Chapter 13

Only a few lines were visible. And she furrowed her brow in confusion as she read them once, twice, three times through.

Red rivulets run down his spine.

Her tears gouge canyons into her cheeks.

Black eyes watch, unceasing.

Unceasing.

Maya shuddered at the imagery. Was this… poetry? Did the princeling write dark, vivid poetry?

It felt wrong somehow to read this. She hadn’t known what he’d been doing, but she certainly hadn’t imagined him to be an artist. Could someone from the House of Shadows find art in their darkness?

It made her feel a little sick.

She snapped her fingers, and a small flame appeared in her hand. She cupped the remaining page. The fire burned it down to ashes. As if it had never been.

“Maya,” Mistress Cressida said.

She whipped around as if she had been doing something wrong. “Yes?”

“Fordham passed through to the tournament. I am going to escort him. He is the last. You can return to the House of Dragons.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Mistress Cressida nodded at her and