Red Hood's Revenge (42 page)

T
ALIA AND DANIELLE FOLLOWED LAKHIM to her scrying pool, a small pond lined in mother-of-pearl deep in the heart of the palace. The room was circular, as was traditional, but instead of a garden, Lakhim had decorated the room as garishly as the rest. Statues filled the room, along with tapestries and carpeting in colors so bright they could have been fairy- made. There they waited while Lakhim summoned her mage, a human, gray-haired and heavyset.

“I thought Siqlah prohibited human magic?” Talia asked.

“
I
rule Arathea.” The words were as sharp as any blade, rousing the wolf in Talia. “The church protests, but I remember what the fairies did. Do you?”

Talia snorted. “Is your pet mage the one who warned you of Zestan’s plan?”

“No.” Lakhim hesitated. “It was a priest of the fairy church, a naga, who first came to me. Zestan’s influence was strong, but there are still those who believe in their duty to ‘protect’ us.” She straightened. “I expect these coming years will see a schism within the church. I mean to encourage that split.”

“Good.” Turning the church against itself would weaken their power. “And the Kha’iida?”

Lakhim flicked her fingers. “They think themselves above my law. That they’re above those of us who live in the cities. Let them solve their own problems.”

Only Danielle’s presence stopped Talia from punching the Queen of Arathea in the face. “The Kha’iida are the reason you still have your crown.” She bared her teeth. “Their people have a term for those too ill-mannered to appreciate such a gift.”

“My patience grows thin,” Lakhim warned.

“And your words grow tiresome. If you had the courage to act, you’d have done so already.”

After that, she waited in silence as the mage contacted the raikhs of Arathea, until the rulers of every city waited to hear Talia acknowledge Lakhim as queen.

The ritual was ancient, unchanged for more than a thousand years. Talia repeated them in a flat tone, barely hearing her own voice. Her eyes were fixed on the carpeting at her feet. Though the water came all the way to the gold lip at the edge of the pool, not a drop spilled onto the rich blue-and-purple carpet.

And then it was over. Given how many generations Talia’s family had spent uniting Arathea under their rule, it took surprisingly little time for her to lose it all.

Talia stepped forward, peering into the water. She saw nothing but her own reflection, but she knew the raikhs were watching. She smiled. “Hello, Rajil. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you and your fairy friend.”

The water rippled and went still.

“You are a commoner now,” Lakhim said, clearly relishing her victory. “I’ll thank you to cease your threats against my raikhs.”

Talia shrugged. “Rajil plotted with Zestan against you. Maybe fortune will turn in my favor, and the two of you will end up killing each other.”

Lakhim sighed. “Rajil is not the only one to choose Zestan over her own kind.”

“Perhaps,” said Talia. “But Rajil is the one who enslaved a friend of mine.”

“I will deal with the raikhs.” Lakhim started to say more, and then her eyes widened. “Mutal, no!”

Talia could already hear the boy’s bare feet hitting the carpet as he ran through the room. She spun, and the blade that would have struck her back caught instead on her cape. Talia slapped his forearm, and the knife flew across the room. He cried out and backed away, clutching his arm. Talia stepped after him.

“Talia!” Danielle’s voice was sharp as Talia had ever heard it. Talia stopped, doing her best to slow her breathing. Her fists unclenched, and she gradually allowed herself to relax. She looked past Mutal to his brother, who was hiding in the doorway.

The mage grabbed Mutal, pulling him close. Stopping him from trying to attack her again, or protecting him from Talia? Lakhim clapped her hands, and both twins jumped.

“Away, both of you.” Lakhim’s voice cracked like a whip. “Get yourselves to your room and stay there until I decide what to do with two princes who would stab a woman in the back.”

“Wait.” Talia checked her side. The knife hadn’t even pierced the cape. She swallowed and took a step toward Mutal. “You know who I am.”

“You killed our father.” His voice was high- pitched, with only the faintest quaver.

“Yes.”

From the doorway, Mahatal said, “Grandmother told us you meant to kill our family and take our crown. She named you a liar, no better than the deev.”

Talia glanced at Lakhim, who raised her chin and returned Talia’s gaze. “You should learn you can’t always trust the gossip of old women.”

“Why did you kill him?” Mutal demanded.

Talia closed her eyes, searching for answers that would make sense to a child of eight. No matter what she told them of their father, of the slaughter of her own family, it wouldn’t change the emptiness. It wouldn’t heal their grief for a man they had never known. “Ask me again when you are both men,” she said at last. “I will tell you the truth, if you choose to hear it.”

“
Your
truth.” Mahatal spat. “You’re a filthy, lying—”

Mutal punched his brother on the arm. “Shut up! I want to know.”

“
You
shut up,” Mahatal shot back, but fell silent when Mutal raised his fist.

Talia’s vision blurred. She turned away, fighting back memories of her brothers squabbling in exactly the same tone. Taking a deep breath, Talia slid her hands into the sleeves of her robe and pulled out two knives.

Lakhim clapped her hands again, and guards appeared in the doorway, weapons drawn. They must have been waiting just outside. Lakhim didn’t trust Talia any more than Talia trusted her.

Talia knelt, flipping both knives so she held them by the blades. She extended the first to Mutal. “Your strike was slow and clumsy. When you attack, hold the blade flat to slide between the ribs.” She spun the knife and demonstrated against an imaginary foe. “At your height, the kidneys are a good target. The inside of the thigh is also good. A cut there can sever the artery.”

Mutal glanced at his grandmother, waiting for her approval before accepting the knife with his left hand. His fingers tightened around the hilt. He chewed his lower lip and looked up at Talia.

Talia’s mouth quirked. “Try it, and I’ll throw you into that pool.”

Danielle snorted.

“What is it?” Talia asked.

“I may not understand the language, but I know that tone.” Danielle smiled. “Who says you wouldn’t have made a good mother?”

Talia pushed that thought from her mind as she turned to Mahatal, offering him the second knife. “Don’t let fear stop you. When your brother attacks, your enemy’s attention will be on him. Use that distraction to strike. Twist the blade when you pull back, to break the suction and create a larger wound.”

Mahatal ignored the knife. “Is that how you murdered my father?”

Talia stood, returning the knife to its sheath. She couldn’t blame him for hating her. To the twins, their father had no doubt been the prince of the stories, the hero who rescued Sleeping Beauty from the hedge, only to be betrayed by the very princess he had saved.

“Why do you stand there?” Mahatal shouted to the guards. “She killed my father!”

“Mahatal, stop this,” said Lakhim.

He grabbed the mage’s arm. “Ullam, if you ever loved my father, you’ll strike her down with your magic.”

“
Enough
.” Lakhim’s thin fingers snatched Mahatal’s wrist. She dragged him through the doorway, passing him to one of the guards. “See that they remain in their room until I arrive.”

Mahatal stormed off, but Mutal turned back to Talia, turning the knife over in his hands. “You aren’t how I imagined you.” With those words, he followed his brother.

Talia stared after them, her stomach churning.

“Mahatal is a passionate child.” Lakhim stepped around to block the doorway, her message clear. Talia’s time with the twins was over. “Mutal’s temper is cold, but Mahatal’s burns like fairy fire.”

“Like their uncles,” Talia said, deliberately reminding Lakhim whose children these were. Lakhim’s face turned dark.

The scent of the boys’ nervous sweat hung in the air long after they had left. Talia inhaled deeply, then turned away from the queen. “I’m ready.”

Ullam and a half dozen guards escorted them back through the palace.

“You haven’t lost your family’s heritage, you know,” Danielle said softly. “You simply passed that heritage to your sons. Your bloodline will still rule Arathea once Lakhim is gone.”

Talia sighed. “I should thank you for what you did today. Ever since I fled Arathea, I’ve been waiting for Lakhim to find me. Watching the shadows and hoping when the day came that no one else would be caught up in the bloodshed.” She turned away. “I should thank you, but I can’t. Not yet.”

“I know,” said Danielle.

No more words were necessary. Talia glanced back only once, then did her best to push this place from her mind. Snow and Faziya were waiting, and she was ready to go back to Lorindar.

To go
home
.

 

Snow tugged her head scarf forward, trying to shade her eyes. Talia and Danielle seemed to be taking their sweet time. She had spied through Danielle’s bracelet long enough to make sure nothing had gone wrong, but the longer she split her vision, the worse her head pounded.

Instead, she busied herself studying the remnants of Zestan’s magic. The troll’s fairy servants had already vanished, but Zestan’s remained, bits of wind and flame and moonlight given the illusion of life. It was one of the latter Snow watched now, a glimmer of moonlight the size of a large coin that danced along the sand.

The ghosts were gone. The Kha’iida believed they had escaped into the desert, but Snow disagreed. The princes had died searching for Talia. Having found her at last, there was nothing left to hold them in this world.

Snow was more worried about the Wild Hunt. Without Zestan to command them, who knew what they would do. They
might
return to their old ways, their endless journey across this world. They might not even remember Danielle and Snow, or if they did, they might not care. All Snow knew was that she would be talking to Trittibar and Father Isaac the instant she returned home, and she didn’t intend to rest until the wards around the palace had been strengthened.

If that failed . . . Zestan had controlled the Wild Hunt using the promise of moonlight. Anything fairy magic could accomplish, human magic could duplicate. She reached out with her mind, and the flicker of moonlight vanished. She looked into the mirrors on her armband, where a tiny moonbeam now danced.

Oh, yes. If the Wild Hunt returned, Snow would be ready. She couldn’t wait to get home and share what she had learned with Trittibar. Ever since arriving in Arathea, she had wondered how fairy magic could function without a hill. Zestan’s body had given her the clue she needed. The peri acted as her own fairy hill. Perhaps she had absorbed the magic from the crystal mountains, or perhaps peri were natural sources of power.

That was how the fire sprite had been able to create a fairy ring within the walls of Whiteshore Palace. Zestan must have imbued it with her own magic.

She considered trying to catch the rest of Zestan’s servants, but trapping even a single glint of moonlight had been enough to make her eyes water. She sat down and rested her head against the wall until the pain eased. She would be fine as soon as she had a chance to rest, preferably in a real bed, with real food and drink.

Shouts alerted her to Talia’s return. The black horse trotted lazily through the sand. The raqeem was the first to approach them. He and Talia spoke too softly for Snow to hear, but when he turned around, his relief was obvious.

He raised his voice. “Talia Malak-el-Dahshat has renounced her claim to the throne of Arathea. In exchange, the queen has generously agreed to spare Talia’s life.”

Talia raised her eyebrows. “Something like that, yes.” She jumped down, holding Roudette’s cape bundled beneath her arm.

“The ebony horse will take us to the coast,” Danielle said. “Captain Hephyra and the
Phillipa
are waiting for us.”

“What are you going to do with that?” Snow asked, indicating the cape.

“Lock it away.” Talia rubbed her arms. “When I wore it, the only thing I wanted was to fight. I didn’t care who.”

“Oh.” Snow blinked, feigning confusion. “So it didn’t really affect you, then?”

“Hush.” Talia exchanged a look with Danielle. “I could have killed my own son. My next blow would have snapped his spine.”

Danielle smiled and reached out to take the cape. “Find me a mother who hasn’t wanted to strike her child at one time or another. What matters is you stopped.”

Both Snow and Talia turned to stare. “You’re joking,” said Snow. “Princess Danielle Whiteshore, the most foolishly forgiving woman in all Lorindar?”

“Do you remember last month when Jakob stole my glass slippers?” Danielle asked, still smiling. “He refused to give them back, screaming loudly enough he woke Beatrice. He tossed one down the stairs. Then he smashed the other against my knuckles when I tried to take it away. I was ready to lock him in the dungeon.”

“Talia!” Faziya hurried toward them, her robe bloody from tending the injured. Snow and Danielle might as well have turned invisible. Talia stepped past them both, wrapping her arms around Faziya.

Danielle took Snow’s arm and tugged her away. “Come on.”

Snow didn’t fight her. She did, however, cast a small spell to allow her to listen in.

“So you’re to leave again?” Faziya was asking.

“Lakhim suggested it would be best for all involved if I were to leave Arathea as soon as possible,” Talia said.

“I had hoped . . . I thought with you having killed Zestan—”

Snow could imagine Talia’s sad smile. “That only makes things worse. Sleeping Beauty, Protector of Arathea. I might have given up the throne, but she’ll always fear me.” Talia hesitated, then blurted out, “You could come to Lorindar with us.”