The Beauty of Darkness (55 page)

Generals Howland and Perry shifted happily on their feet.

“Your Majesty,” Rafe intervened, “if I may—”

“No you may not!” my father snapped. “This is still my kingdom, not yours. Step back, King Jaxon.”

I nodded to Rafe, trying to assure him.
Wait.

My father settled back against his pillows. “And your punishment is that you will continue to reign in my stead, enduring all the endless absurd peckings of the office until I am fully recovered. Do you accept your punishment, Arabella?”

My throat was thick, aching. I stepped forward. “Yes, Your Majesty, I do.” I swallowed and then added, “On one condition.”

Surprised mumbles erupted.

Even in his weak state, my father managed to roll his eyes. “A condition on your punishment? You haven't changed, Arabella.”

“Oh yes, Father, I most definitely have.”

“The condition?”

“You will support me in whatever I decide, because there are many hard decsions that still lie ahead—and some of them will not be popular with everyone.”

“Unpopular like the coup?”

“Yes, that unpopular.”

“Then I approve your condition.” He looked past me at everyone else. “I am confident that Arabella will meet her punishment to my full satisfaction. Does anyone object?”

No one spoke, though I knew words silently raged on some tongues.

“Good,” my father said. “Now everyone out. I want to speak to my daughter. Alone.”

*   *   *

As soon as the room was emptied and I turned back to him, I saw that his performance had drained him. He sank deeper into the pillows, weaker than before.

His eyes glistened. “I am sorry, Arabella.”

I curled up on the bed beside him, nestling my head on his chest, and he managed to put his arm around my shoulder and pat my arm. He apologized for many things, not the least of which was becoming so weary of his position that he allowed corruption to creep in right beneath his nose.

“I've failed as a father and as a king.”

“We all make mistakes, Father. Hopefully, we learn from them and move forward.”

“How did you end up with an assassin and newly crowned king as your confidantes?”

“The gods have a wicked sense of humor.”

“And you trust them?”

I smiled, thinking of all the deceptions and betrayals that had passed between us. “With my life,” I answered.

“Is there anything more to this union?”

Far more, I thought. Maybe more than any of us really understood.

Together they will attack,

Like blinding stars thrown from the heavens.

“Yes,” I answered. “They not only give me hope, they are Venda's hope too.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant, Father. There is nothing more between us.”

“And what is this unpopular decision?”

I told him about the valley where I was moving our forces against the generals' wishes, and then I told him more of my plan that I hadn't told anyone else.

“Arabella, you can't—”

“You promised, Father. This decision is mine.” I slid from the bed. “You should rest.”

He sighed, his lids drooping. “The other kingdoms will never—”

“They will have no choice. On this I won't be swayed. Please trust me.”

His brows pulled down with worry, but then another question faded on his lips, the last of his energy spent, and his eyes closed.

*   *   *

My spirits were buoyed as I returned to my room. The image of my parents' hands laced together kept surfacing. It was a simple gesture that was as unexpected as a summer shower. Some things survived, even when—

Rafe's door swung open as I passed it, and he barreled out, plowing into me. We stumbled and caught ourselves, his hand landing on the wall behind me.

“Lia,” he said, startled. We were both steady on our feet now, but he didn't move. The air crackled between us, alive in a way that made my skin tingle. Strain showed in his eyes, and he stepped away, creating space between us, the movement awkward and obvious.

I swallowed, trying to convince myself this was all part of letting go. “Where are you tearing out to?” I asked.

“I need to speak to Sven before dinner. I want to make sure he doesn't bring his temper to the table. Excuse me, I—”

“I know,” I said flatly. “You need to go.”

He raked back his hair, hesitating. I knew, with that small movement, he was struggling to let go too, a piece at a time. Love didn't end all at once, no matter how much you needed it to or how inconvenient it was. You couldn't command love to stop any more than a marriage document could order it to appear. Maybe love had to bleed away a drop at a time until your heart was numb and cold and mostly dead. He shifted on his feet, his eyes not meeting mine.

“I'll see you at dinner,” he said, and he left to find Sven.

*   *   *

Shadows danced on the walls from the fire in the hearth. I removed my belts and weapons, hanging them on a hook, and crossed the room to my dressing chamber, feeling my way through the darkness as I let the rest of my clothes fall to the floor. I lit a candle on the bureau and grabbed a towel to wash up, but then something crept over me. A presence.

Jezelia.

I spun, my heart beating wildly, searching the corners of the chamber. His scent filled the air, his sweat, his confidence. My eyes frantically swept the room, combing the shadows, certain he was here.

“Komizar,” I whispered. I heard his steps, saw the glint of his eyes in the darkness, the chill as his hand circled my neck, his thumb pressing the hollow of my throat, feeling for the beat of my heart.
There is always more to take.

And then he was gone. The chamber was empty as it always had been, and my breaths skipped through my chest.
The lies, they will force themselves upon you.
His lies. He taunted and cursed me with every mile he traveled. I had done the unthinkable—worse than stabbing him—I had stolen some of his power. I tried to force calm back into my heart.

I wouldn't let his lies steal the victories of this day.

I took a cleansing breath and poured water into the washbasin, but then I froze, staring at the glistening surface. The pitcher slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor. Blood swirled in the water, fingers of red spinning before my eyes, a tempest that carried the wails of battle, the slice of a sword across flesh, the dull thud of bodies falling to earth. And then, just as quickly, it was only water again, clear and tame.

I backed away, trying to breathe, stumbling blindly through the room.

My brothers' squads.

A painful gasp finally filled my lungs, and I searched for my clothes. My hands shook as I dressed, buckled belts, sheathed weapons, pulled on boots. My word was as true as Rafe's. I headed for the cell that held the Viceregent.

 

CHAPTE
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EIGHTY-O
N
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RAFE

Tavish told me Sven had gone to speak with Captain Azia about the rotation of soldiers guarding the prisoners. He hadn't been able to get a word out of Sven. He was still closemouthed and steaming when he left. “But you know Sven. He always bellows about your half-assed decisions.”

“You think I'm wrong too?”

Tavish shrugged on his vest, getting dressed for dinner. “I always think you're wrong. It usually works out. Don't worry, he'll come around.” He pulled on his boots then paused when he had one half-way laced. “But I'd hold off telling him about your other decision. That might blow the top of his head off.”

I nodded and poured myself some water.

Tavish grinned. “You know, if you die in this battle, you won't have to marry anyone.”

I choked mid-sip, spilling water down my shirt. “Well, that's a bright thought. Thanks.”

“I'm a tactician. Always thinking.”

I dabbed a towel to my shirt. “Maybe you should look for another line of work.”

His grin faded. “You'll be able to weather this out. We'll stand by you.”

I had told Tavish of my decision not to marry the general's daughter. It wasn't for Lia's sake, or mine, but for the girl's. She didn't want to marry me anymore than I wanted to marry her. She was being forced into it the same way Lia had been. I had already made that fatal mistake once. I wasn't about to make it again, even if it cost me my throne. The girl deserved to choose her own future—not one contrived by the general to serve his needs.

“Did you tell Lia?” he asked.

“Why? So we can dredge up the same argument we had when we left Marbella? I can't go through that again. My decision won't change anything between us. If we survive all this, I will still return to Dalbreck and she will still—” I shook my head. “She won't go with me.”

“How can you be certain?”

I thought about the fury in her eyes when she danced with me at the outpost, the bones she secretly slipped from the dining table into her pocket, the way she paced the dais at Piers Camp and then lifted her hand with Kaden's when she addressed the troops. “I know her. I'm certain.”

“She's made other promises?”

“Yes.”

He stood and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I'm sorry, Jax. If I could change any of this for you, I would.”

“I know.”

He left to meet up with Jeb and Orrin. I changed my shirt, then headed out to find Sven, still chewing on his words.
He'll come around.
But this time felt different. Sven had exploded at me before, but never in front of outsiders. Maybe that was what rankled him. I'd made decisions that put my throne in jeopardy—the very position he'd spent a good portion of his life preparing me for—and I'd done it without consulting with him first.

I remembered back when I was saddling my horse and leaving on a blind quest to find a runaway princess. He hadn't been in favor of that either, but after hitting me with a barrage of questions, he stepped aside, letting me go. That was what Sven always did—he raised arguments until my resolve became steel. And when I was torn, he goaded me—
make your decision and live by it.
Even when I had been ready to tear the general's head from his shoulders, Sven made me reconsider.
Which do you want more, the satisfaction of ripping off his head, or to reach Lia as soon as possible? Because in this much he is right—no one can get a special team together for you as quickly as he can.
And it was true. Any delay, even by one day, and I wouldn't have reached Lia in time. It had been the right decision, and Sven had helped me reach it.

But with the decision to pull troops—there was no changing my mind. I hadn't needed his counsel. I knew what I had to do, not just for Lia, but for Dalbreck. I'd explain it to him. By now he had probably cooled off. He'd be sorry he had missed a meeting with the king.

Lia's father hadn't been what I expected. Now I knew where Lia had gotten her calculating straight face from. He'd made me squirm. I hadn't realized he'd been playing with me until he issued Lia's punishment. Somehow he knew there had been something between us.
There was still something between us.
Something I was trying to forget. It had been all I could do to tear my hand away from her arm when I'd stumbled into her. I had been careful in my movements when I was around her, conscious in a way that had become tiring. It was like I was standing on a log in a wrestling match again. One misstep, and I would be up to my waist in mud. When we were busy with tasks that needed to be addressed, it was easier—we simply worked together—but in those unplanned moments like when I stumbled into her, everything was unsettled, teetering, and I had to renavigate the space between us, remembering not to do what had been so natural before.

“Sentry,” I called, when I reached the east wing, where the prisoners were held. “Colonel Haverstrom passed this way?”

“Yes. Some time ago, Your Majesty. He's still down there,” he said, nodding toward the stairs at the end of the hall.

No doubt he was chewing off the captain's ear now, instead of mine. I would owe Azia.

I entered the passage, and the stairs were dark. Night had crept up quickly, and the guards had failed to light the lanterns. Only the flickering torches from the lowest level provided any light at all. Just a few steps down, I sensed a pervading quiet, a silence that seemed too deep. There were no murmurs, no clatter of metal trays or plates, though it was the dinner hour. My hand went to my sword, and when I turned at the landing, a body lay facedown, sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. It was Sven.

I drew my sword and ran.

I rolled him over, and that's when I saw another body, and another. A soldier. A servant with trays of food spilled around him. Their eyes were open, unseeing. The cell doors were all ajar. My blood raced, trying to attend to Sven and look for danger at the same time.

“Sven!”
I whispered. His abdomen was soaked in blood.

“Guards!” I bellowed up the stairwell. “Sentry!”

I turned back to Sven. His breaths were shallow, his lips barely moving, as if he was trying to speak. I heard a noise and spun. Another body lay in the other direction. Azia. I crept down the hall toward him, my sword raised, and bent to feel his neck. Dead. It was the trickle of his blood into a drain that I'd heard.

I peered into the first cell. The court physician lay in the center of the room, his throat cut wide open. The next cell had another dead soldier. The rest were empty.

Guards trampled down the stairs, Lia right behind them. “They've escaped!” I yelled. “Call a physican! Sven is still alive!”

But barely. I pressed on the wound. “Come on, you old curd! Stay with us!”

“Close the city gates!” Lia shouted. “Alert the guard and camp!”