The Empty Throne

  “I’ll leave you to your meal, then,” the Lieutenant Governor was saying. “But I’ll return for Anya immediately after the dinner hour. Tomorrow is an important day, and you both need to be well rested.”

  Zabriel stood, walked to the table, and laid a hand on the back of one of the chairs. I was relieved to see his gait was steady, though he moved more slowly than usual. It appeared he would be ready to handle the stresses looming on the horizon.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” he said. “For everything.”

  The men locked eyes, and I had the feeling they were coming to terms with each other.

  “I’m starving,” Zabriel announced once Luka had departed. He opened the basket to remove bread, cheese, and meat, along with a bottle of wine. Although my cousin’s stomach might have been growling, it was my hands that were itching, wanting to open the wine. It offered an alternative to the painkillers for tonight. After that, I didn’t know, and the uncertainty made me tremble. It also cemented my desire for the container on the nightstand.

  “Help yourself, Anya.” Zabriel tilted his head toward the food and popped the cork on the wine bottle. Now was my chance. Heart pounding so hard my chest hurt, I shifted toward the nightstand and slipped the bottle of painkillers into my pocket, then joined my cousin at the table. As soon as he had filled my goblet, I picked it up and drained it.

  “Rather thirsty, aren’t you?” he remarked, refilling the glass and taking a seat. “Save some for me.”

  I laughed, hoping he didn’t see the need inside me, and likewise sat down, forcing myself to sample the food.

  “So how are things between you and the Governor?” I asked, intending to start a casual conversation. But Zabriel’s dark eyes bore into my face, and he clenched his jaw in poorly modulated anger.

  “My mother lied to me all my life about my human family. I grew up believing they didn’t care about me, when they didn’t even know whether or not I existed. But I never thought about it from their point of view. I still can’t believe the Governor...my grandfather...has been holding his vigil all these years. And now he’s trying to make up for everything he lost. He’s happy to have me here, but at times seems sad about all the things he missed.” He paused and sipped his wine. Taking my cue from him, I matched him sip for sip. “Only that’s not quite right, Anya—he didn’t miss my childhood. He was denied my childhood. And there’s anger simmering inside him because of that.”

  “Just like there’s anger simmering inside you.”

  He shrugged, busily chewing. “Queen is a title, Anya, nothing more. Just like Prince. And like me, Ubiqua’s done things that make her undeserving of her title.”

  I stared at him, unsure which aspect of his loaded statement to address. With cold dread settling over me, I addressed the assertion he had also made in Sheness.

  “What things has she done?”

  He shot me a forbidding look, then topped off our wine goblets.

  “It’s not necessary for you to know. But it’s why I ran. I just wanted to be gone from it all, you understand? I didn’t want to labor over what to say and to whom. And I didn’t want to become part of it—the politics, the deception, the hypocrisy inherent in leading a people.”

  The sun had fully set, and the light from the wall sconces moved in Zabriel’s dark eyes like the serpentine waves of the ocean. When had he become so bitter, so cynical? Besides the things I knew—Ubiqua’s concealment of Zabriel’s birth from the Ivanova family, and her unwillingness to intervene with Enerris on Illumina’s behalf—what else had the Queen done that had led to such resentment in her own son? On some level, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, preferring to see her as the beneficent Queen I always had, and not wanting to tap into the fear that constantly waited to spring forth. Deciding to drop pursuit of those answers, I turned to the other declaration he had made.

  “And what have you done to make you undeserving of the title of Prince?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m a pirate, Anya. I don’t think much more needs to be said.”

  “But it does. You told me in Sheness you’d only killed one person. And that your reputation was greatly inflated. If that’s the case, then those problems are behind you along with your persona of William Wolfram Pyrite.”

  “I still took a man’s life. And I won’t deny an impressive amount of theft. I had a special skill set that didn’t rely on brute force.” He leaned closer to me and dropped the volume of his voice. “And some would say I murdered that poor fellow who was the experimental test subject we discovered on Evernook Island. It’s all in how you look at things.”

  “That was a mercy killing, and the real culprits are those behind the facility. And if it’s all in how you look at things, then we’ll look at things in the most favorable way.”

  While I was generally confident in my contentions, there was one part of his history that nagged at me.

  “But, Zabriel, how did you come to take Krylov’s life?” At his look of surprise, I added, “Ilia Krylov’s murder was specifically mentioned at the execution.”

  He nodded and motioned me conspiratorially closer. “It was soon after I’d arrived in Sheness. I’d become aware that Fae in the Territory were suffering more than the usual number of injuries, despite the Governor’s pro-Fae rhetoric. And I’d noticed a lot of unexplained activity in and around Evernook Island. Then Krylov, the Executor of the Territory, arrived in the port city and paid a couple of visits to the island. Since his job entails contracting on behalf of the government, I thought he might have some information about who the other players in the scheme might be. So I broke into his hotel room and searched it. I’d found what I needed and everything would have been fine, except he walked in on me. He wasn’t too happy to see me and threatened to call the Constabularies. I couldn’t let him do that, so we scuffled, and in the fight, I stabbed him. I fled but heard a couple of days later that he’d died. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I did hurt him—and I was engaged in illegal activities.”

  “Sounds like he was, too.”

  We stared at each other, neither of us about to yield the argument. Feeling I’d at least made my point, I turned to a different aspect of the incident.

  “Was this before or after you joined up with Fane?”

  He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Before—if I’d already met up with Fane, I never would have been caught.”

  I bit my lip, the wine at last affecting my ability to concentrate. “So this next week should be interesting.”

  “That’s one way of putting it.” He paused, holding a piece of bread he’d dipped in his wine in midair. “So who else knows about my fake execution?”

  “Nobody, as far as I can tell.”

  “So my friends in Sheness think I’m dead? Fane thinks I’m dead?”

  I knew “friends” was a reference to Gwyneth, aware he wouldn’t want to use her name where we might be overheard. Connecting her to the pirates would be a huge mistake. But Zabriel’s mention of the pirate captain who had raided Leo Dementya’s ship while my cousins and I had infiltrated Evernook Island brought to mind Fane’s reaction to the news that Zabriel had been betrayed—he had threatened revenge in no uncertain terms. But I didn’t want to revisit the subject of Shea and so simply answered his question.

  “That’s right. They’d have no way of knowing otherwise.”

  Zabriel pushed his plate out of the way and reached across the table to take hold of my forearm, even though a spasm of pain made him grit his teeth.

  “You have to get word to Gwyneth,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “She’s got to be crazy with grief, and she’ll learn I’m alive sooner or later, anyway. She’ll be able to pass word to Fane.”

  I hesitated, wondering what type of relationship he really had with Gwyneth. But that was a discussion that would have to wait for another time.

&nbs
p; “I’ll try,” I told him, my tongue beginning to feel thick and the very thought of the effort it would take to contact someone outside the mansion exhausting. “But I’m being watched.”

  “And you’re going to let a little thing like that stop you? Where’s your pride, Anya?”

  I yanked my arm free. “Fine. I’ll figure out a way to do it.”

  “That’s all I ask.” He smirked, emptying out the last of the wine from the bottle into our goblets. Then he raised his glass. “I propose a toast.”

  “To what?” I likewise raised my glass, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “To cousins, to survival, and to better times ahead.”

  I nodded, and we clinked glasses just as Luka crossed the threshold.

  “It looks like the meal went well,” he commented, watching us finish the wine. “Are you ready to leave, Anya?”

  “Ready, yes, but also unwilling.”

  He smiled. “Regardless, we need to be on our way. With respect to tomorrow, the Governor has arranged for assistance with your personal grooming. You are to report to our private grooming salon on the first floor right after breakfast. I’ll show you the way in the morning, Zabriel.”

  My spirits soared, for I might be able to rid myself of the blond hair color that no longer served a purpose. Zabriel, on the other hand, looked peeved, drawing a laugh from Luka.

  “You have to learn to pick your fights, son. Trust me, this one isn’t worth it.”

  Though he wasn’t any happier, Zabriel acceded, and I stood to exchange farewells with him, then departed with Luka. I wasn’t as inebriated as I had been the previous evening but was nonetheless feeling pleasantly warm and fuzzy. Luka took note, offering me his arm to lead me back to my rooms. We didn’t talk, but this time his silence didn’t bother me—I was wrapped in pleasant numbness, marveling at the pattern on the carpet beneath our feet. Every once in a while, I’d sway to the side with a giggle, but the Lieutenant Governor kept me moving safely forward.

  “Good night, Anya,” he said outside my bedroom door. “Sleep well.”

  “I will as long as I don’t dream,” I mumbled, then crossed the threshold, closing the door in his troubled face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE RETURN OF THE QUEEN

  Since the Queen would be arriving this very afternoon, Zabriel and I were asked by the Governor—in reality, ordered—to report to the mansion’s own private grooming salon to have our hair cut and styled, after which we would return to our rooms for baths in scented water. I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted by the latter or not, for it seemed to imply that my cousin and I smelled. In any case, we would then dress in the new clothing that had been custom made for us with the historic event we would be attending in mind.

  My cousin was already seated in a barber’s chair in the salon when I entered, looking none too pleased. His silver-blond hair was long and wild, befitting the pirate William Wolfram Pyrite but hardly suitable for the Governor’s grandson.

  “This isn’t going to hurt, Zabriel,” I told him, earning a roll of his eyes.

  “Don’t be so sure. There are many kinds of pain in this life. I’m pretty sure being dandified brings its own distress.”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to this.” I tugged on a lock of my hair and settled into the chair that had been prepared for me, giving the hairdresser who stood nearby a smile. “I’d like to return to a more natural look.”

  “I have blond hair, too, you know. Don’t make it sound like some sort of curse.”

  “If this color makes me look like you, then it truly is a curse.”

  Zabriel laughed, only it turned into a grimace, bringing me a pang of remorse. He was better but not healed, and I needed to treat him more solicitously until he was back to normal.

  “Is there anything in particular you would like me to do for you, Princess?” my hairdresser asked, the lines around her eyes crinkled in amusement.

  “A return to my auburn color would be nice.” I placed in her hand the snip of hair I had acquired from Madam Donetsky at the time it had originally been dyed. “Other than that...” I trailed off, at a loss to describe anything that might be considered fashionable. “You may style it as you wish.”

  “Then I shall hope to please you.”

  The woman and her assistants set to work, while Zabriel underwent the ostensible indignity of a shave. I was starting to feel sorry for the barber working with him.

  “No more stubble,” he grumbled when he emerged from under the shaving cream. “I’m going to look like a boy again.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the idea.”

  “You could at least pretend to be on my side, Anya.”

  “Not when it’s so amusing to side with the enemy.”

  The barber lifted a strand of Zabriel’s hair in preparation for its cutting, only to have his hand slapped away.

  “Is this really necessary?” my cousin complained.

  “Do you want to look like a prince or a scalawag?” the man replied, gazing disapprovingly over the top of his spectacles at my irascible cousin.

  Zabriel rubbed his eyes, deliberating, then sat back with a resigned sigh to begin the transformation back into royalty.

  While my mane was colored, trimmed, and styled into intricate braids that wrapped elegantly around my head, Zabriel’s was shorn to the tops of his ears. Regardless, his hair could not be fully tamed, and it sprang peevishly upward on top of his head. He rubbed his exposed neck, then eyed me.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “You look...” Though I wasn’t about to say it for fear it would send him running, the sight of him took my breath away. Standing before me was the Prince we had missed, the King we now needed. Realizing he was staring at me, awaiting an answer, I attempted to cover my reaction with a jest. “You look clean—a rather dramatic change, but it may grow on me. Other than that, you’re as handsome as ever.”

  He stood from the barber’s chair and came to my side. “And you, Anya, are the fairest of them all, even with that purple tint to your locks.”

  I took a swing at him, forgetting my promise to myself to treat him with more care, but he sidestepped with a welcome return of his smirk. Then I glanced in the mirror to assure myself he was teasing. My hair looked remarkably close to the color it had been before I’d dyed it to disguise myself, and the impeccably styled braids woven with beautiful flowers formed a natural crown upon my head. I smiled, immensely pleased— I, too, once more had the bearing of royalty. It had been a long time since I’d left Chrior, and at times it felt as though I’d lost my former identity. It felt good to have it back.

  Zabriel caught my eye in the mirror and winked, then turned his attention to the women attending me.

  “Ladies,” he said with a dramatic bow, bringing a blush to the cheeks of every female in the room. Then he departed, his former jauntiness returning to his stride.

  I shook my head, marveling at his effect on women, and one of the hairdresser’s assistants approached to work on my severely mangled nails—a task I did not envy. Before starting, she gingerly touched the splint that secured my wrist.

  “What would you think, Princess, if I decorated the bandage for you? I could make it look more like an accessory and less like a cast.”

  I beamed at her. “Wonderful— No, better than wonderful, perfect. Thank you.”

  I relaxed and settled back in the chair, for she had addressed another of my worries. With my family coming, I’d been feeling more and more self-conscious about the bandage, not wanting to issue reminders and draw questions about the injuries I had suffered since leaving Chrior. I had even considered removing it in defiance of doctor’s orders, resisting only because I didn’t want to admit to myself I could be that vain.

  She went to work, and I allowed myse
lf the briefest moment of hope—perhaps tonight would set everything to rights again. Then a small smile touched my lips, for it amused me to think that if things went awry, I could wield a weapon at any moment. After all, who would suspect that wooden splints had been cleverly disguised as a fashion statement?

  * * *

  I entered the parlor in which Zabriel and I would wait for the Queen’s arrival to find him looking fully reborn, a servant assisting him into a royal blue tailcoat that had been tailored to his form and Fae physique. His beautiful wings had been pulled through slits cut carefully into the back of the coat, and his tall black boots gleamed in the sunlight from the bay window. The wound in his wing from the bullet was now just the faintest of scars—and even that would fade with his continued consumption of Sale. As I perched on the edge of an armchair, he stepped in front of a full-length mirror to button his coat, then fingered his new hair. I could see his reflection from where I sat, including the wince he was unable to hold back, and yet I was awed by the confidence he radiated. His fashioning, though human, took his naturally elegant bearing in the direction of kingly. Ubiqua would be speechless.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me with a wry, crooked grin. “I’ve been done in. My mother will recognize me now.”

  I laughed—it was likely neither of us would have been recognized by our families at breakfast this morning. But still there were deeper, more profound changes in Zabriel that would make him unfamiliar to the Fae contingency. He was not the same young man who had fled Chrior. He had grown, certainly, but more than that, a sense of independence and purpose exuded from him. With his shoulders back, he gave off an aura of power that I suspected even his mother would find a challenge to match.

  A sharp rap on the door called us to attention; then a servant stepped in to inform us of the Governor’s arrival. Zabriel shrouded his wings as Wolfram strode across the threshold to claim all attention, his manner of dress similar to his grandson’s albeit in charcoal and bedecked with medals. He was followed by two attendants, one his butler, the other his personal secretary, and they joined the other servants who had respectfully stepped back against the wall. After acknowledging me with a slight incline of his head, he strode to my cousin.