The Empty Throne

  “Zabriel, no,” I cried, rushing to his side. “Please stop!”

  “I don’t want to be the heir to the throne, Anya. I don’t want to be Fae.”

  “So you would rather be human? What makes you think that would be better?”

  “At least in the human world, no one expects anything from me.”

  “You don’t have to cut off your wings—just talk to your mother.”

  He scoffed and hacked again at his wing, and I cringed. Blood was now streaming from the wound, and I grabbed his shirt off the floor to try to stave its flow. He seized hold of my wrist and met my eyes, his own filled with anger and despair.

  “Just leave, Anya. You don’t have to watch.”

  “You’re hurting me!” He released me at once, and I stood, rubbing my wrist. “If you want me to leave you to your butchering, I will. But it’s just like you to make a dramatic statement instead of finding a real solution.”

  His eyes widened, but I spun on my heel and stalked from him, not waiting for a response.

  I stood once more in the room of bookshelves and cabinets, trembling in the aftermath of my encounter with Zabriel and afraid I had done the wrong thing in leaving him alone. But I could not make myself return. Instead, I walked toward the third door, knowing I was also supposed to enter it, yet more afraid than ever. Gathering my courage, I stepped forward and, with a hard push, sent it crashing open.

  It was dark inside, darker than the other rooms, but a faint light—moonlight—shone upon one wall. A young woman with auburn hair was pinned against it, an arrow through her wings, her hands shackled. Sweat beaded on her face, putting a shine on her terror. She lifted her head to see a man with a halberd bearing down on her, raising the weapon to strike. Just before it fell, a slightly built figure stepped forward, reaching out a comforting hand.

  “Shhhh,” she whispered.

  Then the halberd fell, and I screamed.

  * * *

  I woke to soft knocking and the discovery that I’d passed out on the hardwood floor. The knocking gained volume, and my equilibrium returned, bringing my surroundings into focus. I was lying with the lower half of my body in the bathroom and the upper half in the bedroom—and I was in the Governor’s mansion.

  I scrambled to my feet, the floor undulating beneath me as though I were at sea. Fighting the sensation, I leaned forward, hands on my knees for stability, breathing hard through my nose. I didn’t know what time it was, didn’t know who might be summoning me—but I had to answer the door.

  The knocking paused and then resumed with more insistence. I straightened and kicked the contents of my spilled satchel into the bathroom. Throwing on a robe from the armoire, I went to greet my visitor, a pasted-on smile in place.

  Galina stood in the corridor, hand in the air, poised to continue pounding. Despite her efforts to rouse me, she seemed shocked to see me—or perhaps her expression was due to the position of her knuckles but a short distance from my face.

  “Good morning, Princess Anya,” she brightly said, quickly retracting her hand. Her hair was tied in a neat bun, the dark dress she wore crisply pressed. “The Governor would like me to extend an invitation on his behalf. He requests that you join him for breakfast.”

  Breakfast—the very word made my stomach pitch. And yet meeting the Governor had long piqued my interest.

  “Thank you. I’ll be down shortly.” I started to close the door, but Galina put a hand on the wood and slipped past me into the room.

  “I’ve been sent to help you dress. And I’ll tidy the room while you’re out.”

  She moved to the windows and threw aside the heavy drapes, permitting the sun to enter, and I cringed as if burned by acid. Panic assailed me—my eyes were overly sensitive to light, my balance unsteady, and my mind encased in cotton. Self-loathing washed over me, seeming to undo the work of last night’s bath, and I fervently wished I hadn’t touched the Cysur. I was ill, I was a mess, and it was because of my own choices.

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” I told the maid firmly, moving to close the bathroom door. I needed to get rid of her. I couldn’t let her discover the activity in which I’d engaged. No one could know of my burgeoning—and illegal—habit. “Inform the Governor I’ll be down shortly.”

  Galina glanced at me, her brow furrowed as though my words had been garbled, then moved to the armoire.

  “It’s a beautiful day, and you’ve been provided with plenty of pretty garments. Would you like me to suggest something?”

  I sighed, finding her cheerful attitude exhausting.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve been dressing myself since I was a little girl.” I smiled, though my thoughts had moved to the scars on my back. “So please, just carry my acceptance back to the Governor.”

  Confusion skipped across her face, telling me my acceptance was assumed and didn’t need to be delivered. I apparently had choices when it came to dresses but not when it came to Wolfram Ivanova. In truth, I hadn’t been invited; I’d been summoned.

  Galina had ceased fussing about the room and was standing flat-footed, looking chagrined.

  “Have I displeased you in some way?” she tentatively asked, and I groaned internally. Even Ivanova servants were difficult to discourage. “Would you prefer someone else assist you?”

  “No, that’s not it. I’d just be more comfortable getting ready on my own. And you don’t need to tidy the room. Fae tend to be private by nature, and I’ve always taken care of my own living quarters.”

  “But your wrist—”

  “One good hand is all I need.” I kept my tone light, trying to keep the exasperation I was feeling from entering my voice. This woman was fully committed to her mission.

  “I could at least make—”

  “No.”

  “I could bring you—”

  “No.”

  “Linens?”

  “No.”

  She sighed, and I had the distinct feeling she thought me odd. “Very well, then, Princess.”

  “Don’t fret, Galina,” I said with a small forced laugh, escorting her to the door. “This just reflects a difference between your culture and mine. But if I do think of something I need, I’ll happily send for you.”

  “As you wish, Princess.” She gave me a smile and a curtsey and disappeared into the hallway. At least I hadn’t dampened her spirits.

  Feeling better now that I had been upright for a while, I hurried to the armoire and selected a simple, loose-fitting gown that fell around my ankles. I slipped it over my head, splashed some water on my face, and tied my hair back, all the while thanking Nature that someone had thought to provide me with traditional Fae clothing. If I’d been saddled with the layered skirts, corset, and bustle of a wealthy human woman, I’d have been forced to run after my personal maid.

  Prepared at last, I left the room, firmly closing the door behind me, and almost ran into Constable Marcus Farrier, who had apparently been posted at my door to guard me through the night. At least, that was the best reason I could think of for his disgruntled expression.

  “Anya, this way,” he said, and though I wasn’t used to being addressed as “Princess,” I couldn’t help but notice his lack of formal address, especially when Luka had corrected him the night before.

  I walked past him down the corridor to the landing at the top of the stairs. He came up beside me but did not extend his arm to escort me down the steps, and I gripped the banister to steady myself while I shakily descended. Once more, he followed, and I wondered if he would at least pick me off the floor if I fainted.

  “This way,” he informed me upon reaching the magnificent entryway. He gestured toward one of many corridors that extended like spokes of a wheel from where we stood.

  With a nod, I proceeded, the fact that he did not walk b
eside me down the wide hallway making me feel more and more uncomfortable. Either he was brusquer and less gentlemanly by nature than the other high-ranking men I had encountered or he resented me. Since I could think of no reason for such a reaction stemming from the relatively few contacts between the two of us, it suggested he disliked the Fae. Was Luka heavily reliant on a Fae-hating prevaricator? And if so, in what sorts of activities could a man in his position and with his access to resources engage? I shivered—Marcus Farrier was a man I needed to watch.

  Chapter Twelve

  PYRITE AND THE PRINCE

  Voices floated toward Constable Farrier and me as we neared a door that was almost, but not quite, closed, and I recognized Luka as the first speaker.

  “You need to consider it—seriously consider it.”

  “There’s nothing to consider. It’s a risk I won’t take.” The second voice was gruff, grim, and deep. There was little about it that was inviting; it seemed Luka had not inherited his warmth from his father.

  “You’re taking a massive risk by doing nothing.”

  “Doing nothing? I’ve exhausted—”

  Luka interrupted the Governor, drowning out his words. “Yes, that’s my point—”

  Without hesitation, the Constable put a hand on the ornate wooden door and pushed it open, interrupting the argument before tempers could flare. With a deep breath, I stepped across the threshold into a quaint breakfast room decorated in pleasant shades of coral and blue. Sunshine sprawled through the windows, dancing over the papered walls and lace-covered dining table, setting the china, crystal, and silverware a-sparkle. The Governor and Lieutenant Governor immediately came to their feet. While I didn’t know much more about the Ivanova family than Zabriel did, I wasn’t surprised to see that there were no women at the table. Fi had once told me Luka was a bachelor, and the Governor had long been a widower.

  “Your guest,” Farrier announced; then he gave the men a nod and took his leave.

  Luka was taller than his father, and I had always thought him imposing, but the bearing of Wolfram Ivanova set a new standard. The older man was barrel-chested with heavy black eyebrows and a stern expression that seemed to cast a pall across the floor. He was regaled in a dark blue double-breasted coat with gold chains linking each pair of buttons, the silver in his otherwise dark hair adding an aura of wisdom and distinction. Nimble despite his age, he strode to me while Luka withdrew toward the wall to make room for our meeting. With a bend at the waist, he took and kissed the back of my uninjured hand, his salt-and-pepper beard prickling my skin. I had never before been this close to the Governor—never before been this close to the man who had given the order to execute my cousin—and my light-headedness returned. How had I ended up here? And why had this meeting come too late?

  The Governor gazed directly at me with a grandfatherly smile and brown eyes the very shape and shade of Zabriel’s. My knees buckled, and I groped in the air for support. I would likely have swooned if Luka hadn’t appeared at my side to put an arm around my waist to shore me up. He deposited me safely in a chair to the left of his father’s position at the head of the table.

  “Are you unwell, Princess Anya?” he asked. “Would you like to return to your quarters?”

  It was clear Luka thought the ordeal of the night before might yet be having an effect on me. While that provided a reasonable cover for my behavior, images of my cousin’s execution were rising in my mind—Zabriel bound and hooded awaiting his fate, Constable Farrier stopping me in my tracks with the butt of his gun, the Governor’s hand slicing the air to signal the release of the plank. I swallowed hard, wondering how I was going to get through the next minute, the next half hour. But now that I’d made it this far, I had no intention of leaving.

  “I’m fine, just a little dizzy. Nothing some good food won’t fix.” I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Luka nodded and walked to the other side of the table as his father reclaimed his seat.

  “It is an honor to welcome you to our home, Princess,” the Governor intoned, his mien formal but sincere.

  For the first time, I noticed the dog perched near his right elbow on a chair of its own, and my jaw almost dropped. The pup was gray and white, plush of coat and stocky in build, with a tail that curled high over its back. It wore a haughty expression and a deep blue collar that matched the Governor’s attire, aspects I was sure did little to dispel Luka’s annoyance at being relegated one chair farther down. This was the same dog I’d seen in the viewing box at the executions.

  “Thank you, Governor,” I managed, happy for the distraction the animal provided.

  “And how would you prefer to be addressed?”

  “Anya will do, please.”

  It was the way of my people to address only our ruler and his or her immediate family by formal title. Though I was Queen Ubiqua’s niece, I’d gone by my name and nothing more my entire life, and frankly I was growing weary of the title of “Princess.”

  “Then to you I am simply Wolfram, while my son, whom you have previously met, may be addressed as Luka. And if you’ll indulge the whims of an old man, this handsome fellow is my dog, Konstantin.”

  “Of course, Governor—I mean, Wolfram.” My throat was tightening and I was beginning to feel fevered, as though being in close proximity to the territory’s leaders was draining my life force. I reached for my water glass, wondering if my hosts could sense the stress building in my veins, wondering if my tissues might not visibly swell and expand from the pressure. I took a drink, aware that the Governor was perusing me, and managed a few additional words. “I appreciate your kindness.”

  “Did you sleep well?” Luka inquired, redirecting the conversation. The question felt strangely superficial and genteel considering the history of the exchanges between us, but I had the impression the Governor considered mealtime a refined affair.

  “I closed my eyes and don’t remember much more,” I evaded, but the rise in Luka’s eyebrows told me he had discerned the truth. Perhaps he had also tossed and turned, though he would not have resorted to the measures I had to gain a modicum of rest. My face flushed at that thought, and I fiddled with the napkin beside my plate, unable to hold his gaze.

  Governor Ivanova rang the bell that rested on the table near his goblet, and servants bearing platters laden with food entered through a passage from the kitchen. Intermingled aromas of eggs, bacon, biscuits, and gravy rolled over me, though they proved insufficient to stimulate my hunger. The aftereffects of the Green were potent, and I wondered if my face was turning the color of my vice.

  “And how is your wrist?” Luka continued. “Would you like our family physician to examine it? He could provide some pain medication.”

  “No, thank you. It hurts, but not unbearably so. I’ve had worse injuries.”

  Though the words came from my mouth without much thought, their impact was immense. The room stilled, the air seemed to thicken, and Luka and his father locked eyes. Aware of my mistake, I was scrambling for a way to break the tension when a servant entered to set a bowl of food in front of the dog. In my peripheral vision, I caught the roll of Luka’s eyes, and I smiled.

  “Your pup has excellent manners,” I murmured to the Governor, for the animal was taking robust yet careful bites, not a crumb falling on the tablecloth. “Better than a fair amount of people I’ve met.”

  The Governor chuckled—a low rumbling sound—and began to fill his plate, holding the platters out to me. I politely took a small serving of everything, wishing I were seated more advantageously to slip some to Konstantin.

  There were so many questions I wanted to pose—not least of all about the dog—but I didn’t want to volunteer information about myself, especially when I wasn’t sure what I was really doing here. I took a couple of bites of the delicious fare and felt some of my strength return, then decided it could
n’t hurt to test the balance of power between the Governor and his son.

  “Excuse me, Luka, but do you have any news yet about the boy who followed me last night?”

  Luka shot me a warning look, and I realized his father might not know everything about the events that had transpired.

  “What boy, Luka?” Wolfram demanded.

  “There was a nine-year-old involved in the incident in which Anya broke her wrist.”

  “And what became of him?”

  “He’s in our custody.”

  Stunned by this news, I blurted, “You arrested a child?”

  Luka frowned. “We do not arrest children. He was injured and in need of medical care. And I would prefer not to put him back on the street.”

  “May I see him?”

  Before Luka could answer, his father spoke up. “That seems a reasonable request. Surely you could arrange a meeting?”

  “We have more pressing matters before us right now.”

  The Governor gave Luka a piercing stare. It was clear he did not like to be challenged. “As soon as possible, then.”

  “Thank you, Wolfram,” I interceded, unable to conceal a smug smile, for I had removed Frat from the bargaining table. “And you, too, Luka.”

  The Lieutenant Governor tipped his head, his eyebrows slightly raised, whether in amusement or approbation, I wasn’t sure. Either way, he was being a good sport about it. And he had probably learned as much about me as I had learned about his father and him.

  Even though breakfast appeared to be the antidote I needed, my stomach felt so shriveled that every forkful was a challenge. I pushed the food around on my plate, trying to make it look like I’d eaten more, not wanting to appear ungrateful for the hospitality extended to me. Luka, whose own plate was still half-full, caught my eye. Before a blush could even bloom in my cheeks, he winked and deliberately laid down his silverware, giving me permission to do the same. I flashed him a genuine smile, grateful for his sensitivity and, for once, his astuteness. I was starting to understand the reason Fi not only placed her faith in him but seemed enamored of him.