V
Dark and Norwyn landed in a courtyard. The sky above was black, painted with orange flames from the vigil outside the palace walls. The crowd was singing hymns now, their voices swelling with each new verse. The smell of wax was still thick in the air.
The courtyard was bare compared to the gardens—mostly dirt, dead grass, and matted clumps of clover. The palace’s bone walls reflected against the grass, adding to the desolate feel.
That was another aspect of his parents’ design: everything outside had the appearance of being dead—to instill respect and fear. Dark had no intentions of changing that anytime soon.
“She’s right, you know,” Norwyn said.
Tessa’s words were on Dark’s mind, but he didn’t want to think about them.
“Not you, too, Norwyn.”
“It’s what they would want,” Norwyn
