The Empty Throne

  “Very well.” He stood and offered me his hand. I accepted, and he escorted me to the door. “You should return to your quarters, hopefully for a good night’s sleep.”

  I mumbled a thank-you, then left Luka’s study, knowing there was only one way I’d be able to sleep tonight—with the help of the Cysur from the pub. Every muscle, every fiber, every cell in my body ached, and I longed for the Green like one would long for the comforting embrace of an old friend.

  Upon reaching my room, I removed the bag of supplies from my belt and tossed it onto the bed. With my eyes firmly fixed on my prize, I tore off my clothes and slipped into a nightgown, then pulled the pouch of Cysur from the bag. My hands shaking with anticipation, I freed the phial of Black Magic, the syringe, and the strap from inside it. I stared at the entrancingly cold liquid, almost tempted to drink it, then measured the dose I needed. I tightened the band around my upper arm, took a deep breath, and plunged the needle beneath my skin.

  Relief came almost at once, to be followed by a reaction I’d never before had. My stomach cramped, and my muscles quivered. My vision darkened and narrowed, and I felt as if I were falling, plummeting, faster and faster toward the ground. I lurched to my feet, stumbling toward the door, knowing if I hit the ground this time, I’d never see the light of another day. Bumping into the unyielding wood, I fumbled for the handle and pulled it open, one thought in my head. I needed help. I staggered down the hallway toward the Lieutenant Governor’s study, bouncing off the walls along the way.

  “Luka,” I desperately called, realizing I wasn’t going to make it. As my vision dimmed and my legs gave out, I heard footfalls pounding down the corridor toward me, and I collapsed into Tom Matlock’s arms.

  * * *

  I slowly opened my eyes and glanced around. Judging from the sterile smell, plain walls, pristinely clean floors and windows, and white bed coverings, I was in a hospital. I turned my head to see Tom sitting at my bedside, leaning forward with his head in his hands, his face gray with tiredness. I tried to sit up, wanting to reach out to him, but my muscles refused to cooperate, and I sank back with a moan. He immediately straightened, the soft sound that had escaped my lips alerting him like the clang of a gong.

  “Anya, thank God,” he exclaimed, shifting closer to take my hand. “I thought we’d lost you.”

  “What happened?” I croaked, my throat and mouth almost too dry to create sound.

  He reached for a glass of water on a stand beside the bed, then helped me to raise my head and take a sip.

  “All I know is you shot up with Cysur. I found you in the hallway when I was returning to Luka’s study, and he and I brought you here. We weren’t sure you were going to make it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “So am I.” He brushed the hair off my forehead, his hand lingering against my skin. “I should have known that after the events of the night, you’d be hurting. I didn’t know you’d gotten your hands on more of the Green, but I could have guessed you’d need comfort of some sort.”

  I swallowed with difficulty, and he again offered me the water.

  “I made the choice,” I said, voice a little stronger. “Not you.”

  He shrugged. “We don’t need to talk about it now. You should just rest. I’ll let the doctor and your father know you’ve roused.”

  “My father’s here?”

  “Yes, he’s getting a little sleep in another room. And he just thinks you’re ill. He doesn’t know about the drug.”

  He stood and gave me a kiss on the cheek, but I caught him by the arm.

  “That didn’t feel like the Green, Tom. No rush, no reward.”

  “So you didn’t overdose?”

  “No.” I dropped my gaze, awash in humiliation over what I was about to say. “I injected the usual amount.”

  “I told you, Anya—there’s some bad stuff on the streets. But now that we’ve got the rest of the phial from your room, maybe we’ll be able to figure out what’s really going on.”

  I nodded, then closed my eyes, our short conversation reawakening the ache in my stomach, and he once more kissed my cheek.

  “I’ll be back,” he murmured against my ear.

  I nodded, though it was my father who entered a short time later to take up the chair beside my bed.

  “How are you feeling, my dear?” he asked, fingering his dark beard, his graying hair less tidy than usual, the deepening lines in his face making him look ten years older.

  “I’m fine, Father, no need to worry.”

  He reached out to take my hands. “I believe there’s much reason for worry. Lisian fears you may have been poisoned. Until more is known, he has the Queen and the rest of the Fae delegation sequestered in their quarters under the protection of the Blades.”

  He examined my eyes, and I shifted my gaze to the window, feeling a rush of guilt over the trouble I was causing. But I could not bring myself to tell him the truth. Besides, the Blades would find no evidence of poison—the phial and syringe had been kept from them—and the incident would soon be forgotten.

  With a reassuring squeeze of my good hand, my father continued. “That’s the reason your aunt and friends cannot visit you, though they are terribly concerned about you. And I must leave soon, too.” He gave me a wistful smile. “No power on earth could have kept me from your side until I knew you would recover, but now I must respect my duty to the Queen.”

  “I understand. Please assure everyone I’m feeling fine. And, Father, I doubt I was poisoned. More likely I ate something that didn’t agree with me.”

  Though my words sounded awkward to my own ears, my father appeared to accept them. He came to his feet, his hands reluctantly slipping from mine.

  “Since the danger seems to have passed, I’ll speak with the doctor about having you discharged to our care at the mansion. I would be more comfortable with that arrangement.”

  I smiled. “That would be my preference, too.”

  He bent forward to give me a kiss on the cheek, then departed. My eyes welled with tears in the aftermath of his visit, for I felt a new kind of misery. Cyandro was a good man—no, he was a great man—and he deserved a better daughter.

  I must have dozed off, because the sound of muffled voices was slow to penetrate my brain. I opened my eyes to see Tom and Luka talking in the far corner of my hospital room. Noting I was awake, Tom gave a nod of his head in my direction, and then deserted the Lieutenant Governor to come to my side. I sat up, and he immediately adjusted the pillows and bed coverings to make me more comfortable. Finished with his fussing, he extended a glass of water to me, and I blushed, not used to such solicitousness.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked as the Lieutenant Governor came to stand at the foot of the bed.

  “Better.” I took a long drink to ease my scratchy throat, my eyes glued to Luka, who was studying me with a regretful smile.

  “I seem to make a lot of mistakes with regard to you, Anya,” he said, and I coughed, almost choking on my water. I expected the Lieutenant Governor to be angry, or at the very least, disappointed. Given the events of the previous night, sympathy was not something I could have anticipated, nor was it what I wanted.

  “I should have noticed the signs and offered you assistance,” he calmly resumed. “There was no need for you to turn to Cysur for relief from your pain.”

  I looked at him, then at Tom, then back at Luka, my surprise turning to confusion. “What signs are you talking about? What mistakes have you made?”

  “Sometimes people who go through traumatic experiences have a hard time getting over them. I’ve seen it before among my own troops. Men who’ve seen conflict, trauma, tragedy, death—many of them suffer from nightmares, even attacks of fear and panic that come out of nowhere. A few even hallucinate.”

  Reading my stunned expressi
on, he paused, letting his words resonate. It had never occurred to me that the things that were happening to me—the horrors that haunted me—were somehow within the realm of normal.

  “You’ve suffered a number of traumas since entering the Warckum Territory, starting with the attack in which you lost your wings. But you also witnessed what you thought was Zabriel’s execution. And seeing Hastings die right in front of you, no matter how satisfying, would still have been a shock. And I suspect that’s far from a complete list. I should have realized you could develop symptoms similar to my men. But now that things are out in the open, none of us need to repeat past mistakes. So you have my pledge that I will do my best to help you recover. And I’m sure Tom here will say the same.”

  “I’ve already told her as much,” Tom echoed, sitting down next to me on the bed and taking my hand, astounding me yet again. I hadn’t thought he’d openly display his affection for me with the Lieutenant Governor in the room.

  “But why would you help me?” I asked Luka, voice barely audible.

  “I admire your strength, your resolve, your loyalty to Zabriel and to your people.” He stepped around to the side of the bed to place a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “And it appears a young officer who I’ve taken under my tutelage has developed a liking for you.”

  Tom rolled his eyes, I blushed, and Luka absentmindedly ruffled the young Constabulary’s hair.

  “Now, then, I’ve got work to do,” he finished. “There’s a guard outside the door, but I’m assuming, Officer Matlock, that you would prefer to be assigned to hospital duty?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Luka turned to leave, only I interrupted his exit with a question of my own.

  “My family—the Fae delegation—how much do they know about my...illness?”

  “I told them the facts of your collapse, nothing more. As I’m sure you heard from your father, there is speculation that you may have been poisoned.”

  “But hasn’t that created a lot of tension in the mansion?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. It’s amusing, in a bizarre way, to see who they will next accuse.”

  With a respectful nod of his head, he took his leave, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips.

  Now that the Lieutenant Governor had departed, Tom shared some news of his own.

  “Luka’s right about your unfortunate lack of visitors. But there’s one person who will be coming to see you. She’ll be here tomorrow morning. And in case you’ve forgotten, the parade and Governor’s Ball are also tomorrow, although it remains to be seen whether you’ll feel up to attending the festivities.”

  “She will be here? Do you mean Fi? Gwyneth?”

  He shook his head. “No—Shea More will be paying you a visit.”

  My eyes widened, the rest of my body momentarily too shocked to react. Then my stomach lurched, my heart raced, my blood pounded in my temples, and my muscles tensed to either fight or run. Shea wasn’t someone I wanted to see. I wadded up a portion of the sheets within my clenched fists, mind whirling to find a way out of this. But it was too late—she knew where to find me.

  I took a drink of water, knowing full well Tom had been analyzing my reactions. Then I forced a smile. “How does Shea know I’m in the hospital?”

  “Luka seemed to think the pirate, Fane, who died in the fight on the bridge, was threatening her. He sent me to pay a visit to her father’s store, and she was there.”

  I studied the glass I held in my hands, for Tom had learned the reason for my earlier visit to Thatcher’s shop.

  “But you wouldn’t have known anything about that, right? And you don’t have any connections to the pirates, either. I’m not keeping track of your deceptions here, but you previously denied that.”

  “Actually,” I feebly pointed out, “I neither confirmed nor denied a connection to the pirates.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better, Anya.” A note of frustration had entered his voice. “At some point, you’re going to have to trust me.”

  Feeling judged, I rallied to my own defense. “I’ll be more open with you when you stop reporting everything I tell you to Luka.”

  He considered me, then abruptly stood and walked to look out the window. It appeared I had hit a nerve.

  “You don’t trust Luka?” he finally asked.

  “You once said you trusted him as much as any politician. It just so happens I don’t like politicians.”

  He pivoted to face me. “Then there’s hope your opinion of him may someday change.”

  I frowned, wondering why my opinion of Luka mattered to Tom. But I didn’t pursue it—I liked the relaxed Officer Matlock much better than the irritable Officer Matlock.

  “Now, Anya, we should talk about the plans for the Governor’s Ball. Your father seems to think you’ll be able to attend, at least for a while. Since he can’t do it himself, he’s asked me to take you through the protocol.”

  I groaned, tired of all the rules, formalities, and procedure associated with official ceremonies in the human world. As Tom came to sit in the armchair next to the bed, I put a question to him.

  “Does Konstantin know how to dance?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE WRETCH

  Shea did indeed pay me a visit the next morning. She was a little thinner than I remembered—hopefully due to sleepless nights following her betrayal—but otherwise looked much the same, her brown eyes lively, her dark hair pulled up off her neck in a ponytail tied with a blue ribbon to match her dress.

  I hated her a little bit for how well she looked—she should have grown horns or been marked by boils for her actions.

  “It’s good to see you, Anya,” she quietly said, standing beside Tom, who had ushered her into the room. He crossed to the window, exhibiting no intention of leaving us alone.

  “Shea,” I answered, trying to force a smile that felt more like I had bared my teeth.

  Tom glanced at us, then pressed a hand against the window pane, pulling it quickly away as though it stung. “It just got a bit frosty in here. You two must have had quite the fight.”

  Shea managed a feeble smile, while I ignored the jest, and he shrugged, moving to sit in a chair in the corner of the room. She watched him, then approached me to extend a small package she held in her hands. I reluctantly accepted it, not wanting her to think I’d forgiven her but unable to fling it against the wall with Tom nearby.

  “It’s not much,” she said, not meeting my gaze. “But I saw it in a shop near my father’s and remembered you liked it.”

  Curiosity engaged against my will, I pulled off the ribbon and opened it. Inside on a silver chain was a pendant of stained glass in the shape of Faerie wings, its colors and design eerily reminiscent of the green, gold, and ice blue of my own wings. It was just like the one I’d admired at a street vendor’s display when Shea and I had previously been together in Tairmor.

  “The proceeds of the sale go to Fae aid groups,” she reminded me, and I briefly closed my eyes, the fact that she knew me so well like a stab in my heart.

  “Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

  She sat gingerly in the chair beside the bed, and we lapsed into silence, small talk seeming frivolous, but our ability to discuss matters of significance limited by Tom’s presence. With a heavy sigh, she finally took her inimitable direct approach, though she spoke in an undertone.

  “I have some important information for you, Anya. Some things Spex and I found out.”

  I sat up straighter, for despite my desire to give her the cold shoulder, she now had my full attention. She raised her brows, tipping her head slightly toward Tom, and I made a plea for privacy.

  “Tom, I’m feeling lightheaded—I should have eaten more breakfast. Would you be willing to get me something?”

  He glanced up
from the newspaper he was making a show of reading.

  “No. Especially when all you’re trying to do is get rid of me.”

  Shea and I both scowled at him.

  “You’re right,” I admitted after a beat. “I’m not all that hungry, but still, we should have the right to discuss things of a private nature in private.”

  “No. This may come as news to the two of you, but I actually have very good hearing. I’m not going to leave when Shea is about to share some important information with you.” He waved a hand dismissively at us. “So talk or don’t talk. Either way, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Shea turned to face me, her expression revealing her uncertainty.

  I shrugged. “I need to know, and I suppose we have to trust someone among the humans.” To Tom, I added, “Pretend you’re part of the wall and don’t interrupt.”

  Shea took a shaky breath and began. “On the night you broke into Sandrovich’s home, Spex took off with the...dagger...not wanting it to end up in the hands of the...”

  “Constabularies,” Tom supplied, and I fought the urge to throw something at him. Instead, I shot my best glower in his direction.

  “Go on, Shea,” I encouraged, almost forgetting I was angry with her. I was quite interested in what had happened to Spex after I’d been taken to the station house.

  “Well, he brought the dagger to me. He knew I’d essentially traded information in order to bring my family home to Tairmor, and he was thinking of doing the same thing.”

  “So he was hoping to exchange the dagger for his family’s freedom?” My face flushed, irritation with Spex rapidly mounting.

  “Wait a minute,” Tom broke in, his look of consternation telling me he knew nothing of our fiasco in Sheness. “I thought Thatcher said you raised money to pay off his debt.”

  “I did,” Shea irritably replied, her gaze continually shifting between the Constabulary and me. “I turned in a criminal I saw on a wanted poster for the reward money.”