A Court of Wings and Ruin

The chaos and screaming woke the estate. I remained in my room, guards beneath my windows and outside my door. Tamlin himself, blood-drenched and panting, came to inform me that the grounds were again secure. That the naga had been found with the keys to the gate, and the sentry who had lost them would be dealt with in the morning. A freak accident, a final show of power from a tribe that had not gone gently after Amarantha’s reign.

All of us saved from further harm by Ianthe.

We all gathered outside the barracks the next morning, Lucien’s face pallid and drawn, purple smudges beneath his glazed eyes. He hadn’t returned to his room last night.

Beside me, the Hybern royals and Jurian were silent and grim as Tamlin paced before the sentry strung up between two posts.

“You were entrusted with guarding this estate and its people,” Tamlin said to the shuddering male, already stripped down to his pants. “You were found not only asleep at the gate last night, but it was your set of keys that originally went missing.” Tamlin snarled softly. “Do you deny this?”

“I—I never fall asleep. It’s never happened until now. I must have just nodded off for a minute or two,” the sentry stammered, the ropes restraining him groaning as he strained against them.

“You jeopardized the lives of everyone in this manor.”

And it could not go unpunished. Not with the Hybern royals here, seeking any sign of weakness.

Tamlin held out a hand. Bron, stone-faced, approached to give him a whip.

All the sentries, his most trusted warriors, shifted about. Some outright glaring at Tamlin, some trying not to watch what was about to unfold.

I grabbed Lucien’s hand. It wasn’t entirely for show.

Ianthe stepped forward, hands folded over her stomach. “Twenty lashes. And one more, for the Cauldron’s forgiveness.”

The guards turned baleful eyes toward her now.

Tamlin unfurled the whip onto the dirt.

I made my move. Slid my power into the bound sentry’s mind and freed the memory I’d coiled up tightly in his head—freed his tongue, too.

“It was her,” he panted, jerking his chin to Ianthe. “She took the keys.”

Tamlin blinked—and everyone in that courtyard looked right to Ianthe.

Her face didn’t so much as flinch at the accusation—the truth he’d flung her way.

I’d been waiting to see how she’d counter my showing of power at the solstice, tracking her movements that entire day and night. Within moments of my leaving the party she’d gone to the barracks, used some glimmer of power to lull him to sleep, and taken his keys. Then planted her warnings about the naga’s impending attacks … after she gave the creatures the keys to the gates.

So she could sound the alarm last night. So she could save us from a real threat.

Clever idea—had it not played right into everything I’d laid out.

Ianthe said smoothly, “Why should I take the keys? I warned you of the attack.”

“You were at the barracks—I saw you that night,” the sentry insisted, then turned pleading eyes to Tamlin. It wasn’t fear of pain that propelled him, I realized. No, the lashings would have been deserved and earned and borne well. It was the fear of honor lost.

“I would have thought one of your sentries, Tamlin, would have more dignity than to spread lies to spare himself from some fleeting pain.” Ianthe’s face remained serene as always.

Tamlin, to his credit, studied the sentry for a long moment.

I stepped forward. “I will hear his story.”

Some of the guards loosed sighs. Some looked at me with pity and affection.

Ianthe lifted her chin. “With all due respect, milady, it is not your judgment to make.”

And there it was. The attempt to knock me down a few pegs.

Just because it would make her see red, I ignored her completely and said to the sentry, “I will hear your story.”

I kept my focus on him, even as I counted my breaths, even as I prayed that Ianthe would take the bait—

“You’ll take the word of a sentry over that of a High Priestess?”

My disgust at her blurted words wasn’t entirely feigned—even though hiding my faint smile was an effort. The guards shifted on their feet at the insult, the tone. Even if they had not already trusted their fellow sentry, from her words alone, they realized her guilt.

I looked to Tamlin then—saw his eyes sharpen as well. With understanding. Too many protests from Ianthe.

Oh, he was well aware that Ianthe had perhaps planned that naga attack to reclaim some shred of power and influence—as a savior of these people.

Tamlin’s mouth tightened in disapproval.

I’d given them both a length of rope. I supposed now would be the moment to see whether they’d hang themselves with it.

I dared one more step forward, upturning my palms to Tamlin. “Perhaps it was a mistake. Don’t take it from his hide—or his honor. Let’s hear him out.”

Tamlin’s eyes softened a fraction. He remained silent—considering.

But behind me, Brannagh snorted.

“Pathetic,” she murmured, though everyone could hear it.

Weak. Vulnerable. Ripe for conquest. I saw the words slam through Tamlin’s face, as if they were shutting doors in their wake.

There was no other interpretation—not for Tamlin.

But Ianthe assessed me, standing before the crowd, the influence I’d made so very clear I was capable of stealing. If she admitted guilt … whatever she had left would come crumbling down.

Tamlin opened his mouth, but Ianthe cut him off. “There are laws to be obeyed,” she told me, gently enough that I wanted to drag my nails down her face. “Traditions. He has broken our trust, has let our blood be spilled for his carelessness. Now he seeks to accuse a High Priestess of his failings. It cannot go unpunished.” She nodded to Tamlin. “Twenty-one lashes, High Lord.”

I glanced between them, my mouth going dry. “Please. Just listen to him.”

The guard hanging between the posts had such hope and gratitude in his eyes.

In this … in this, my revenge edged toward something oily, something foreign and queasy. He would heal from the pain, but the blow to his honor … It’d take a little piece out of mine as well.

Tamlin stared at me, then Ianthe. Then glanced to the smirking Hybern royals—to Jurian, who crossed his arms, his face unreadable.