Her days were full of Edlyn. She knew that it would only make things harder, but staying away was impossible. They talked about the lives they had led before Madlin's death. It was cathartic for Rayne to remember those better times that had been forbidden when she was in Shade. But they both avoided everything that came after—Madlin's death or the five years that separated it from the present. It was as if their memories held a blank, Madlin-shaped void that neither of them dared to fill.
Though her time with Edlyn brought her close to Prince Danyll many times, Tierri was conspicuously absent since his admission to her. She could only assume it was for the same reason that she didn’t want to be seen near the sorrow tree—the less association with her, the better. She hoped it wasn’t more than that. There had been a strained silence between them after she learned his surname, and it had morphed into her apologizing meekly and him waving her off as if the fact that her family had annihilated his meant absolutely nothing.
Edlyn told Rayne about how he and his family had been discovered hiding on their estate, which had been presumed abandoned. His grandfather was the Malstrom king's brother and Captain of the king's guard, and his execution—as well as those of Tierri's parents, high ranking Malstrom nobility—had been public displays of power. But Tierri and his sister hadn't been so lucky as to die. Tierri's little sister had been sent to a brothel in the Far Lands in exchange for an exorbitant sum, and Tierri—whose elemental powers far exceeded any of those currently in the Hail army—was bound and given as a dowry to the Ashsky prince, who had been extorting that power ever since.
“He collects them,” Edlyn had told her, her voice low as they bent over a game of chess. Danyll was across the room with a book open in his lap, his head drooping in sleep. The fact that he was relaxing his guard gave Rayne a bit more confidence. Edlyn glanced at him with an affectionate half-smile that Rayne had a hard time imagining could ever be directed at the Danyll she knew.
“Collects what?” Rayne asked.
“Wielders.” Edlyn moved one of her white pieces forward two spaces. Rayne jumped her knight and claimed it. “You wouldn’t believe how many sources of power he has. But Tierri is the strongest of them all.”
“Did he not have magic of his own?”
Edlyn’s eyes slid sideways and then her voice dropped even lower. “He’s a mediocre spellwielder at best. But having elemental wielders bound to him…I once saw him suffocate a man without lifting a finger, stole the air right out of his lungs.” She squeezed her fist as if in demonstration.
Rayne swallowed nervously, then thought of Tierri, who had used his power over the wind to fill sails. She remembered the breeze on her skin like gentle fingers. “And you love him still?” she asked.
Edlyn moved another pawn and Rayne saw her plan. She thought Rayne would move to take the pawn as she had done before and leave her king open for slaughter. Was she that predictable? That aggressive? “Love,” Edlyn quipped, her eyes on the board, giving away nothing. “Human connections are so limited here, behind my closed door. Certainly, I admire him for bettering himself in preparation to rule this country. I appreciate him for dedicating his life to my protection. How do I know if it’s love or not?”
Rayne shrugged helplessly. How did any of them know? Could she blame her sister for finding comfort in the embrace of the only man who was allowed near her? Merek had wanted Rayne, and that had been enough for her. He made her feel like she belonged, and that was what she’d always wanted. Edlyn felt safe with Danyll, protected by his greedy sort of magic, and it satisfied her need for a human connection. But a part of her felt a twinge of remorse, knowing that it would be the only idea of love that Edlyn would ever know.
Finally, on the third day, when Rayne had lost as many chess games as she could stomach, it snowed. From her window, she watched the southern lords scurry for shelter, acting as if they would melt at the touch of a snowflake. Today was not a day for chess, but a different kind of strategizing. She shrugged into her cloak and hurried to the gardens, emerging into an eerie silence. The sorrow tree was in the very back, where it tried to hide from notice but did a poor job, with its speckled red leaves and bleeding branches that brushed the ground.
Rayne moved toward it, weaving through bushes thick with sweet-smelling flowers coated in a fine white powder, beneath boughs of trees with thin trunks tied in knots around one another, their branches stretching over walkways. It was all so beautiful, but she only had eyes for the ancient tree and its promise of poison.
The branches bent heavy beneath the weight of the leaves, and she had to brush them aside, stepping into their canopy to hide from the snow. The white trunk was as wide around as several men, and where the bark was cracked, red sap pooled like blood. She felt instantly unsettled as the branches settled back into place behind her, hiding her in their circle. No wonder her ancestors had believed these trees to be closely associated with their gods; it felt like a million eyes were watching her. She reached up to pinch a leaf just as a voice broke the eerie silence.
“I haven't been able to cut it down.”
Rayne turned, searching for the speaker, and finally found him on the other side of the trunk. Her father wore a simple leather jerkin with a black cloak pinned at the shoulder by a crow-shaped broach, their family's sigil. The iron crown sat on his head in its usual spot. She dropped into a curtsy.
“Father,” she said by way of greeting. She had seen him only in passing since her arrival, and she excused his absence to herself—he was busy assembling an empire, after all. But a part of her heart leaped at finding him here, at finally, finally having his attention.
Her father's eyes flicked to her and then wandered up the tree's trunk, pausing on the branches overhead and the white sky beyond. “Your mother made me leave Dusk,” he said. “Did you know that? She hasn't spoken to me in years. When I first came here, I stood right here, in this very spot, and asked the old gods for help. Silly, isn't it? But I made a bargain with the savage gods, and here you are.”
“A bargain?” Rayne asked. Throughout her entire childhood, her father had never—not once—faltered in his beliefs. Enos was the one true god and he rewarded conquest. The more people a person controlled and the more land he held and the wider he spread Enos’s influence, the more honored he was in the next life. One person, one lost girl, wouldn't have mattered to Enos, not when her father controlled thousands. But she could see how maybe Interis, the goddess of fate, or Gjaldos, the god of redemption, might find it a worthy cause. It was nearly impossible to imagine him kneeling before this tree, needing to believe in something bigger than himself.
“That is between the old gods and me,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and turning to Rayne.
“Does it perhaps have something to do with Edlyn and her confinement?” Rayne asked. She hadn’t yet thought about how to administer the poison and get away with her life. If she could convince him to loosen his hold on her sister, to bring her out into public, maybe she would stand a chance at shifting the blame off of her and onto a mysterious, unknown assassin.