Malice thrived on it, too.
Humans were destroying themselves. And Salvation.
Now that the Ivaslander was dead, his body swinging on the rope as people continued to throw rocks at him, the mood was shifting. More and more cried out for Fortuin blood, and those with means announced they would ride to Solcast tonight. They didn’t want answers; they wanted revolution.
Nightrender stood there, staring out at the mob of angry townspeople, disappointment growing thicker every second. The magistrate had left the platform, having declared he would demand the royal family answer for this, and even Lieutenant Farr was nowhere to be seen. The mob was moving, everyone piling supplies into carts and gathering up every sharp object they could find, and soon they began to leave Silver Sun.
Then it was just Nightrender, the body, and the few who weren’t able to march on Solcast.
Regret settled in her stomach. She shouldn’t have spoken. She shouldn’t have confirmed that Princess Johanne had been involved. She’d broken her own code.
The town square was quiet now, littered with papers and footprints and stones, so there was no one to complain as Nightrender cut the prisoner down from the noose and lay out his body. There was no one to see as she set him and the gallows on fire; it was possible that he’d been contaminated by malice during his exposure.
By the time the fire went out, night had fallen and there was nothing left but ash.
“Nightrender?” It was the young soldier from this morning—the one who’d asked if they’d be able to bury the bodies from the mine. He was still here?
“The fire in the mine has burned out,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied, even though she hadn’t technically asked a question.
“Tell me where Farr is.”
“He’s gone with the others to Solcast.”
That was disappointing. She’d hoped he would be a voice of reason.
“Are you all right?” the soldier asked.
“I…” She wasn’t sure what she’d been about to say, but it didn’t matter. On the eastern horizon, the sky changed.
For as long as anyone could remember, the view from Silver Sun had looked the same, comforting in its way. But now, for the first time in four hundred years, the Malstop flickered out and in.
Out and in.
The Malstop was failing.
EXCERPT FROM NADINE HOLT’S DIARY, DECIPHERED FROM EMBRIAN MICRO-CODE
The coronation was beautiful.
It was a small ceremony, but we have been assured another—far more grand—celebration is in the future, just on the other side of this war. For now, it was an intimate, elegant ceremony, consisting of the Crown Council, the queen mother, and Princesses Sanctuary and Unity—as well as a select few from the Embrian side, thanks to the alliance.
I do think it was the first time in centuries that a (future) monarch of one kingdom has attended the coronation of another. How very historical. How fitting that it was Hanne who would bridge this chasm.
While Rune did look particularly handsome today—dressed in his best black brocade, his hair neatly combed, and obsidian flashing in the light every time he moved—Hanne, of course, outshone him. She outshone everyone. She wore brilliant sapphire, with sky and aqua accents, and a golden trim that one could not help but link back to that perfect wedding gown she wore only yesterday. And, of course, she wore the black crown. (Speaking of the crown, I could not help but notice the way the Nightrender reacted when she saw it, as Hanne walked into the temple. I don’t know what, exactly, the reaction was, but the fact that she had a reaction at all is probably significant.)
At any rate, Rune knelt before the grand priest. The priest said a few words—something about honor, duty, and strength—which Rune repeated, and then the priest placed King Opus’s crown onto Rune’s head. Then everyone clapped, and Rune was officially king.
I did note that Duchess Wintersoft did not look as pleased about the continuity of the monarchy as others did. Indeed, I think she even leaned toward Princess Sanctuary and whispered something in the shape of, “This should be you.” The princess, to her credit, frowned at that. Charity should have been subtler. Nevertheless, she’s clearly identified herself as an adversary not only to Rune—but to Hanne as well. Sabine and I will have to keep an eye on her.
It is a shame that King Opus was killed so quickly after the wedding—before we were ready—and we will have to work hard to ensure Hanne’s name is unsullied by assumptions. Indeed, she even attempted to delay being named queen consort—for the sake of appearances—but Rune insisted. The kingdom needed them united in title, as well as everything else.
And so, our conquest of Salvation is well underway.
36.
HANNE
“There you are,” Rune said, coming out to stand beside her.
Hanne had been staring at the Malstop for almost an hour now. The putrid stench of malice filled the air, but the barrier in the center of Salvation hadn’t blinked out again—not since earlier, when she’d been changing clothes and caught the flicker from the corner of her eye.
Forget the Malstop, Tuluna murmured. You have peace to forge.
Hanne wanted to forget it—wanted to follow her Numen’s instructions—but even now, with the Malstop shimmering whole in the distance, she couldn’t fight the shudder that worked through her. The reek of malice. The horror of the Dark Shard.
Haven’t I promised that no harm will come to you? An Incursion cannot hurt you.
“I know it’s difficult to look away.” Rune rested his hands on the balustrade before them.
“Not so hard when my new husband is right here.” Hanne flashed a smile at him, but Rune’s gaze was now focused on the Malstop, as though his attention alone held it together. “Let’s go inside. Tomorrow will be your first full day as king, and you’ll be leading armies off to war. You should be rested.”
Rune frowned. “I should take the armies into the Malice with the Nightrender.”
“Has she even returned?” Hanne glanced over her shoulder, as if the Nightrender might be standing behind them right now. But they were alone.
“Not yet.” Rune’s eyes were hard. “Do those towers look different to you?”
Hanne followed the direction of his glare. There, around the Malstop, were long-abandoned guard towers. They were bent a little more than they had been earlier. Almost as though they’d tried to run away from the nightmare they’d watched over for thousands of years.
“I think they’re the same.” Hanne rubbed her thumb over the scratch she’d taken from the onyx cat, shortly before she’d become trapped in the malsite. It was a scar now, a soft ridge. “Of course,” she went on, “I’ve only been here a few days. I don’t know what the towers usually look like. Do you think they look different?”