By The Blood of The Omega のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

AzizaI was dressed in the cold and heavy silk of the black tunic, wet and sticking to my ribs and leaving a trail of water in the grooves of the floorboards on the polished wood of the hall beyond the doorway of his room. Stray tendrils of hair from my pins had sprung loose and flattened to the back of my neck, and my toes caught in a raised sliver of the wood as I staggered into Rhydian's room. He didn't speak; he merely glanced up briefly to my face, then shifted his stance, gesturing. My knees didn't bend well and so I fell to the edge of the bed long before I got to the washstand beside it, my thigh connecting with the frame a heavy blow and my hands flung up to the hollows of my eyes as I pressed them, hard, until black, then blood red. Then the noises came from my own throat—a thick, gasping, hiccuping sob catching in your ribs so hard you can't catch your breath. I had been building up to them since the edge of the pool, since the scrape of the wet gravel under my boots, since

AZIZAI’d run into them in the admin corridor.Rhydian and Bram, striding side-by-side in the direction of the council chamber, still in their morning formal wear coats. Bram had his cup. He always had his cup. I had started to assume it was physically attached to his person surgically.I’d stopped dead and ducked my head. “My lords.” I’d then been forced to pause for the two of them. “Your Highness.”Bram had beamed—his face lit up in genuine warmth. “Ana.” He’d inspected me with the amiable interest with which he was forever inspecting me. A general sort of interest that implied you were rather a curious phenomenon for his inspection, but a pleasant enough one. “How are you settling in? Finding the eastern wing agreeable?”“It is very agreeable, my lord. Thank you.”“Good, good.” He’d turned the cup in his hands. “You know, I’ve been thinking about your position.” As all his thoughts were—casual . “You were the admin coordinator before all of this.” He’d waved at the corridor in

ANAMy boots crunched on a shard of glass before I even reached the center of the room.Vessa did not look down.Her fingers were dug into the hem of my grey wool gown, the one with the slight tear near the pocket that Sena had promised to mend after the midday meal. She gave it a hard yank. The fabric tore with a dry, screeching sound that went right through my ears. She threw the pieces down on top of the pile of shifts and stockings already carpeting the stone."Vessa, let go of that," Rhydian said.His voice didn't rise, but he took two long strides into the room, his hand reaching for her forearm. He missed her wrist as she twisted away, catching the edge of her loose sleeve instead. The silk strained.Vessa jerked herself backward, her heel catching on the overturned leg of the writing desk. She stumbled, her hip hitting the wall before she straightened herself. Her breath came out in short, rattling puffs, her hair falling out of its pins and sticking to the sweat on her cheeks

ANAMy fingers remained on the wooden notches of the calendar board by the washstand. The little bone peg sat in the third hole past the full moon marker, right where I had left it three mornings ago when I first started counting the days on my knuckles. The moon pool in the lower garden had already gone dark and filled again since the last time Sena had to carry the stained cloths down to the laundry tubs. My stomach gave a small, greasy lurch, the smell of the mutton fat from the breakfast trenchers rising up from my apron.Sena sat by the larger cedar chest, her teeth tugging on a length of coarse grey thread while she mended the hem of my wool gown. She didn't look up when I pulled my hand away from the board, but her needle stopped mid-stitch, the iron point catching the grey light from the high window."The herb woman from the south gatehouse came by with the dried tansy while you were in the clerk’s office," Sena said. She tucked the needle into her bodice, her palms smoothing

RHYDIANThe white mare had arrived through the front gates at dawn, her grey flanks rubbed down with sweet oils and silver ribbons braided into her mane. The little brass bells tied around her harness kept clicking together every time she shifted her weight on the cobbles. Below my window, the lower garrison boys had been polishing tack that was already clean since the first bell sounded, their brushes making a dry scraping sound while Bram walked past the stables with his fingers hooked into his ceremonial belt.The blessing ceremony was older than Ironfang itself, older than the five southern septs that currently sent their tribute-grain to our vaults. A pregnant Luna was meant to ride the mare once around the inner perimeter while the guardsmen lined the wall to witness the bloodline. Afterwards, Alpha Bram would speak the winter names over the child, the priestesses would dump the hyssop water over the mare's hocks, and the clerk would register the birth-date in the iron-bound led