The Beauty of Darkness

  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

  CHAPTER 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 i
nsistence 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.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  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.

  “Once upon a time,

  Long, long ago,

  Seven stars were flung from the sky.

  One to shake the mountains,

  One to churn the seas,

  One to choke the air,

  And four to test the hearts of men.

  Your hearts are to be tested now.

  Open them to the truths,

  For we must not just be ready

  For the enemy without,

  But also the enemy within.”

  She paused, choking on her words. Silence clutched the plaza, everyone waiting, mesmerized, and then she continued.

  “For the Dragon of many faces,

  Dwells not just past the great divide,

  But among you.

  Guard your hearts against his cunning,

  Your children against his thirst,

  For his greed knows no bounds,

  And so shall it be,

  Sisters of my heart,

  Brothers of my soul,

  Family of my flesh,

  For evermore.”

  She kissed two fingers and lifted them to the heavens, a heavy sadness to her movement.

  “For evermore,” the crowd echoed back, but I was still trying to comprehend it all. The words of Morrighan and her kin? Seven stars? A dragon?

  The queen stood and looked behind her as if she had heard something. She jumped down from the wall and hurried away, disappearing into the darkness as easily as night. Seconds later, the balcony doors burst open and the Watch Captain stepped out on the empty balcony with several guards. It was then that I saw the Chancellor standing only a few feet to my right. He was still staring up at the balcony, perhaps trying to understand the queen’s unexpected appearance. I turned, tugging on my hood, and hurried away, but in spite of the danger, something compelled me to return the next night. The queen’s urgent prayer still stirred within me. Again, she spoke just as the veil of darkness fell, and this time from the east tower.

  The next evening, Berdi and Gwyneth came with me. The queen was on a wall below the western turret. I worried for her, perched so uncertainly on ledges and roofs, and I wondered if her grief had made her reckless. Or mad. She said things I had never heard before. The crowds grew, but it was her haunting words that prodded us to return. On the fourth night, the queen appeared in the abbey bell tower. Open your hearts to the truth.

  “Are you certain that’s the queen?” Gwyneth asked.

  A nagging doubt that had prowled behind my breastbone was set free by her question. “She’s impossible to see from here,” I answered, still trying to puzzle it out, “but she does wear the royal cloak.”

  “What about her voice?”

  And that was the strange part. Yes, her voice was like the queen, but it was also a voice that seemed like a hundred I had known, a timeless sound, like the wind in the trees. It passed through me as if it held a truth of its own.

  Gwyneth shook her head. “That’s not the queen up there.”

  Then Berdi voiced the impossible, what we were all thinking. “It’s Lia.”

  I knew it was true.

  “Thank the gods she is alive, but why is she posing as the queen?” Gwyneth wondered aloud.

  “Because the queen is revered,” Berdi answered. “Who would listen to the most wanted criminal in Morrighan?”

  “And she is preparing us,” I said. But preparing us for what, I didn’t know.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Only a midnight moon gave contour to the room. Dim gray defined the lines of the ornate pewter goblet in my hand. I set it back in the curio cabinet, alongside other mementos from years of service. A medallion from Eislandia, a gilded sea shell from Gitos, a sculpted jade bear from Gastineux. Unique tokens from every kingdom on the continent, except of course Venda, with whom there were
no diplomatic relations. The Viceregent’s duties as consul took him on many long trips. I hadn’t seen him complain, but the pleasure he expressed upon returning home had said much about the hardships of his travel.

  I closed the door of the cabinet and sat in a chair in the corner. Waiting. The darkness offered quiet comfort. I could almost forget where I was, except for the sword lying across my lap.

  I was running out of options. It was getting harder to sneak through the citadelle, and by the fourth evening, I’d had to switch to the abbey. The citizens found me there. No doubt the cabinet would have guards stationed at the abbey tonight too.

  The first night I had said remembrances over the portico, it was a miracle that I had gotten away at all. I was more careful now, but that night I was reckless and undone. My stomach had twisted into knots. All my carefully planned words had vanished. After seeing my mother with the Royal Scholar, grief had slashed through me like a sharp knife, shredding everything I had hoped for: A tearful reunion. A long-earned explanation. A misunderstanding. Something.

  Instead I found the Royal Scholar standing at my mother’s side, and got an admission of conspiracy and a guard drawing his sword. Thirty mad seconds with her became a betrayal of the worst kind, and the most painful and perplexing thing of all was, I still ached for her.

  I heard footsteps in the outer chamber. I adjusted my grip on the sword. I had nothing to lose by this meeting and maybe something to gain, however small. I’d already searched the Chancellor’s and Royal Scholar’s offices, hoping to turn up some sort of evidence. A letter. Anything. The rooms were suspiciously clean and orderly, as if they’d already been scoured and emptied of anything incriminating. I even searched the ashes of their hearths, knowing that was how they’d tried to make things disappear in the past, and found small bits of charred paper but nothing more.

  The Viceregent’s office was cluttered, his desk a busy sea of papers clamoring for his attention, a half-finished letter to the trade minister, and some commendations ready for his signature and seal. Nothing had been scoured here.