No. The boy got it wrong. Imogen wasn’t dead. His sister couldn’t have—wouldn’t have—killed the only woman he had ever loved.
Pushing past servants and members of the court who were wandering the halls in confusion at the sounding of the gongs, Andreus raced through the castle and up one of the sets of stairs that led to the battlements. The footsteps sounding behind him said Max wasn’t far behind.
She wouldn’t be up here, he told himself as he burst through the door onto the battlements. But he stopped as he saw dozens of people looking down at something on the stone walkway. His heart pounded as he stood, unable to move.
Elder Ulrich turned his scarred face toward Andreus. Others noticed him and stared as he stood, not wanting to get closer. Not wanting to see.
But when Chief Elder Cestrum and Elder Ulrich stepped to the side, Andreus had no choice. He saw the hair first. Dark, long curls blowing in the breeze. Hair that he could still feel brush his chest as she leaned over to kiss him.
He forced himself to move closer. Some of the Masters of Light watched him with sympathy. Members of the court who had found their way upstairs whispered as he reached the circle around the body of the woman he loved.
His chest tightened. Everything went numb.
Imogen. Her skin, normally a rich shade of tan, looked pale next to the streaks of blood that traveled down her still-beautiful face. So lovely that it seemed impossible she was dead. But her chest no longer expanded with life, and the blood pooled around her from the wound in her stomach told him, beautiful or not, Imogen was gone.
He fought to breathe, but the air was gone. Something inside him broke and he dropped to his knees next to the future he had dreamed of. She had been his. Everything was supposed to have been his. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her voice warning him that he couldn’t let the scream clawing at his throat free.
Imogen had warned him that his sister would exact revenge for what he had done. As angry as he had been with Carys, he couldn’t believe she would do something to truly hurt him. She had vowed to always protect him.
Gods. How could she do this?
“I’m sorry, Prince Andreus,” Captain Monteros said. “The guards never saw him, but we recovered a knife like the one used by yesterday’s attacker. I am having men sweep the city and the castle now. We will find the assassin.”
“It wasn’t an assassin.” His throat was so tight he could barely speak.
“What did you say, Your Highness?” Elder Cestrum asked.
Andreus swallowed hard and forced the words out. “It wasn’t an assassin who killed Lady Imogen. It was my sister.”
Captain Monteros and Elder Cestrum exchanged a look as people whispered around him. “We understand you are upset, Your Highness,” Elder Cestrum said, stepping toward him. “But there are no signs that your sister was here. The guards never saw her.”
“He did.” Breathing was like fire. Still, Andreus forced himself to rise and turn toward Max, who was standing at the entrance to the tower. Pointing to the terrified boy, he said, “Max told me he was here when Lady Imogen died and that it was my sister’s hand that held the blade.”
Captain Monteros stepped toward Max. “Come here, boy.” Max’s eyes were wide and fixated on Andreus as he approached the Captain of the Guard.
“Tell me what you saw,” the captain commanded.
Max looked down at the ground and said something that was hard to hear over the beating of the windmills and the whispers of the onlookers.
“Louder, boy,” Elder Cestrum snapped.
“I saw the Princess on the ground. Lady Imogen was over there. Then the Princess took out one of her knives and threw it and Lady Imogen fell.”
Captain Monteros looked back at Elder Cestrum and shook his head. “My guards never reported seeing Princess Carys up on the battlements.”
“The boy has no reason to lie,” Andreus shouted. “He knows what he saw.”
“Or he knows what he believes he’s supposed to say.” Lord Garret stepped forward from the crowd. He looked down at Imogen’s too-still body and shook his head.
“Are you calling the boy a liar?” Andreus asked.
“I think the boy will say what he believes will help you secure the throne,” Garret said. “From what I hear, he owes you his life. Perhaps he believes he can repay that debt by giving you the throne.”
“I don’t need anyone to give me the throne. It belongs to me.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Garret said, looking at Max. “But Lady Imogen’s death will not help you gain it. I am not sure what this boy thought he saw, but the truth is that I was with your sister at first light this morning.”
The noble behind Garret gasped and Andreus looked at Max, who had his eyes lowered to the stone beneath his feet.
“And while I appreciate your desire for justice, I am curious,” Lord Garret continued. “Why do you think Princess Carys would have reason to kill Lady Imogen?”
Andreus looked down at Imogen’s motionless body. Anger whipped through him as he said, “Carys was jealous of her. She hated how much my family loved her.” How much I loved her, he added silently. “Captain Monteros, I order you to seize my sister and take her to the North Tower.”
Andreus had weakened Carys by emptying every red bottle in the castle. He had taken something vital to her, and she had struck back—just as Imogen had said his sister would. Now Carys would pay.
Captain Monteros looked at Elder Cestrum and the rest of the Elders.
“What are you waiting for?” Andreus yelled.
The windmills pounded.
The air swirled.
Imogen’s hair—her beautiful, glistening hair—fluttered in the breeze.
His heart strained and ached as it pounded harder. Demanding vengeance.
Elder Cestrum sighed. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but you are not the King. The captain cannot follow your command.”
“You had no problem with him following my command last night.” Andreus kept his shoulders straight. The curse pulled at him. The burning in his chest made him want to double over, but he refused to give in. No one would see it. Carys would not win.
Elder Jacobs stepped forward. “The word of a lord who has taken an oath to the King weighs more heavily in our laws than that of a commoner who might be encouraged to say what he believes will gain him reward. One who seeks to be King should understand that. The captain and the guard will hunt down the true attacker. Meanwhile the Lady Imogen will be taken to the chapel and honored as her service to the kingdom demands.”
Elder Cestrum and Elder Urlich turned toward Captain Monteros. Carys’s foreign dignitary faded back and headed off to one of the northern exits. The gathered nobles whispered to each other as if it was settled. Nothing was settled. He was to be King and they would listen to his commands.
“Wait . . . ” His throat was too tight for the word to have any force. He had to get out of here. He had to relax so the symptoms of the curse would fade. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave her.
“I admire your dedication to the woman who was to marry your brother, Your Highness.” Elder Jacobs stepped next to him and lowered his snakelike voice. “But I fear many will start to wonder if you have other motives for demanding the justice you seek. More . . . intimate reasons that might not seem as virtuous should they come to light.”
Andreus pulled his eyes away from Imogen’s face and looked at the Elder. “That sounds like a threat.”
“No, Your Highness. It is a warning from one who would like to see you take the throne in strength. And I would be a poor ally if I didn’t mention that if your . . . involvement with Lady Imogen comes to light, it will not take long for speculation to begin about whether you had a hand in your brother’s death.”
“I had nothing—”
“Of course not, Your Highness. But there are those who would see your involvement as a sign of disrespect for the Crown Prince, and your desire to punish your sister as an indi
cation that you don’t want to have to compete anymore for the throne.” Elder Jacobs looked at Lord Garret, who was speaking with Elder Cestrum, then back at Andreus. “The next trial is at dusk. If it is vengeance you wish, there will be opportunities for you to take it then.”
Elder Jacobs held his gaze for one second . . . two . . . three. Then he turned and walked back to Imogen’s body. Everything inside Andreus ached for her. He wanted to kneel on the stone beside her and gather her body in his arms—to warm her against the cold wind and the flakes of snow starting to drift down from the sky.
But it was getting harder and harder to pull in air. His left arm tingled. The attack was worsening.
Elder Cestrum would see it.
Andreus would lose the throne and the chance to see his sister pay for what she had taken from him.
So, he forced himself to turn his back on Imogen’s body, nodded for Max to follow, then retraced his steps—each harder to take than the last—to the stairs leading down into the castle. Pressure built in his chest. When he reached the staircase, he took several steps down to make sure he was out of view before leaning his head against the cold wall. Tears swelled, pushing against his throat. He pounded his fist against the wall as his heart strained harder to burst free.
“Prince Andreus? Are you okay?”
No. The attack was getting worse. And while he trusted Max’s loyalty, he couldn’t let the boy see him struggle.
“Sir, you look unwell. Maybe you should sit?”
Andreus pushed away from the wall and told Max, “I’m fine, just upset.” His ears rang. He took a step forward—
—then everything went black.
Max’s face swam before him. The boy’s fear-filled eyes widened as he saw Andreus move. Immediately the boy rushed to help Andreus get to a sitting position.
“Your Highness, are you all right? I wanted to get Madame Jillian, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
It was then Andreus saw the small knife in Max’s hand and the alcove he was currently sprawled in. He couldn’t have been out for more than a moment, but the boy had pulled him into the protected space and was prepared to defend him against any attackers.
Andreus ruffled Max’s hair. This boy was special. His soul was made of the seven virtues and Andreus had to protect it—had to see threats coming and head them off the way his sister—
The way he couldn’t for Imogen.
She would want him to take care of the boy. He owed her that.
“Max, there’s something I have to tell you. Until the Trials are over, it is better for anyone close to me to stay out of sight. Once I win the throne, everything will be back to normal. Do you understand?”
Max bobbed his head. “Yes, I—”
“Good. Now, go.”
Max bowed, started down the stairs, then turned back. “I don’t want to work on the windmills no more.” With that he darted off.
Andreus put his hand on the wall and took deep, even breaths to try to slow his heart rate and encourage the attack to ease. He took the steps at a slow pace as the straining muscle pounded . . . but not as hard. The attack was easing. As long as he rested, he could encourage it to fade entirely.
The desire to storm through the castle, find his sister, and wrap his hands around her throat was strong. He could taste the need for vengeance. But he forced himself to walk slowly and to breathe with deeper and deeper breaths even as his frustration over the deliberate pace simmered.
His chest still ached, but breathing no longer set his chest on fire by the time he stepped into his hallway. He looked at his door, then strode down the hall past the guard standing watch and pounded on the entrance to his sister’s rooms.
When she didn’t answer, he shouted her name and demanded she face him. Elder Jacobs wanted Andreus to wait before making Carys answer for her crime, but Elder Jacobs hadn’t loved the woman Carys had struck down.
“Carys!”
The door opened, but instead of Carys or her maid, the irritating foreign lord stood blocking the threshold. Lord Errik was it? His hands were supported by the hilt of his sword, the tip of which was resting on the ground in between his feet.
“Move out of the way.” Andreus reached for his own sword.
The lord casually shook his head, but tightened the grip on his weapon. “The Princess doesn’t wish to be disturbed. She needs rest. There’s some kind of important event planned for tonight. I think you might have heard about it.”
Rage churned. “I am heir to the throne of Eden! I command you to let me pass.”
Lord Errik cocked an eyebrow. “You do that well. If and when you become King, I am sure I’ll obey you with appropriate speed. Until then, Your Highness, I will stay right here.”
He itched to draw his weapon. “You dare mock me?”
“I dare a lot of things that my family wishes I wouldn’t,” the lord said, his voice calm but his body tense—coiled—ready to strike.
“Your family is going to be sorry when I am King and you are made to pay for this disrespect.”
“My family might not agree with your assessment. But I would most certainly be sorry. Just as I am sorry that you have suffered so many losses this week.”
Was he referring to Imogen? Andreus drew his sword. “Do you think I care for your sympathy?”
“Not in the slightest.” The lord shifted his weight and gripped his blade with a casual efficiency that, despite his anger, gave Andreus pause. “However, I offer it, as well as this: I know more about Lady Imogen and her interest in the Palace of Winds than you or anyone in your family ever has. She is not what you thought she was.”
Andreus lifted his blade. “Don’t speak of her to me. How would a Trade Master from Chinera know more about Eden’s seer than those who actually knew her?”
“A Chineran Trade Master wouldn’t know anything. But I do. Do not make me strike you down over someone as trivial as her.”
Andreus shifted his grip on the sword. His hands were sweating. His chest still ached. He wanted to strike down the arrogant lord in front of him. He had chosen his sister’s side. Why? She was unliked. Spurned by nearly all who crossed her path. What did she promise him? Andreus wondered. She must have promised something. How many other dignitaries had she also made assurances to in order to secure their support?
Whatever she offered them would be meaningless when the Trials were over. And then—then he’d teach this foreign-born lord to be wary of whose name he found in his mouth.
“Very well,” Andreus said, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “I will let my sister rest, as you call it. But give her a message for me—will you?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” The lord bowed, but never took his eyes off Andreus.
Andreus looked past the lord, toward the doors to Carys’s bedroom. “Tell my sister that I look forward to seeing her on the battlements tonight. I plan on permanently resolving this matter there.”
He dressed with care in black pants and boots and a deep yellow doublet that Imogen would have admired. She’d wanted him to look every inch the King she believed him to be. In the pocket of his black cloak was a lock of Imogen’s hair tied with a ribbon of white. She’d looked so peaceful on the chapel dais—almost like she had when she slept beside him. Seeing her that way—keeping a piece of her with him during this trial—would give him the strength to do what he needed to do.
Elder Cestrum, Lord Garret, and several of the Masters were on the battlements when Andreus stepped from the stairwell into the cold air. He couldn’t help but look at the spot stained with Imogen’s blood. Then, tearing his eyes away from the place where she lost her life, Andreus looked to the front of the battlements that overlooked the city. There, Elder Cestrum stood between two platforms. One was yellow. The other blue. Neither had existed when Andreus was here earlier. Each had ropes attached to them that stretched up and over the castle’s white walls.
Andreus strode across the stone, accompanied by the sound of the windmill
s that he’d always loved. The Chief Elder turned toward him as the Masters hurried to inspect some wires and metal cones that Andreus hadn’t noticed before. They were used to spread the sound of the gongs throughout the castle and to the base of the steps in the city to warn of a Xhelozi attack. The Masters had improved the design of magnets and wires and coils that were powered by the wind over the last decade. Andreus had been drawing out some new improvements himself, but had never found them to be as important a task as the wind-powered lights.
“Prince Andreus.” Elder Cestrum stroked his white beard to a point as Andreus approached. “I trust you have recovered from your trying time this morning.”
Recovered? From losing Imogen? Elder Cestrum, too, would feel his blade when all was over. “I am ready to do my duty and participate in the next trial.”
“As soon as the Princess arrives . . . ” Elder Cestrum shifted his focus. “Ah, there she is. Once the Masters tell me they are ready, we can begin.”
Andreus shifted to look at his sister, who was walking slowly with the foreign lord at her side. Her hair was pulled off her face, her skin paler than usual. Even from here Andreus could see the glassiness in her eyes and the pain that each step caused her. His mother’s Tears of Midnight suppressed pain. So perhaps it wasn’t any wonder a body that had been used to feeling nothing for so long would interpret each step as something filled with agony.
Despite the lift of her chin and her straight back, Andreus could tell his twin was suffering. He looked back at the dark blood stain on the stone and any residual guilt faded away. Imogen must have suffered before she died. It was good his sister would, too.
As she called his name, he turned and headed toward the platforms. He would not let her manipulate him with her slippery words. He’d made a choice. This would end. And it was going to end today.
Elder Cestrum beckoned to them both. “This trial will test two kinds of strength: the ability to inspire your people to follow you, and the physical strength it takes to lead them when it is time to fight. You each will step onto your designated platforms and inspire the people in the city below with your words. When the speeches are done and a point awarded to the one who the people display their affection for, a gong will sound, signaling it is time to use the rope ladders to climb down the wall to the steps below. The winner will be the one who safely reaches the bottom first.”