Her lips parted. Her parched throat scraped out a faint, breathy sound. "Rhen... it wasn't her."
Her voice was too hoarse. It sank into the uproar, and no one heard it.
"Under Article Seven of the Southern Alliance Defense Pact," Rhen said. He raised his right hand. His sleeve slid back, revealing a dagger-shaped seal that glowed cold blue. "I hereby sever every blood-pact tie between me and Elena. From now on, we are strangers."
Blue light surged outward. A thunderclap cracked through the air.
The back of her neck burned, as if branded with hot iron. The bond buried deep in her bones was torn out by force. The backlash ripped through her nerves and slammed into her skull. Her vision went black. Elena's knees hit the stone floor hard. She coughed, and a mouthful of rust-tasting blood splattered at the edge of the carpet.
Cold sweat dripped down her chin. She clenched her teeth and made no sound. Her knees throbbed, going numb. She looked down. Her hem was smudged with dust. Was it from kneeling just now, or had it been there before she walked in? She couldn't tell.
On the dais, Rhen froze for a moment. As the pact tore apart, a dull pain struck his chest too. A coppery taste flooded his mouth. He frowned and forced the irritation back down. Hundreds of eyes were watching.
"Take her out," Rhen said.
He turned and pinned a sapphire brooch, engraved with a silver moon crest, onto Cecilia's chest. His fingers stilled against the fabric. Only now did he realize how thin Elena had looked, kneeling there. Thinner than three months ago. His grip tightened, just a little.
Two guards rushed forward. They seized Elena by the arms and hauled her up off the floor.
Elena wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. She looked up at the dais. She didn't beg. She didn't cry. As they dragged her out, the heel of her borrowed shoe caught in a seam of the carpet. She staggered half a step, then steadied herself. The shoes were borrowed from the laundry shop owner before she came. They'd never fit right.