Tiern’s gut churned, and Vixie gasped in horror.
“What is he going to do?” Vixie hissed.
Wyneth gave a sad shrug. “She won’t stop unless the laws against magic are lifted.”
Vixie’s eyes met Tiern’s, so expressive in her dread and dismay. He bit his tongue against all the things he wanted to say. Why would a Lashed One do this? Did they not value human life? Tiern shut his eyes. No, he couldn’t say “they.” That wasn’t fair. It was not all Lashed—his brother would never act that way. But it frustrated him to no end that a select few had decided to act in this extreme way. Did they have any clue how they were hurting their own cause?
“And to make matters worse,” Wyneth whispered, “they still have not discovered which of the king’s advisers was the traitor. He’s decided to dismiss most of them and keep only the two oldest councilmen who date back to his father’s reign.”
Shock zinged through Tiern, and he leaned forward against the table. “There was a traitor?”
Wyneth slapped a hand over her mouth. The princess waved off her cousin’s worries. “Tiern can be trusted. You must know that on instinct or you wouldn’t have blurted it out.”
Wyneth’s face turned red.
“I won’t say anything,” Tiern promised. “I swear it.”
They explained to him what had happened with the list burning. All he could do was shake his head, powerless. This, all of this, was greater than any beast. This was terror within terror. The people were afraid of everything and nothing, the seen and unseen, the known and unknown, all at once. Rational people were turning on one another. Lochlans were turning on their kingdom.
“But if he declares the laws to be overturned,” Tiern thought out loud, “more than one person will die each day. The entire kingdom could revolt. The towns . . . deep seas, the towns are not in good shape right now.”
Wyneth and Vixie both were quiet. What was there to say? They could do nothing.
“It makes me nervous for Princess Aerity to be studying abroad in the coldlands this month,” Tiern pondered. “I know she’s to marry a man from Ascomanni, but it still seems a poor time to send her on a trip.”
Wyneth and Vixie reacted strangely to this, blinking through a stretch of awkward silence. He immediately regretted saying a word.
“I meant no offense. I’m certain she’s being watched carefully.”
Wyneth muttered to Vixie, “I thought you’d told him.”
“Told him what, exactly?” Vixie muttered back with apparent annoyance. “Seeing as how I do not know anything about this trip abroad.”
Wyneth turned to her completely. “I assumed you would figure out the truth. Did she not write you, Vix? Where do you imagine she’s going?”
Vixie stared at her, thinking.
“Whoa, wait a moment.” Tiern held up his hands. “She’s not in Ascomanni? But a maid told me—”
“Nay,” Vixie said. “That’s the story Father made up to keep the staff and people from panicking. Aerity has . . . run off. Taken time to herself.” She tilted her head toward Wyneth. The two stared at each other, Wyneth waiting expectantly, until Vixie’s eyes went big. By now, Tiern was utterly confused and bloody curious.
Vixie began to sputter “Did she— Has she gone to . . . his brother?” She pointed to Tiern, and his heart sped up. Wyneth nodded.
“She’s gone to find Pax?” he asked.
The girls turned to him now.
“Aye,” Wyneth whispered.
Deep blue seas. His heart suddenly hurt, a massive longing for his brother’s presence overwhelming him. He had an urge to run for his horse to join them, but it had been at least five days since she left. He couldn’t believe the oldest princess would take such a dangerous risk. How many times had he himself thought of trying to find Pax? But his parents and duties to his town and kingdom had kept him planted in place.
“Is she alone?” he asked.
“Seas no,” Wyneth whispered. “Harrison accompanied her.”
“Did he?” Vixie asked with interest.
“Aye. But Uncle Charles believes Harrison went to find her and bring her back. So, as far as I know, he hasn’t sent anyone else out, though I think that might change now that a bit of time has passed. He’s getting impatient and worried. He’d have the military after her if he wasn’t so preoccupied.”
“Tell me everything, Wyn,” Vixie demanded. “I can’t even believe you’d keep me in the dark like everyone else.”
“I truly believed you’d figured the truth of it by now. And, besides, can you honestly say you wouldn’t have insisted on joining her?”
Vixie crossed her arms, scowling. She knew Wyneth was right. Vixie would have gone. “Just tell me how she did it?”
Tiern sat riveted at the tale of Princess Aerity’s transformation, and while Wyneth talked he felt himself warming at the thought of Aerity searching for his brother. She wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t love him. Their future queen loved his brother and was putting herself in danger to find him. And to think his brother could have killed the beast and married Aerity . . . if only he had not chosen to heal Tiern instead.
A flood of sour guilt made him woozy. He stood abruptly, his palms flat on the table as his head spun. Vixie’s large round eyes peered up at him in worry.
“Are you all right?”
“Aye . . . I just need a moment.”
Tiern walked from the dining area, trying to breathe away the tightness in his chest. But sea winds seemed to be blowing in the wrong direction for him at that moment because he ran into the last person he wanted to see. Lord Alvi was exiting the king’s office, a grim look on his face as he came to Tiern’s side.
“Let’s walk,” the coldlands man said.
Tiern exhaled and stayed at the man’s side as they walked down the halls and exited the castle. Several soldiers rushed out from behind them, and the hunters moved to the side to let them pass.
“They’re sending more troops to quell the restlessness in the kingdom.” Lord Alvi led them to the side of the cobbled road overlooking the sea to the west.
“Another killing?” Tiern asked.
Lord Alvi stared darkly out at the sea and gave a single nod. “They’ve scarcely any soldiers to spare. They’re all out searching for the Lashed woman and her henchmen, or henchwomen, as it may be.”
A sharp gust of wind hit them, and Tiern felt a lock of his hair come dislodged from its binding. He shoved it back behind his ear, muttering, “This is madness.” The king had to consider some sort of compromise.
“I need you to listen to me, Tiern.” The seriousness of Lord Alvi’s voice brought back Tiern’s earlier feelings of unease, but his next words were a punch to his gut. “Keep your distance from the younger princess.”
Tiern clenched his teeth. “I have no intentions of courting Princess Vixie.”
“And yet, it seems she has every intention of being courted by you. And after giving his first daughter away, I daresay the king would be remiss if he gave his other daughter whatever she wants. Unless, of course, there is a need to offer Vixie’s hand in a future proclamation.”
Tiern’s hackles went up in an uncanny moment of ferocity. “He can’t do that!”
“Oh, he can. And if necessary, he will. But settle down, lad. It’s not on the table yet.”
Tiern’s chest felt as if it were caving. If the king wanted to kill Vixie’s bright spirit, giving her away would be the way to do it.
“You’d do well to rein in your feelings for the lass,” Lord Alvi said. “You wear them openly. Think of the future of the kingdom. Think of your bloodline and what the people will do if one of their precious future royals turns out to be Lashed? Imagine the kingdom revolting, ready to tear down the monarchy and replace it. Always imagine the worst and never underestimate the people.”
“Enough!” Tiern leaned forward, hands on his knees, afraid he might be sick. “You’re only saying this because the princess preferred a Lashed over yo
u.”
Tiern felt Lord Alvi’s hand press firmly against his shoulder. “I’m saying it because it is the truth. As royals we must think always of the people and the kingdom. What they want or don’t want will always be most important. Aerity understands this, but Vixie has not yet grasped it.”
Tiern stood upright again. As much as he hated Lord Alvi for saying it, he knew the man was right, and he could read between the lines. Princess Vixie would not leave him alone, so it would be up to him. The thought of hurting her feelings in any way was a massive blow to his system. He’d been a fool to pretend there was a drop of a chance between them to begin with.
He gave Lord Alvi a nod and made his way down to the docks to be alone.
Chapter
11
Rozaria Rocato and her supporters were thorough about weeding through the people at the camp to be sure they were loyalists, willing to do any sort of menial work for the cause of Lashed rights in Eurona. She’d given rousing speeches about the worthiness and necessity of her cause. She made it sound damn good, as if it were truly the only way—that peaceful tactics were a waste of time and not an option. Paxton was not swayed, but he watched Konor succumb, eyes alight with worshipful vehemence.
The sun was setting, dulled by the thick surrounding trees and vines, like walls of green surrounding them. Paxton, Konor, Chun, and his family sat on one side of an unlit pile of sticks while Rozaria faced them, front and center, her men around her in a large semicircle. Paxton noticed that one woman was never far from Rozaria’s side. She was shorter and thinner, and always kept the hood of her cloak up, hiding her face. The woman turned away from the others when she ate and never spoke to anyone, but her attentiveness to Rozaria was unmistakable. He kept an eye on her, knowing the silent ones were not to be underestimated.
Paxton also noticed that the largest man of the group, who was always at Rozaria’s right hand, was overly attentive as well, but in another way. He gazed at the Rocato woman like a lovelorn sap and sought her approval in all things. Paxton couldn’t understand everything the man was saying in Kalorian, but he imagined it was something like “Is the meat cooked to your liking, my lady?” “Shall I strangle anyone for you today?” “Here, let me rip down this tree and hack it into a comfortable seat for you.”
And anytime Rozaria turned her attention to Paxton, he could feel the brute’s jealous eyes boring into him. Paxton paid him no mind, and sweetened his disposition toward the Lashed leader a wee bit, hoping he could cause smoke to curl from the man’s ears.
But for Paxton, a sweeter disposition simply meant he was willing to nod his head, make eye contact, and pretend not to hate her. He even spared a couple half grins for her sarcasm. Throughout the day, her keen eyes had followed his every move as he’d set about helping in the camp, skinning a rabbit, tending the fire, and fetching buckets of water to boil. He was certain she didn’t trust him, but he felt there was a warmer undercurrent in her interest—something he was willing to use in his favor if needed.
His heart nearly stopped as he watched a Kalorian man lean over the sticks, just as he himself had in Toresta, and light them with his hands. It was a wondrous thing. And to do it with no fear of repercussion. Paxton wanted that open freedom for himself and all Lashed everywhere.
But not for the price Rozaria had put on it. He couldn’t let himself forget how she sent the first beast into Lochlanach, having taught it to kill men. And kill it did. Hundreds of hunters, commoners, and soldiers, all dead so that she could manipulate King Charles into succumbing to her demands. There had to be a better way.
Once the fire was crackling, people put their catches on the end of long sticks and turned them over the flames. Paxton, like most of the others, had fish from the freshwater lake, striped bass and catfish. One of the men had a snake, and another had gutted a turtle.
Rozaria’s lovesick goon had two fish over the flames, no doubt cooking one for her while she sat back, her legs crossed, assessing the campers until her eyes stopped on Paxton and a mischievous smile bloomed.
“What do you think of our kingdom of Kalor, hunter?”
He rubbed the half inch of scruff that had grown on his chin. “I like your heat but don’t care for the muggy air.” Lochlanach had its bad days in the summer, but nothing like this.
Her oaf must not have approved of Paxton’s tone, because he gave a grunt and glared hard at him. Even Konor and the other campers watched their exchange with interest. Paxton kept his eyes on Rozaria.
“You grow accustomed,” she said.
Paxton nodded, though he doubted he could get used to the dampness. Rozaria watched him for another quiet moment before turning her gaze to the former chef of the Cliftonia royals in Toresta.
“Mister Chun Aval . . .”
He bowed his smooth head. “Yes, Miss Rocato.”
She stared at the man, as if contemplating. Then she stood and began to pace before the fire. Everyone’s dinner was cooked by then, but nobody ate. They watched the woman, waiting to hear what she would say, what grand scheme she was plotting. Finally, she decided to enlighten them.
“For one year I have been gathering people who agree that change is needed throughout all lands, at any cost. But each person in my ranks must prove themselves worthy and loyal.”
She stopped and turned to face them. As if some silent cue had been given, Rozaria’s brutes rose behind her and began to circle the campers until they were surrounded. Hair rose on Paxton’s arms. Chun’s wife wrapped their young daughter in her arms and peered around at Rozaria’s men. Chun’s brother was older, and his two sons were teenagers, but still young enough to show fear in their eyes. They moved minutely closer to their father. Paxton couldn’t take it any longer. He stood to face the Rocato woman.
“What exactly do you have in mind?” he asked in a steady voice.
Rozaria smiled as if she found him to be eager. She gave a nod to the hulking man at her side and called him by name. “Martone . . .” She gave him an order in Kalorian and he set off, leaving their group and moving toward the dilapidated building. She appeared quite pleased with herself. A feeling of dread pooled inside Paxton. The campers looked around at one another with anxious expressions.
Moments later, Martone came out of the building holding a hunched man by the arm. The man’s hands were bound behind his back, and he stumbled as he was pulled along, as if he didn’t have the energy to put one foot in front of the other.
When they reached the fire, Martone gave the man a shove, and he fell by Rozaria’s feet. She sneered down at him. He was filthy, his hair matted and his tunic torn down the center.
“We encountered this piece of rubbish in southern Lochlanach,” Rozaria told them. “He was spying on our camp by the river’s edge, and do you know what he said?”
She nudged the man with her foot and he mumbled, “Please, miss.”
“Silence!” She stared from Paxton to Chun to his relatives. “He said he saw what we were, and he told us he was going to the authorities. He said we would all be killed.” Her eyes shone as she stared down at the man now. “Tell them what you called us.”
He shook his head and curled into a ball. “I’m sorry, miss! I’m—”
“‘Unnatural vermin!’” she yelled down at him. “That is what you called us! ‘Devils of the sea!’” Her eyes were wild with fury and indignation as she looked out at the campers now. “Come forward, Chun.”
Paxton wanted to stop this. Everything in him screamed against the thought of Chun being asked to hurt a bound man.
Chun’s wife covered her mouth as he walked around the fire. Rozaria looked down at the prisoner.
“Get to your feet,” she ordered. The man struggled and flailed until Rozaria rolled her eyes and motioned for Martone to lift him, which he did.
Shaking and hunched, the man was the same size as Chun, who looked at the prisoner with trepidation. Then Chun turned his questioning eyes to Rozaria.
“In my army, you must always be pr
epared to protect our kind. Men like this”—she jutted her chin—“cannot be changed. His hatred of our kind will be passed along to the next generation. It is not enough to change laws in our governments. If the people still treat Lashed as evil entities, what life is that?” She glanced over at Chun’s family. His daughter’s face was hidden in his wife’s embrace, and his teenage nephews kept their faces down.
Rozaria shook her head. “I want to see your eyes. All of you. Your children’s as well.” She waited until the parents reluctantly nudged their children to look at her. “Whether you are Lashed or not, you carry the blood. You are one of us. You are in danger of being poorly treated, of being killed no matter how well you behave. You must not fear what must be done. In this way, you will be safe. In this way, you will prosper. I will let no harm befall you.” Again, her eyes gleamed with that maniacal zealousness. “I vow that one day, you will each be respected in your community. You will be treated like the noble-blooded citizens you are. You will each be kings and queens in your own right.”
Her words, her sure tone, her radiance—she had the entire camp bedazzled. The people nodded, some of the fear dissipating from their postures. But Paxton could not relax. Chun was not a killer. He was a harmless chef. This would change the man irrevocably, and his family along with him.
Rozaria faced Chun, the fire lighting her face with a fluttering wickedness.
“Put your hands on him, Chun. Stop his heart.” The Torestan stared at her, then at the prisoner, then back at her as if uncertain of her seriousness. “He is not worthy of pity. He would have you killed. He would gladly have killed your daughter.” She pointed at his girl, who watched with big eyes.
Chun’s hand slowly lifted, but he hesitated. “I—I’ve never killed someone.”
“Do not think of him as a man. He is your enemy. Focus on stopping the movement of blood through his heart, and it will happen.”
“Nay, please!” the man cried out.
Chun hesitated, his breathing heavy. Konor watched, riveted, a partial smile on his face. Paxton had the feeling the man would step in to offer to do it if Chun could not. Paxton stayed very still, but his eyes darted around him for any possible weapon. This was the worst of circumstances. He was surrounded by men who weren’t just armed, they were Lashed. Attempting to escape or stop this madness was futile. His mind whirred. He couldn’t let Chun do this. He couldn’t watch a man be killed.