The Beauty of Darkness

  And then we heard more footsteps.

  Small, hesitant, the soft tap of slippers on stone.

  Pauline.

  Heads turned toward the door expectantly. But then the soft sound mysteriously stopped. Lady Adele’s brows pulled down. “Maybe I—”

  Kaden pushed back his chair and stood. “Excuse me,” he said, and with no further explanation, he left the room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  KADEN

  She was sitting on a bench in the shadows of an arched passageway, the baby in her arms, her gaze lost in some distant world. Her long honey locks were neatly tucked into a netted cap, her dress reserved and buttoned, every stitch and line of it conveying propriety.

  She didn’t look up as I approached. I stopped, my knees almost grazing hers.

  Her gaze remained fixed on her lap. “I was on my way,” she said, “and then I realized, he doesn’t have a name. I can’t go in there without a name. You said it yourself, I need to give him a name.”

  I bent down on one knee, and lifted her chin to meet my gaze. “Pauline, it doesn’t matter what I say or what anyone in there thinks. You choose a name when you’re ready.”

  She studied me. Her eyes traveled over every inch of my face, her gaze restless and afraid. “I thought he loved me, Kaden. I thought I loved him. I’m afraid of making wrong choices again.” She swallowed and her restless search stopped, her gaze settling into mine. “Even when a choice feels so completely right.”

  I couldn’t look away. My breath was suddenly trapped in my chest, and I was afraid of making wrong choices too. All I could see were her lips, her eyes, everywhere, only Pauline.

  “Kaden,” she whispered.

  My breath finally rattled free. “I guess if a choice feels right, maybe it’s best to test it first,” I said, “take it slowly, see if it can become something more … something you can be sure of.”

  She nodded. “That’s what I want. Something more.”

  That was what I wanted too.

  I stood. “I’ll go in first. I’ll tell them you’ll be along.”

  * * *

  I returned to the dining room just as the next course was being served—Berdi’s fish stew. Lia had risen and walked around the table to kiss her cheek and tell her how many times she had dreamed of every morsel, every scent, every taste that was Berdi’s stew. I knew as soon as I caught the scent, that yes, it was better than Enzo’s, but then I asked everyone to hold off for just a moment. “I think I saw Pauline coming down the hallway. She should be here any moment.”

  And in only seconds, she walked in. She paused, standing in the arch of the doorway, her cap pulled loose, the blanket drawn back from the baby’s head so his blond wisps showed and his little fist was free to stretch in the air.

  “Hello, everyone. I’m sorry I’m late. The baby had to be fed.”

  Silverware clattered somewhere in the room.

  “The baby?” Lady Adele said.

  “Yes, Aunt,” Pauline answered. She cleared her throat, then lifted her chin. “This is my son. Would you like to see him?”

  Silence vibrated through the room. Lady Adele’s mouth hung open. “How is it possible for you to have a son?” she finally asked.

  Pauline shrugged. “Oh, I got him in much the usual way.”

  Her aunt looked at me and my white-blond hair and then back at the baby. I saw the assumption she was making, and I was about to correct her, but then I said nothing. I would leave that to Pauline.

  The baby broke the silence with a loud wail.

  “Bring him here,” Berdi said holding her arms out. “I know how to rock that sweet potato so he—”

  “No,” Lady Adele said. “Let me see the child. Does he have a name?”

  Pauline crossed the room. “Not yet,” she said as she laid the baby in her aunt’s arms. “I’m still trying to find the right one.”

  Lady Adele patted, jiggled, and shushed the baby, and he quieted. She looked up at Pauline, her eyes blinking, her hand still patting, and it seemed, her mind spinning. “Finding a name isn’t so hard,” she finally said. “We’ll help you. Now go sit, your stew is getting cold. I’ll hold him while you eat.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  Even through the closed balcony doors, I could hear the laughter in the dining room. It was a good thing. A rare thing. It was momentary, I knew. The worry would close in again, but for a few hours, it was a blessed saving grace from the cares that gripped us. Names for the baby had been bantered around the table. Orrin offered up his own name several times, but most of the names were drawn from revered historical lines in Morrighan. When Kaden suggested Rhys, saying that a name that had no Morrighese history to live up to might signify a fresh start, Pauline agreed and it was settled. The baby was named Rhys.

  I had waited for at least five minutes after Rafe left to excuse myself. I didn’t want anyone to think his departure hastened my own—but it had. The room suddenly grew hot, and I needed air. He had never spoken or looked at me again after my toast, which shouldn’t have bothered me. There were so many at the table, so many conversations, and we were … nothing. At least nothing more than two leaders working together to find answers.

  I heard the door open behind me, the conversations from the dining room growing briefly louder, then muffled again as the door clicked shut.

  “Mind if I join you?” Sven asked.

  I waved to the balcony rail beside me, though I really didn’t want any company. “Please do.”

  This wing of the citadelle looked out on the forested hills—the same ones Pauline and I had disappeared into months ago. The tops of the trees were a black jagged edge against the starlit sky.

  Sven stared out into what was mostly darkness. “You’re not cold out here?” he finally asked.

  “What’s on your mind, Sven? It’s not the goose bumps on my arms.”

  “I was surprised you offered a toast to the king’s betrothal.”

  I sighed. “There’s been awkwardness. You’ve probably seen it. I thought it might be best just to get it out in the open and behind us.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. It’s probably for the best.”

  Bitterness rose in my throat. I hated things being for the best. They never really were. It was a phrase that sugarcoated the leftover crumbs of our options. “But I was surprised at how swiftly the betrothal happened after we parted.”

  Sven looked at me oddly. “You do understand that he had no choice.”

  “Yes, I know, for the stability of his reign.”

  A furrow spread across his brow. “He turned down plenty of barons offering their daughters for the stability of his reign, but he couldn’t turn down the general’s offer.”

  “Then the general’s daughter must be very special.”

  “Without a doubt, she is. She—”

  Why was he doing this to me? I turned to leave. “Excuse me, Sven, but I—”

  He reached out and lightly touched my arm to stop me. “I figured he didn’t tell you everything. You need to hear this, Your Highness. It won’t change anything. It can’t change anything,” he said more gravely, “but maybe it will give you a better understanding of what the king had to do. I don’t want you to think him so shallow that as soon as you were out of his sight, he forgot you.”

  He told me that Rafe had returned to a kingdom in more turmoil than any of them expected. The assembly and cabinet were at one another’s throats, commerce was in shambles, and the treasury greatly depleted. Dozens of decisions that had been put off were thrown at Rafe. He worked from sunup to late into the night. Everyone was looking for the young king to restore confidence and offered him a hundred opinions on how to do it, and all the while the general was breathing down his neck like a lion ready to pounce—the same general who had challenged him.

  “But through it all, I know there wasn’t a day he didn’t wonder and worry about you, questioning whether he should have let you go or whether he should have gone with you. The f
irst thing he did was have that book of yours translated.”

  “The one he stole.”

  He grinned. “Yes. He was hoping you’d made a mistake. That he could stop worrying.”

  “But he learned otherwise?”

  He nodded, then looked at me pointedly. “He also discovered the two passages that you failed to mention.”

  “What does any of this have to do with his betrothal, Sven?”

  “He didn’t tear out of Dalbreck only to save your kingdom or his—those thoughts came later. He was only a young man racing against time, desperate to save someone he still loved, but he knew he had to be clever about it too. He ordered the general to outfit a special company of soldiers by the next day so he could slip undetected into your kingdom with the very best men at his side. The general agreed—on one condition.”

  My stomach slowly crawled into my throat. A condition. “He blackmailed Rafe?”

  “I think the words negotiation and compromise were bandied about. He claimed he only wanted to ensure that Rafe returned home this time.”

  As stunned as I was, I also felt something lift in me. “Then it’s not a real betrothal at all. When he gets back to Dalbreck, he can—”

  “I’m afraid it is very real, Your Highness.”

  “But—”

  “One thing you should know. A betrothal agreement is the same as law in Dalbreck. Why do you think our kingdom became so enraged when your betrothal to the prince was broken? In our kingdom, it doesn’t matter if it’s written on paper or offered with a handshake. The word of a man is a promise. And this time, Jaxon has given his word to his own people. He has already pushed the limits of their trust by his long absence. A king, in the eyes of his subjects, who cannot be trusted to honor his word is not a king to be trusted at all. If he broke this promise, he wouldn’t have a kingdom to return to.”

  “He could lose his throne?” My mind spun with how much Rafe had risked.

  “Yes, and he cares deeply about his kingdom. They need him,” Sven answered. “It’s the kingdom of his fathers and ancestors. It’s in his blood to lead.”

  I understood the weight of promises, and Rafe’s strength as a king mattered more to Morrighan now, than it ever had. It mattered to me.

  I stared out at the jagged line of forest, feeling the stinging irony of Rafe’s choice: To help me and the kingdom of Morrighan survive, he had been forced to cut out my heart.

  “Is she kind?” I finally asked.

  Sven cleared his throat and shrugged. “She seems agreeable enough.”

  “Good,” I said. “He deserves that much.”

  And I meant it.

  I left and went to the roof, where it was only me, a thousand blinking stars, and the beauty of darkness stretched to the ends of the universe, snuffing out the endless games of courts and kingdoms.

  They passed through the long valley

  and the sentinels of devastation,

  looked down on Morrighan,

  from the towering peaks,

  whispering that the end of the journey was near.

  But Darkness roared, striking out again,

  and Morrighan fought for the Holy Remnant,

  spilling the blood of darkness,

  vanquishing it forever.

  —Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. IV

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  I sipped hot chicory out of a tall mug, studying the maps spread across the table in the meeting chamber. I moved them around as if looking at them from a new angle would make me see something I hadn’t before. There. It swirled inside me, a distant voice pushing me to look again and again, but I didn’t know what I was searching for. There. An answer? A warning? I wasn’t sure.

  I’d arrived early because I couldn’t sleep. It was still dark when I heard the cries of children. I threw back my quilt and looked out the window, but the cries weren’t coming from outside. They hovered in my room and swam behind my eyes. I saw them huddled, afraid, the young Vendan soldiers who were on their way. And then I heard the brezalots, their breath hot and fierce, the steam from their nostrils filling the night air, and finally the whispers of the Komizar crawled beneath my skin like vermin raising my flesh. Fervor, Jezelia, fervor. Are you understanding me at last?

  There was no going back to sleep after that. I dressed and crept down to the kitchen, where a kettle of hot water always steamed, and while my chicory steeped, I knelt beside the hearth, saying my morning remembrances, thinking of Morrighan crossing the wilderness with no map to guide her, and the courage she must have conjured. I prayed for that same courage.

  There were at least a dozen maps laid out on the table. Ones just of Civica, others of the whole kingdom, and still more of the whole continent. The maps blurred and a scent streamed through me, fragrant, like crushed grass in a meadow. The tiny hairs raised on my neck. There. A voice as clear as my own.

  I earnestly rearranged the maps again, this time examining the southern routes, but they had no more answers for me than before. There were dozens of possibilities. We had gone around and around about which route the Komizar would take, though once he spilled into Morrighan, it would make little difference. It wouldn’t take a hundred and twenty thousand soldiers long to quash villages along the way and then engulf Civica. Another looming question was when they would get here. How long did we have? Much depended on the route, though the difference between southern and northern routes was still only a matter of days. Lookouts had been sent to provide early warning, but they could not scout every mile of a vast wilderness.

  The last two weeks had taken much of our strategizing outdoors, riding the surrounding countryside, trying to find strategic locations to mount and fortify our defenses. Civica was miserably vulnerable, and the blockades being built on the two main arteries seemed woefully inadequate. During this time, I began training again. As soon as the sling and bandage came off, I tried to regain the strength in my left hand, but the numbness persisted. It was good for holding a shield and little else. I couldn’t hit a target from ten feet. My right hand had to work harder. I tried to hide my frustration as Natiya and I trained dozens of women who had come forward to serve in the effort, many of them already skilled with bows and swords.

  When he saw women among the troops, General Howland’s jaw clenched so tight I thought it might crumble into a hundred blustering splinters. “Every willing soldier is welcome and needed, General,” I told him, stamping out his arguments before they could begin. “A woman will be leading you into battle. Why would you be surprised to see them among the ranks?” He had looked at me, stunned, and I realized it was the first time he had grasped that I would be going into the battle with him. Yes, he was counting the days until my father recovered or my brothers returned, but there were still no signs of either one.

  The door opened, and I glanced up. Rafe stood there, a steaming mug in his hand too. I looked back at the maps. “You’re early.”

  “So are you,” he said.

  I hadn’t told him that I knew the circumstances of his betrothal. My toast hadn’t entirely eliminated the awkwardness between us. There were times he caught me looking at him, and I would quickly look away. At other times, his gaze lingered on me even when our conversation was finished, and I wondered what he was thinking. But we eased into a rhythm. Friends. Comrades. Like Kaden and I were.

  He walked over to my side of the table and looked at the sprawled papers with me. His arm brushed mine as he pushed a map aside. My skinned burned with his touch. Burned in a way it shouldn’t between friends. It wasn’t right, I knew, but I couldn’t help what I felt.

  “See anything?” he asked.

  I saw only that our efforts seemed futile. “No.”

  “We’ll find a way,” he said, reading my thoughts.

  * * *

  Kaden arrived, and we conferred, as we did each morning before everyone else joined us, about what needed to be addressed that day. The discussion of evacuating towns along likely invasion routes needed to be b
roached, but we knew that could stir panic and disrupt supply chains that we desperately needed. We leaned back in our chairs, our boots resting on the table, and hours later, we were in much the same position as we listened to Tavish and Captain Reunaud wrestle over ways to bring down a brezalot. They were nasty charging creatures and perfect for the delivery of the Komizar’s most destructive weapon. Both men had seen them killed with spears, but that would require too close a proximity to the exploding animals. They agreed a siege crossbow would work, but without knowing exactly where the enormous horses would charge from, we would need dozens of the weapons. Morrighan had four that hadn’t been used in years. Heavy siege weapons weren’t useful for most battles that occurred in remote field locations. Killing a man required only a sword or arrow. The order went out for more siege crossbows to be built.

  There was a knock at the door, and a sentry announced that servers were here with the midday meal. Maps were moved to a side table, and platters were brought in. As we ate, talk turned back to the training of soldiers, and my thoughts returned to my brothers. I looked at Rafe across the table from me. I wasn’t sure I had ever thanked him for requesting an escort home for my brothers’ squads, and then I selfishly wondered how many soldiers were in a Dalbretch battalion. In Morrighan, a battalion consisted of four hundred soldiers. Once here, would his men stay and help us?

  I knew the same thought had simmered in Kaden’s mind, and then between bites of his brisket and bread, the Field Marshal suddenly spoke aloud the question that we all had on our minds—would Dalbreck send more troops to help Morrighan? The room fell silent.

  The question had already been asked. Rafe had maintained since his arrival in Civica that he and his men were there only to help root out traitors, stabilize our kingdom, and help us prepare our forces for a possible invasion. The Field Marshal had put Rafe in an awkward position by asking again. Dalbreck was in jeopardy too. Rafe had his own borders to think about, not to mention his own troubled reign. He had already risked much just in coming here. I saw Sven’s focus sharpen, waiting to see what he would say.