The Beauty of Darkness

  Rafe studied me, weighing his answer carefully, then looked back at the Field Marshal. “When I sent the message to Fontaine, I also made a request for troops.”

  Expressions around the table brightened.

  “How many?” Marques asked.

  “All of them.”

  Sven leaned back in his chair and sighed. “It’s our largest outpost. That’s six thousand soldiers.”

  A few hushed seconds passed.

  “Well. That’s—” The Field Marshal’s brows were slivered moons above his wide eyes.

  “Remarkable!” Howland finished.

  “And very much welcomed,” Marques added.

  “I made a similar request to Marabella,” Rafe added. “They’ll pick up troops at two more outposts along the way. That’s another two thousand. I’m certain they’ll all come, as long as the Valsprey got there without incident. I can’t make a promise about the rest.”

  I wasn’t sure we had heard him right. “The rest?” I said, as stunned as everyone else.

  Sven stood, his hands pressed against the table. “The rest?”

  “The thirty-two thousand troops still in Dalbreck that I’m pulling from our borders. As I said, I can’t promise they’ll come. The transition of power has had some obtacles. The general I had to request the troops from is also the one who recently challenged me. He might use this request as a way to resume his campaign for the throne. It’s unlikely, though—” Rafe looked at me, hesitating.

  “Because you’re betrothed to his daughter,” I finished.

  Rafe nodded.

  “Unlikely?” Sven stared at Rafe in disbelief, his eyes blazing, then turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Rafe nodded at Tavish to go after him, and Tavish left too.

  There was a quiet lull, officers staring at the door, Sven’s anger still hovering in the air, and then the Field Marshal looked back at Rafe. I saw the doubt in his eyes. Helping a princess with a rebellion to expose traitors was one thing, but a king abandoning his own borders was an act of insanity. “Why in the gods names would you do that? It will leave your own borders vulnerable.”

  Rafe’s composure didn’t falter. “I have no doubt the Komizar will attack Dalbreck—but not before he attacks Morrighan. He’s coming here first.”

  “So the princess has said, but how can you be certain that—”

  “It’s a calculated risk. Not bringing my troops here is the greater risk. It could spell our own destruction. From a strategic standpoint, you have the ports and resources to take over every other western kingdom. Once the Komizar has Morrighan, he’s unstoppable.”

  He paused, his eyes briefly searching mine. “But it’s far more that makes me certain. Someone once asked me if I ever felt something deep in my gut.” He looked back at the Field Marshal, then skimmed the walls around us and the ancient mural that told the story of the girl Morrighan, his gaze rising to the ceiling, the stones, and it seemed, the mortar of the centuries that held it all together. “This is the jewel the Komizar hungers for. Morrighan is the oldest kingdom—the one that gave birth to all the others. It has never fallen. It’s a symbol of greatness—but more than that, it’s the kingdom the gods ordained from the beginning. To the Komizar, conquering Morrighan is the same as conquering the gods. I saw that desire in his eyes when I was in Venda, and he will settle for nothing less.”

  We sat there for long stunned seconds, and I knew Rafe had perceived the Komizar’s ambitions with amazing clarity.

  “Thank you, King Jaxon,” I finally said. “However many may come, each soldier will make us stronger, and for each one we will be in your debt.” But I was thanking him for more than his troops. He was in this as knee-deep as Kaden and I were now. It was all or nothing.

  A renewed exuberance erupted in the room, the generals and officers adding their thanks to mine, but Kaden, Rafe, and I exchanged a knowing look. If all the troops Rafe requested came, our combined forces would number seventy thousand. We were still outnumbered almost two to one by an army that would descend upon us with more deadly weapons. Rafe tempered their response with a reminder that this was only a bandage on a gaping wound. What we needed was a needle and thread to stitch it shut.

  “But it’s a damn good bandage,” the Field Marshal said.

  Discussions resumed. With the added forces in mind, the generals began talking of more defensive blockades on key Morrighan arteries.

  A needle and thread.

  I stared at Kaden. His mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear the words. The room grew hazy. The deliberations became a distant rumble, even as other sounds rose to the forefront.

  A creak.

  A crunch.

  A wheel on stone.

  I remembered hearing the clang of the bridge. It came too soon. Before first thaw. The sounds in my head grew louder, the room dimmer.

  The hiss of steam.

  A keening howl.

  Hurried footsteps.

  Fright, thick as night.

  Fervor, Jezelia, fervor, a hot whisper in my ear.

  And then another voice, soft and quiet, as thin as a flutter of wind.

  There.

  “Lia?” Kaden said, touching my arm.

  I jumped, the haze vanishing. Everyone stared at me, but all I could think was, pachegos. My chair squealed back behind me, and I raced to the side table where the piles of maps lay. “Move the food!” I yelled as I carried the armful of maps to the table and spread them out.

  “What the devil?”

  “Did you see something?”

  “Someone tell me what she’s doing.”

  I shuffled through the maps until I found the one I wanted.

  There.

  “A northern route,” I said. “This is the way he’s coming.”

  A wave of arguments rose. “We already discounted a northern route. He could get caught in a late snowfall.”

  “Farther north,” I said. “By way of Infernaterr. It’s the perfect route. It’s flat, and winter never reaches there.”

  By now both Kaden and Rafe were looking over my shoulder at the map too.

  Kaden stepped back and shook his head. “No, Lia. Not there. He would never come that way. You know the clans. Even Griz and Finch. Too many in his army fear the superstitions of the wastelands.”

  I leveled my gaze at Kaden. “That’s the point. He is using that fear.”

  He looked at me, still not understanding.

  “Fervor, Kaden. He no longer has me. He’ll create his own. A different kind of fervor to push them forward.”

  The dawning rolled through his eyes—and then the worry. How much sooner would they reach here than we thought?

  “I’ve heard them,” I said. “The cries of the young soldiers. The howls of the pachegos. The Komizar uses their fear to rally them. And what better way than the wastelands of Infernaterr to move his army swiftly across the continent?”

  I looked back at the map, eyeing an expanse between Infernaterr and Morrighan. More words sounded in my head. Rafe’s words, chiding me as my sword blocked his.

  Attack! Don’t wait for me to wear you down!

  “What is this?” I asked, pointing to what looked like a V-shaped line of peaks at the end of Infernaterr.

  Captain Reunaud stepped closer to see what I pointed at. “Sentinel Valley. Sometimes it’s called Last Valley.” He explained it was believed to be the last valley Morrighan led the Remnant through before they reached their new beginning. He had traveled through it a few times in convoys headed to Candora.

  Keep on the move! Let surprise be your ally!

  “Why is it called Sentinel Valley?” I asked.

  “Ruins,” he answered. “They sit atop the high hills that hem in the valley as if they’re watching you. Light can play tricks there. It’s an eerie trail, and when the wind whistles through the ruins, soldiers say it is the Ancients calling to one another.”

  I asked him specifics about the terrain, the height of the p
eaks, the length of the valley, and the multiple canyons that lay beyond the peaks.

  Advance! The sword is a killing weapon, not a defensive one. If you’re using it to defend, you’re missing a chance to kill.

  Reunaud said it was ten miles of valley that narrowed to a point less than fifty yards wide. I already envisioned the Komizar’s front lines. They would be the youngest whom he would consider the most disposable of his army. Venda has no children. He would throw it in my face, expecting it to undo me as it had that day on the terrace. Undo every Morrighese soldier who was reluctant to lift their sword against a child.

  “We’re wasting our time trying to defend Civica. We need to advance.”

  “Advance? Where?” General Howland grumbled. “What are you—”

  “This is our needle and thread. Containment. We funnel his army and then hit him with surprise attacks from the side. We take on the strongest while we are still strong. It might be our only chance.”

  I pointed to the small V on the map. “There. This is where we’ll meet the Komizar’s army. We move all our troops to Sentinel Valley.”

  The arguments exploded. Howland, Marques, and Perry came at me with everything they had, thinking I was as crazy to move our entire forces to one very distant location on what they called a hunch. Rafe and Kaden studied the maps, quietly conferring, then both looked at me and nodded.

  The Field Marshal and Reunaud seemed caught between it all.

  “Do you know how long it would take to move thirty thousand troops that far?” Howland bellowed, shaking his finger at me.

  “So you’re saying that a barbarian leader can move a staggering army of a hundred and twenty thousand troops across the entire continent and we can’t manage to move our smaller forces to a location just outside our borders? Perhaps we should just give up now, General?”

  “But there’s no proof he’s coming from the north at all!” Marques shouted.

  Perry threw his hands up in the air. “Leave Civica unprotected? You can’t—”

  “This point,” I said sharply, “is not under advisement. We begin laying out new strategies in the morning. We head out by the end of the week. You’re free to leave now to prepare our troops to move—”

  Howland stepped toward me, his fists rigid at his sides. “This is not going to happen!” he yelled. “I’ll take it up with the queen. You are not—”

  Rafe and Kaden both tensed, looking as if they were ready to send him for another swim in the fountain—by way of the window—but then pounding shook the door to the chamber. It flew open and the Timekeeper burst into the room, pushing past the sentry, his eyes bulging and his face shining with sweat. Pauline and Gwyneth rushed in on his heels.

  “What is it?” I asked, my heart jumping to my throat.

  “It’s the king,” he said, between labored breaths. “He’s awake. And he wants to see all of you in his chamber. Immediately.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  General Howland was the first out the door, as if this were a gift delivered into his hands by the gods themselves.

  My father is awake. It is a gift, I thought. But maybe not a timely one.

  Rafe and Kaden both balked, wondering if their presence was actually requested. Pauline assured them it was. Neither seemed eager to meet my father.

  We walked briskly through the hallways, the Timekeeper and General Howland leading the way. Pauline and Gwyneth told us the queen was at his side and the king had already been informed of everything that had transpired.

  “You mean that little thing called a rebellion?” Rafe said, and rubbed his neck like it was headed for a noose.

  “Not amusing,” I said.

  Our footsteps echoed in the hallway, sounding like a small stampede of nervous goats. It felt like we would never get there, but then, before I was ready, the door to his outer chamber opened and we were ushered in by my aunt Cloris. The rest of the cabinet members, including the Royal Scholar, were already there.

  “Go on in,” she said. “He’s waiting.”

  My pulse pounded, and we filtered into his room.

  He sat in his bed, propped up with pillows. His face was lined and gaunt and looking far older than his years, but his eyes were bright. My mother’s chair was beside the bed, and their hands were laced together in uncharacteristic familiarity.

  His eyes landed on me first, lingering for a long scrutinizing moment before he finally moved on, eyeing the others present.

  “I understand you were having a meeting,” he said, “and I wasn’t invited?”

  “Only because you were indisposed, Your Majesty,” I answered.

  His brows pulled together. “I guess a daily dose of poison didn’t quite agree with me.”

  “Your Maj—”

  My father scowled. “I’ll get to you, Howland. Wait your turn.”

  The general nodded.

  “Which of you is the king of Dalbreck?”

  “That would be me, Your Majesty,” Rafe answered.

  My father lifted his hand with much effort and waved Rafe closer with a crooked finger. “You here to take over my kingdom?”

  “No, sir, only to assist.” It was clear my father was still very weak, and I knew Rafe measured his words carefully. I also detected a certain nervousness in his response, and Rafe was never nervous. It made my breath catch.

  “Come closer. Let me get a better look at you.”

  Rafe stepped forward and fell to one knee at his bedside.

  “What are you on your knee for?” my father growled. “One king doesn’t bow to another. Your steward didn’t teach you that?” His eyes danced, and he briefly glanced at me before turning back to Rafe. “Unless you’re on bended knee for another reason? If that’s the case, you’re facing the wrong person.”

  Oh, dear gods. He was toying with Rafe. This was not my father. Had the poison addled his brain?

  “No other reason,” Rafe said, and quickly returned to his feet.

  My father waved Rafe back.

  “And you must be the Assassin,” he said to Kaden. He waved Kaden forward in similar fashion. Kaden did not fall to a knee, but I knew he wouldn’t. He would never have bowed to royalty, even if it cost him his life. My father didn’t seem to notice the snub and studied Kaden. He swallowed, and I saw a glimmer of regret in his expression, as if he saw the resemblance between Kaden and the Vicergent. “I knew about you. Your father told me your mother took you away.”

  “Deception has always been his strength,” Kaden answered.

  My father’s chest rose in a ragged breath. “And yours too, I understand.”

  I glanced at Pauline. She had been in on the briefing, but had she told him about Terravin?

  “You here to kill anyone, boy?”

  A faint grin lit Kaden’s eyes. He was ready to play this game with my father. “Only on your daughter’s orders.”

  “She order you to kill me?”

  Kaden shrugged. “Not yet.”

  My father’s eyes sparked, the game invigorating him, bringing him back to life. His gaze turned to me. He scowled again. “You disobeyed my orders, Arabella, and I understand you bartered off the wedding cloak jewels that have been in our family for generations. You must be punished.”

  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.