“Don’t you dare,” Lina seethed. “This is your choice, not mine.” She stormed down the hall, throwing over her shoulder, “I hope you’re very happy in the East, where you belong, Briata Catullus.”

Bri’s heart sank with each step until the last wisp of bronze fabric disappeared around the bend. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, trying to force down the rising tide that roiled within her, but she couldn’t. She blustered to the door of her room, needing to get inside before her heart exploded.

Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

She slammed the door behind her, storming to the far wall and punching her fist straight into the stone. Her knuckles screamed in pain but she didn’t care, slamming them into the wall again and again.

A burning wave radiated from her chest, searing her from the inside. Bri ground her teeth together so hard she thought one might crack as she wailed her other fist against the wall. She painted the stone red. How had she fucked this up so badly? How had she gotten so lost in someone else?

Her skin shredded away, and blood slickened the stone wall as she shattered the delicate bones in her hand. She didn’t care if she could never use it again. Nothing mattered. Talhan was right. She should have never gone to the West.

Bri faintly heard the door open but she didn’t stop until Carys grabbed her. The second her friend’s arms were around her, she crumbled, tears streaming down her cheeks as a shuddering sob escaped her lips. She buried her head in Carys’s shoulder, clenching the back of her friend’s dress in her bloodied fists.

Her knees buckled and Carys guided her down to the floor, holding Bri’s head against her. Carys murmured words into her tunic that she couldn’t hear over the roaring waves of pain, as if her very soul were screaming.

Carys held her so tightly, the heavy pressure of her muscled arms the only thing keeping Bri from falling into the gaping pit within herself. Her friend seemed to know, pulling her tighter still, letting her know she wouldn’t let go. Her tunic was wet—tears, saliva, snot—there was nothing glamorous or poetic about the violent storm raging within her, purging her soul of the rancorous sorrow.

Lina was gone.

And it was her fault.

Those two torturous thoughts rolled over and over through her mind. She deserved every ounce of the pain that crushed her now.