nyzrenese victories left many mourners. My most vivid memory from before the fall of the Nyzrenese senate was peering into my parents’ bedroom at night, seeing my mother weeping in the arms of an aunt or family friend I no longer remembered. I don’t even recall who had died. But above all, I remember my confusion.
That day had been full of celebrations—more food than we’d had for months, and the Strategasi himself climbing onto the capital balcony to speak of our valiant victory over the Threllian armies, to praise our honor and hope, to assure us that peace and victory were imminent. I was five years old—excited to drink milk, to eat pies baked with real sugar. I didn’t notice my mother’s silence or her forced smiles. And that night, as I watched her cry, I didn’t understand.
We had won, the Strategasi had said. Weren’t we supposed to be happy?
I was too young to know the truth
