The Beauty of Darkness (34 page)

He sighed but nodded, and then I gave him another task. I asked him to inquire discreetly and see if any more scholars had gone missing.

I grabbed my cloak from the hook, examining Natiya's needlework hidden on the inside lining. In the dim light of twilight, it would work. It might be a few days before my brothers returned from the City of Sacraments and could help me, but there was still work to be done.

*   *   *

The citadelle was a large sprawling structure. If the architecture of Venda was a dress pieced together with rags, then the architecture of Morrighan was a sturdy practical work dress of counted stitches and ample seams for expansion.

It had grown over the centuries, just as the kingdom had, but unlike the Sanctum, it had grown in a more orderly fashion. Four main wings radiated from the original grand hall at its center, and multiple towers and outbuildings had sprung up on the grounds around them. Connecting passages between wings and other structures made for a multitude of convenient corners and hallways for a young princess to slip from the clutches of her tutors. I was intimately familiar with every drape, closet, nook, and ledge in the citadelle in a way that only a child desperate for freedom can be. And then there were the secret passages no one was supposed to know about, dusty forgotten escapes built in darker times, but my prowling had led me to discover those too.

The Royal Scholar was well aware of my skills, but his traps to catch me had, for the most part, been pathetically weak. I saw them coming before a tutor lying in wait could grab my shoulder, before I tripped a silk thread strung with a warning bell, before any obstacle laid across my path could slow me down. If nothing else, his persistence had proved a challenge for me and contributed to my stealth. He became an unwitting tutor of another kind.

The gardens behind the citadelle provided their own unique form of subterfuge. My brothers and I had burrowed through passages in the loosely trimmed hedges, some of the tunnels so large we could all nestle into an earthen den and eat the warm sweet cakes that one of us had nicked from the kitchen ovens.

I used one of those dens now, waiting for the right moment, then made opportunity bloom by throwing a carefully aimed stone. A rustle in the distance. When the guards turned toward the noise, I darted to the shadows of a covered walkway.

I was in. From here they couldn't stop me.

*   *   *

There was something dangerously exhiliarating about slipping through the hallways. Even as my heart pounded in my ears, every sense within me burst to life, alert and bright. It was all familiar, the sounds, the scents, but then my awareness was suddenly pricked by something else. Something that had a name now. It slithered past me, a beast clothed with the scent of treachery. I felt its underbelly rippling over my skin. I heard its heartbeat in the walls. I caught its taste, sweet and cunning, swirling in the air. It was settled, comfortable—it had been here for a very long time. And it was hungry.

Maybe that was why I had always preferred running free with my brothers in the openness of the meadows and forests. I had sensed it, even as a child, but had no name for it then. Now the truths whispered to me, betraying the secrets and collusions of the guilty—they were here. They owned the citadelle. Somehow I had to get it back.

I crept down the hall in my bare feet, hugging the shadows, stepping behind cabinets, and into nooks whenever I heard footsteps. There were only four prison cells, dank, secure rooms on the lowest level of the citadelle for those about to suffer the judgment of the highest court. As soon as I saw there were no guards in the passage leading to the rooms, I knew Pauline wasn't there. I checked anyway, whispering her name into the darkness, but there was no answer. That brought me only minor relief. It didn't mean she wasn't being held somewhere else. I returned to the upper level, skulking my way to the third floor.

I looked down the dark east hallway that held the suites of the royal family. The massive arched entrance that I had never given a second thought to before looked like a gaping mouth to me now, and the huge white keystone at its apex like a blade ready to fall.

Two guards were positioned at the entrance. No one was coming or going. The wing had gone mysteriously silent. It was strange that I hadn't even seen Aunt Cloris bustling about. She was always hurrying somewhere, usually with a complaint about one chore or another not being done properly. For her even the protocol of mourning would have its shortcomings. She was a woman of daily tasks, but of no lingering, no laughter, no dreams. Sadly, I understood her better now. Maybe protocol didn't matter so much to her anymore—grief was its own taskmaster.

I moved on and was heading for the portico lookout when I heard something louder than the beat of treason.

He's dying.

I stopped.

They are killing him.

My heart went still.
Killing him?
My thoughts immediately jumped to Rafe. He was facing a coup at home. Or was it Kaden? He was still missing. Or was it only that the hallways I once walked with Walther triggered the memory of watching him die? I forced in a deep steady breath.
Walther.
I wasn't the only one who ached with his loss. I sensed the many hearts that bled. Though I knew I had to move forward, my feet moved elsewhere against my will.

*   *   *

I stood back in the shadows. Something dark and clawed and needy, like a wounded animal, curled in my gut. I watched my mother pull pins from her hair, an irritation to her movements. With the last pin out, her silky black hair spilled to her shoulders.

“He died in battle,” I said. “I thought you should know. I saw it all happen.”

Her back stiffened.

“His sword was raised for Greta when he was killed. I dug his grave and sang the required blessings over his body and his fellow soldiers. I wanted you to know. He had a proper burial. I made sure they all did.”

She slowly turned to face me, and the gods help me, in that moment all I wanted to do was run into her arms and bury my face in her shoulder. But something held me back. She had lied to me.

“I have the gift,” I said, “and I know what you did to me.”

She stared at me, her eyes glistening, but they held no surprise. She swallowed.

“You don't seem shocked to see me, Mother,” I said. “Almost as if someone told you I was here.”

She started to step toward me. “Arabella—”

“Lia!” I snapped, and I put my hand out to halt her. “For once in your life, call me by the name you branded me with! The name you knew—”

And then a taller, darker figure stepped out from her dressing chamber. “I was the one who told her you were here. I got your message.” It was the Royal Scholar.

I stumbled back, stunned.

“We need to talk, Arabella. You can't—” he said.

I drew my dagger and stared at my mother in disbelief. Pain stabbed my throat. “Please don't tell me that while I was burying my slain brother and his comrades, you were here conspiring with the Royal Scholar.”

She shook her head, her brows drawing together. “But I was, Arabella. I've been conspiring with him for years. I—”

Her chamber door swung open, and a guard stepped in. I looked between the Royal Scholar and my mother.
A trap?
The guard immediately eyed me and my dagger and drew his sword, advancing toward me. I fled through the window I had entered, stumbling onto the ledge, and nearly tumbled to the ground below. My vision was blurred with tears, and my path danced in front of me like a loose rope bridge. I ran along the ledge, trusting my footfalls to find solid stones, sensing them more than seeing them. I heard shouts from the window behind me, orders being yelled—
stop her
—and the scuffle of their footsteps, but I had chosen my window and path carefully. In seconds I was gone from their view and headed for the opposite side of the citadelle. I wouldn't have much time, but the night was not over. Especially not now.

Especially not with the misery that raged through me.

The truths wished to be known, and it was time my mother began delivering them—a few words at a time. Who better to sway the people than Regheena, the revered First Daughter of the House of Morrighan?

 

 

Desperation grew teeth.

Claws. It became an animal inside me

That knew no bounds.

It tore open my darkest thoughts,

Letting them unfurl like black wings.

—The Lost Words of Morrighan

 

CHAPTE
R
FORTY-EIGHT

RAFE

The general was an hour late. I was spitting with fury when he finally arrived, but he came with his young daughter in tow. I bit back my curses, but not my anger. “We need to speak privately.”

“She's trustworthy.”

“It is not a matter of—”

He brushed past me, walking toward my desk. “Colonel Haverstrom explained your requests.” He turned to face me. “Leaving so soon? Seems like you just got here. I thought we already had this conversation. I seem to recall your pledge to stay, and now you've changed your mind already?”

I shoved him into a chair, nearly tipping it over. His daughter sucked in a frightened breath and stepped back against the wall. “I didn't ask for an account of what I did or didn't say, and these are not requests, General Draeger. They are orders.”

He settled back into the seat. “And ones that I'm afraid won't be easy to fulfill. You might remember that it was by
your
insistence that companies in Falworth were sent to outlying posts. Our resources here in the capital are spread quite thin. Besides, what can a hundred men do?”

“For my purposes, far more than an entire brigade that would be seen and stopped at the borders.”

“All for this
princess
?”

I held my fist at my side, vowing to myself that I wouldn't break his jaw in front of his daughter. “No,” I said firmly. “For Dalbreck. What serves Morrighan will serve us tenfold.”

“We have no alliance with them. This seems to be nothing more than impetuous folly.”

“Their court is in jeopardy. If they fall, so will we.”

He shrugged, making a flamboyant show of his doubt. “So you say, and I do respect your position as king. Still, a hundred men outfitted to your specifications could take a while. It would require much effort on my part.”

“You have until tomorrow morning.”

“I suppose that might be possible with the
right
motivation.” He pulled some papers from his coat and threw them on my desk.

I only had to glance at them briefly. I stared back at him in disbelief. “I could have your head for this.” It wasn't an idle threat.

“Yes, you could,” he agreed. “But you won't. Because I'm the only one who can get you what you need as quickly as you want it. Behead me, and you'll have to reach out to other garrisons much farther away. Think about it. For all the urgency that you claim, do you really have that much time to spare, Your Majesty? And you're still on very shaky ground. This would add stability to your reign. I'm thinking of the realm.”

“Devil's hell you are. You're an ambitious opportunist trying to wheedle your way into a position of power one way or another.”

I looked at the girl, her eyes wide with terror. “Dammit, General! She's just a child!”

“She's fourteen. Surely you can wait until she's of age? And you must admit, she is a beauty.”

I looked at the girl cowering against the wall. “You agreed to this?” I roared.

She nodded.

I turned away, shaking my head. “This is extortion.”

“It is negotiation, Your Majesty, a practice as old as the realm—and one your father was well versed in. Now, the sooner you sign the documents, the sooner the betrothal can be announced and I can execute your orders.”

I glared at him.
Execute
was an appropriate word choice. I turned and walked out of the room, because all I could see was his neck squeezed between my bare hands. I had never felt like I needed Sven's tempered counsel more than I did now.

 

CHAPTE
R
FORTY-
N
I
N
E

PAULINE

I was on my way back to the inn, night closing in and blind to my path because Mikael's relieved smile continued to loom in my vision. His question—
who's the father?
—clanged in my head like a cow bell, overpowering my thoughts.

But then I sensed something. I felt a presence as strongly as a hand on my arm, and I looked up. She was a small figure perched high on the portico balcony overlooking the plaza. The royal red satin trim of her cloak shone in the fading light.
The queen.

I stopped as a few others had, most hurrying home to their own eventide remembrances, shocked to a standstill by the sight of the queen sitting on a balcony wall. Outside of official ceremonies, I couldn't remember ever having seen her say remembrances publicly, especially not perched so precariously on a balustrade, but now her voice carried eerily over our heads, swirling like the air itself and slipping inside us just as easily.

She quickly drew more onlookers, and a stillness fell over the plaza.

At times it seemed her words were more sobbed than sung, more felt than said, and they scuttled through me with their haphazard delivery, some phrases skipped and others repeated. Maybe the rushed anguish was what held us all in a breathless grip. Nothing was by rote, only by her need. Every word was raw and true, and I heard it in a new way. Her face was hidden in the shadows of her hood, but I saw her reach up, wiping at what I was sure were tears. And then she said remembrances I had never heard before.

“Gather close, my brothers and sisters. Hear the words of the mother of your land. Hear the words of Morrighan and her kin.