The Beauty of Darkness (44 page)

I looked at Lia. “Speak, Princess. You have the floor as long as you like.”

She smiled, a frightening hardness to her lips. “The floor,” she repeated savoring the words as she turned, her arms held out to her sides. “Forgive me, esteemed ministers for the state of my”—she looked down at her bloodstained clothes, then at her exposed shoulder—“my appearance. I know it doesn't follow court protocol. But there's some comfort in it too, I suppose.
Beaten and scorned, she will expose the wicked.
She paused, the smile slipping from her face. “Do those words frighten you? They should.”

She turned, her gaze traveling over the lords, then she stopped and looked up at the empty gallery. Every eye followed her stare. The silence grew long and uncomfortable, but for now the memory of her knife flying across the room seemed to keep their tongues quiet. My pulse raced, and Tavish and I exchanged a worried glance. She seemed to have forgotten where we were or what she was doing. I followed her gaze. There was nothing there. Nothing, at least, that I could see.

 

CHAPTE
R
SIXTY-FIVE

The air changed, hanging above us, the color soft and muted, like aged parchment. The room grew larger, dreamlike, becoming a distant world where a fourteen-year-old girl charged with her brothers by her side. More who believed in her followed close behind. They were all dead now, killed on a nameless battlefield. Walther whispered,
Be careful, sister.

I heard the girl yell that no one should move, and she promised they wouldn't be hurt. She knew that wasn't true. Some would die, though she didn't know which ones or when, but their deaths already clouded behind her eyes. She saw two men charging with her, watching, turning, archers flanking her with arrows drawn. And then her eyes landed on the cabinet, the faces, the empty seat of her father. The air snapped sharp, the colors brilliant, and fear vibrated against the walls in waves. The girl was gone. It was only me. Facing them. And today, no one would be banishing me to my chamber.

The Viceregent, the Chancellor, the Watch Captain, the Trademaster, the court physician, the Timekeeper, the Field Marshal, the Huntmaster, and of course, the Royal Scholar, who looked the most troubled of all by the turn of events. Notably absent was the First Daughter and the king himself, but one of them would be here soon. The Timekeeper fiddled nervously with the buttons on his jacket, pulling and fretting until one popped off. It clattered to the floor, rolling across the polished stone.

I knew who the mastermind behind this was, the architect who craved power just as much as the Komizar. Maybe even more, risking everything for the whole prize—the continent. I looked at him, slow and steady. It was obvious now. The scales of his true nature gleamed beneath his robe. The dragon who had as many faces as the Komizar.

When the Chancellor disobeyed the first of my orders, my dagger flew. It took all of my will not to aim straight for his heart. In my days crossing the Cam Lanteux, every time I practiced throwing my knife into the trunk of a tree, I had marked his heart as the target in my mind's eye, but his death would come later. For now he might still be of some use to me, and I would use every piece of him, finger by finger, if that was what it took to save my brothers.

He sat but seethed, now throwing insults at Rafe.

I watched him and the others, one by one, down the line—for a conspiracy was only as good as its weakest link—and now that link was being tested.

The citadelle closed in, contracting, squeezing the treachery into something hard and alive, its heartbeat wild, resisting, its beastly roar echoing, but beneath it all I heard another sound, a fragile thrum as persistent as hope, and I saw someone step out on the balcony.

It was a girl. She leaned over the rail, her wide dark eyes fixed on mine.
Promise
, she said.

I nodded. “I promised long ago.”

And then she was gone, the world shifting, the air sharp and bright again.

The lords waited, their attention whittled to a point, ready to snap.

I told them of traitors in their midst, of dragons with unquenchable thirst, and still another, the Komizar of Venda, who was on his way here with an unstoppable army to destroy them all, helped by the same traitors who had sent Crown Prince Walther to his death. “I ran from the wedding because I was afraid, but I did not betray Morrighan, and I did not betray my brother. I watched him die, but at the hands of Vendans who were lying in wait for him. He was sent into an ambush by traitors here in this room. The same ones who have sent Princes Regan and Bryn to die.”

The Royal Scholar leaned forward. “Wouldn't this be better discussed in—”

But the Viceregent cut him off, holding up his hand. “Let's not interrupt the princess. Let her have her say. We can give her that much.” He eyed me as if recalling every word we had spoken in his office.
Do you have any evidence?
He knew my word wasn't enough.

I glared, slow and steady, at the Royal Scholar, a warning—
your time will come
—and turned to the Field Marshal, who was the cabinet liaison to the troops. “My brothers need to be tracked down and brought home immediately. With my father ill, they never should have been sent away to Gitos and Cortenai in the first place. How do you explain this flagrant breach of protocol, Lord Commander?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shot a hard glance at the Watch Captain. The Royal Scholar watched them all as if ready to jump from his seat.

“I didn't want to send them,” he answered, a scowl darkening his face. “In fact, I argued against it. But I was swayed to believe it was for the good of the realm.”

“And your brothers heartily agreed,” the Watch Captain added.

I stormed across the dais, slamming my sword onto the table inches from his hand. “They agreed to be slaughtered?”

The Watch Captain gawked at his hand as if making sure all his fingers were still there. His gaze shot back to me, his eyes glowing with anger. “The girl is insane!” he shouted to Rafe's soldiers standing near him. “Lay down your weapons before she gets you all killed!”

The rumble of footsteps echoed in the south hall, the vibration of a hundred boots pounding toward us. Soldiers had been alerted. I looked back at the cabinet.

The Dragon.

A smile.

One that no one else could see.

A voice no one else could hear.

More. It is mine. You are mine.

The grind of teeth.

A gluttonous swallow.

A satisfied breath.

I turned to Rafe as the rumbling footsteps got louder. He held my gaze and nodded, confident.
Keep going.

A lord in the back of the hall, apparently emboldened by the sound of soldiers, stood. “The only traitor we see in this hall is you! If there were other traitors, you would name them! The Watch Captain's right—the girl is mad!”

The Viceregent sighed, tenting his hands in front of him, and frowned. “We've allowed you your say, Arabella, but I'm afraid I must agree with Lord Gowan. You can't make these accusations without providing evidence, and we don't see any.”

I could name many traitors, possibly half of the cabinet, but my only evidence, if Pauline was able to secure it, would be construed as something I had planted. I needed someone else to point the finger.

“You'll have your evidence,” I promised, stalling for time.
Where was Pauline?
She was coming from the north hall, but what if her way was already blocked? “And you'll get your names. But we haven't discussed—”

A hand pounded on the north entry door and a shout blared through it. “
Lia!”

The bar was lifted, and Pauline rushed across the room, nervously taking in the scrutiny of the cabinet and the lords. She walked up the steps to meet me with a box clutched in her arms.

There was another clatter of footsteps, and our men posing as citadelle guards rushed to the gallery rail. Gwyneth joined them and nodded to me. More footsteps. Soft. Hurried. A swish of skirts. Aunt Bernette, Aunt Cloris, and Lady Adele, the queen's attendant, appeared, their hands gripping the rail as their eyes skimmed the room. Their gazes passed over me, and a knot swelled in my throat. I wasn't the same girl who had left here so many months ago, and they didn't recognize me. When they finally realized who I was, Aunt Cloris gasped, and tears flowed down Aunt Bernette's cheeks, but Gwyneth had coached them well. They were not to speak, only bear witness, and they all held their tongues. And then there was a flash of blue, and my lungs squeezed. The queen stepped forward between my aunts, a shadow of who she had once been. She looked down at me, her eyes dark hollows, her gaze searing into mine.
There's nothing to know.… It's only the chill of the night.
But now we both knew it was far more than a chill.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” I said. “We were just about to discuss the king's health.”

I turned back to the cabinet. They fidgeted, waiting for me to say something, the Watch Captain's hands safely tucked beneath the table.

“The king doesn't seem to be recovering,” I said. “Can you tell me why?”

“The news of your betrayal struck him to the core,” the Chancellor growled. “There is no instant cure for a heart ripped from a man's chest.”

A few of the lords mumbled agreement. I heard the gentle cries of Aunt Bernette.

“Hmm. So I'm told.” My eyes landed on the court physician. “Come join me here on the step,” I said, “so everyone can hear you report on my father's health.” He didn't move, glancing at the other cabinet members as if they could save him. “It is not a request, Lord Fently.” I held up my bandaged hand. “As you can see, I have a grave injury. Don't make me drag you over here.” I sheathed my sword, and he reluctantly stood and walked over.

“Arabella,” the Royal Scholar interceded, “don't—”

I turned sharply. “I have no qualms about cutting out your tongue, Your Eminence. In fact, after all the years I had to endure your condemning lectures, it would give me the greatest pleasure, so I would advise that you hold your tongue while you still possess one.”

Hold it. Just like all the times you made me hold mine.
His eyes narrowed, familiar. Afraid.
Worried.
But not for his tongue. For the truth?

My anger burned brighter, and when the physician stopped in front of me, I grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. “What is wrong with my father?” I asked.

“His heart, Your Highness! As the Chancellor said!” he answered quickly, his tone high and earnest. “But his other ailments are many! It is a tricky thing, treating so many conditions. It will take time, but I have the highest hopes for his recovery.”

I smiled. “Really. That is reassuring, Lord Fently.” I nodded to Pauline, and she opened the box. “And these are some of the medicines you're treating him with?”

“Yes!” he said, his tone thick with pleading. “These are only simple remedies to make him more comfortable!”

I reached in and pulled out a small bottle of dark amber elixir. “This?”

“Only to ease aches and pains.”

My fingers fumbled, stiff and tingling, to remove the cork with my injured hand. The effort of twisting it free made blood gush warm again beneath the bandage. I sniffed the bottle. “For pain? I could use some of this.” I took a hearty swig and shrugged. “There, now. I think I'm feeling better already.”

He smiled, his face a strained smear of anguish and fear. I put the elixir back and drew another bottle, this one filled with creamy white liquid. “And just how does this one help my father?”

“His stomach, Your Highness! It helps settle it.”

I held the bottle up, swishing it in the light, then took a drink. I smiled. “Yes, I remember this from my childhood.” I leveled a glare at the Royal Scholar. “I often suffered from stomachaches.”

I put it back and shuffled through the box, then drew out the small vial filled with golden powder. “And this one?”

He swallowed. His skin was pasty, and a bead of sweat trickled near his ear. A half smile rippled across his lips. “It is for agitation. Just to calm jittery nerves.”

“Jittery nerves,” I repeated. “Well, I guess you can all see, I certainly have those.” I pulled the cork, began to lift it to my mouth, and hesitated. “Does it matter how much I take?”

“No,” he said, a measure of relief finally reaching his eyes. “You may take as much as you like.”

I lifted it to my lips again. He watched me, his mouth hanging open, waiting for me to take a hefty dose, as I had with the others. I paused and returned his earnest attention. “It seems, Lord Fently, that you're in need of this far more than I am. Here, take some.”

I moved it toward his lips, and he quickly turned his head away. “No, I don't need any.”

“But I insist.”

“No!”

He jerked away, but I drew the knife from my boot and held it to his neck. “See how jittery you are, my lord?” I lowered my voice to a growl. “I insist you take some.
Now.
” My knife pressed harder against his throat, and lords gasped as a thin line of blood sprang up beneath the blade. I brought the golden vial slowly to his lips. “Remember,” I whispered, “you may take as much as you like.”

The glass brushed his lower lip. “No!” he cried, his eyes glazed with terror. “It's him! He's the one who gave it to me! It was by his order!”

He pointed at the Viceregent.

I lowered the knife, pushing the physician free. Silence crushed in as all eyes turned to the favored cabinet member. I smiled at the Viceregent. “Thannis,” I said. “Good for the soul. Good for the heart. A unique token found only in Venda. Something an ambassador such as yourself probably discovered years ago on one of your clandestine visits.” I walked toward him. “Perfectly deadly, but a few tiny grains? They might be just enough to keep a king out of the way while you finalized your plans—because if he died, there were so many of those troublesome princes in line for the throne who might appoint a new cabinet.”