Melisse had no choice but to be quiet.
She’d blacked out.
78
The Decryption
Princess Serena
Go’Doan Temple, East Side, Notting Thicket
WODELL
Chu had managed to find Serena a better-fitting disguise, but still, she would be glad to see the back of that heavy gown with its tight bodice and never-ending skirts.
This thought was only vaguely on her mind.
Mostly, she was considering those notes they’d stolen.
She was doing this with her hands on the handle of a broom, her hair bound up and hidden under a kerchief, not doing very well sweeping a hall in a Go’Doan temple.
In disguise, she had approached the priests, declaring her desire to become a Go’Ella.
They had explained that, before she could be initiated into the sect, she would have to demonstrate her faith in all three of their gods as well as her desire to serve its priests.
And wouldn’t you know it…
The way they expected her to do this was by sweeping floors, polishing candlesticks, cleaning windows, and the like.
This was not surprising.
But it was annoying.
Though it had to be done for her to get close enough to overhear.
So it was done.
Chu had likely become one with a wall somewhere, such was his ability to grow invisible.
But he was never far.
Not ever.
And not because he didn’t trust her.
Also not because he had a mission he wished to see through (or not only because of that).
But because the bloody man was intent at all times—and in all ways he could—to protect her.
She was a goddess-damned Nadirii for fuck’s sake.
But would Chu let her take the risk and not risk himself, or instead, divide their efforts and go find someone else to spy on?
No.
So he was there.
She couldn’t see him.
Fortunately, no Go’Doan could see him either.
But she knew he was there.
She also knew she found this protective bent endearing.
She had no idea why. It made no sense in the slightest.
But it made her feel like she felt when she was home, by herself, next to a creek after she’d had a swim, and she was lazing in the sun.
It was a romantic notion, and she wished to hate the very fact she had it.
She simply…
Didn’t.
This was only partially on her mind for also on her mind was trying to listen, since the priest they’d ambushed was in a chamber just beyond where she was sweeping.
But the bloody door, not to mention the walls, were too thick.
She couldn’t hear a thing.
She suspected the other priest he was with in that chamber, which was the one he’d been walking with the night they’d set upon them, was also of The Rising.
She suspected this because, outside of those two, the temple was vacant.
It was Prince True’s wedding day.
It seemed the entire city was festooned with streamers, the air had smelled for days of leaf cakes baking, and excitement was heightened day to day with extraordinary occurrences so now it was at a fever pitch.
First, there was Mars and Silence arriving in the city to great fanfare then proceeding to take it by storm, appearing so often (to the glee of the citizens of the Thicket), it seemed they had to have been cloned.
And then there was her bloody sister and Cassius coming with a parade of Nadirii warriors behind them. The spectacle of a contingent of the Nadirii Sisterhood with its princess and the Prince of Airen at the lead was blathered about like the Great Goddess herself had led that parade.
Not to mention Aramus and Ha-Lah arriving at sail down the Great Wohd with an impressive armada in tow under a sun darkened by a sky filled with dragons.
Bloody dragons!
Where had they gotten dragons!
The town was agog and remained so, unsurprisingly, for the dragons were lolling about on a sparsely forested rise north of the city and you could see them from anywhere in the capital. Not to mention, one, or two, or twelve would often take flight apparently just to spread their wings. And when they did, it didn’t matter who you were or what you were doing, they were dragons, they were magnificent, so you stopped, looked to the skies and watched.
In awe.
That was, all did this, save Serena and Chu.
Serena and Chu couldn’t think of kings and queens, princes and princesses, royal weddings and dragons.
They had a mission.
And it had been a big shock along this journey to come to the understanding that they both were of one mind about a variety of things.
Most especially the fact that, when you had a mission, even if dragons were on offer, you focused on that mission.
So they were not with the revelers in the streets. They also had not rushed to the parade route to jostle with the crowds lining it in order to garner a glimpse of the wedding procession. Nor had they booked their table at a pub for a wedding feast followed with a slice of leaf cake and sparkles. Further, they had not made their way to the rise to see if they could view the dragons from up close (as scores of others had done).
They were at work.
And Serena wondered why she’d spent so much time fighting Trajan of Airen.
She should have found a disguise, infiltrated the Sky Citadel, and spied on the bastard.
Then toyed with his mind.
It would have been a lot more fun.
Unless, of course, to do that she’d had to do the sweeping.
Whilst debating whether or not to use her magic to hear what was happening in the chamber beyond, in that moment, mostly her thoughts were on something that had been nagging at her for days.
Those notes.
And the mention of AM.
What was AM?
She swept, she tried to listen, and she went over those missives in her head, which she now had read so many times, she had them memorized.
AM.
But they have been told to hold until after we AM.
C reports M a growing threat. Plan to commence has been ordered. LLTR.
M, was Mercy, they were sure of it. After we AM had to be an event. Or an action. Or…
Their plan, whatever it was, had commenced.
If M was Mercy…
It hit her like a bolt, and she shot upright, dropping the broom.
“Zsst, zsst,” she hissed, quickly moving down the hall.
Chu did not materialize.
“Zsst, zsst!” she called.
Goddess damn it, he was always close to her and he needed to—
“Ssst!” she heard and saw him (or part of him) hidden in a doorframe some ten feet away.
She hurried there.
“We have to go,” she whispered urgently.
“Did you hear something?”
“I decrypted it,” she said.
He knew to what she was referring, for he ordered immediately, “Talk.”
“If M is Mercy, then AM is…”
It hit him then too.
“Assassinate Mercy,” he whispered in a dire tone.
They stared in each other’s eyes.
Chu then took command.
“You, to Birchlire, warn them. I’ll work those priests.”
Without a word in protest, Serena nodded.
And without thought of who might see, she tore that damned kerchief off her head and raced out of the temple, her copper hair flying.
79
The Royal Wedding
Prince True
Quarters of the Crown Prince, Western Turret, Birchlire Castle, Notting Thicket
WODELL
“Your mother,” Luther murmured.
True turned from the full-length, oval looking glass where he was inspecting himself in his dress greens, what he’d be married in, toward
the double doors to his bedchamber, where Luther stood.
He nodded.
Luther looked over his shoulder and nodded to Wallace, who was in the sitting room.
Luther then disappeared, and True’s mother walked through.
She was dressed for the ceremony in a russet-colored gown that was subtly extravagant. The top was made entirely of a delicate lace with a demure V-neck and stitched minimally throughout with something that sparkled. The skirts were yards and yards of shining satin.
Her hair, the color which she had given him (though hers was beginning to silver), was a wonder of swirls and poofs, the poof being bunched at her nape.
She was wearing one of many sets of royal jewels. These, her amber and emeralds surrounded by diamonds. A large round amber at her lobe falling into an even larger tear of an emerald. The same in a curve adorning her neck.
And the same as a tiara threaded into her hair.
It was not the first time he thought this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but his mother was a beautiful woman.
He and she had not had a great deal of time together since his return.
He had been busy with his father, or more to the point, the business of his realm for his father just sat petulantly and watched as True struggled his way through meetings with auditors and ministers and guild leaders, talking about everything from budgets to school syllabi to setting a minimum wage (something, until then, his father—meaning Carrington—flatly refused to do) and establishing a college to train mariners.
When he was not at this pursuit, he was meeting with Mars, Cassius and Aramus, as well as Frey and Apollo, to catch up about what had happened since they parted, what had been learned, what had not, and discuss what was to come.
In his rare free times, he couldn’t often find Farah, for she was off in the city with the women or in her own engagements with his mother to meet the castle staff, learn how it was run, go over the plans of the wedding in detail and be educated on being a princess of Wodell.
They’d caught snatches of time, mostly in passing, and some of this they spent in minimal whispers, but most of it they spent in maximum embraces.
They managed to have only one dinner together, a pompous affair held the night before attended by five hundred guests.
He had not been surprised to learn that Farah had been spectacular holding court. Her natural calmness and ability to see humor in a variety of situations had transferred to him and something the like he detested—an official royal reception—was something he learned to enjoy.
Regardless of that, he found the past days exceptionally frustrating.
She was in the same bloody building as he, but that building had over six hundred rooms, and her chambers were in an eastern turret.
She had an amazing view of the bridge over the rivers.
But she was as far away from him as she could get.
He missed her.
And he would be glad when this day was done.
For a number of reasons.
One of them being, while they were being wed, the servants would move her to his bloody rooms.
“I have just come from your bride,” Mercy announced.
Oh fuck.
“Mother—”
“She is a vision,” she declared smartly. “The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
True blinked.
Slowly.
“Well,” he started carefully, “thank you for arranging that. I’m certain the gown is—”
“The gown is divine, but it pales in comparison with its wearer.”
He stared at her in surprise.
“I was concerned when she demanded the gnomes of The Doors do her hair, but I shouldn’t have been. She knows what suits her.”
He was not surprised at all Farah had made that demand.
She’d bestowed a great honor on those charmed ones.
However, that wasn’t why she did it.
Yes.
She would be the perfect queen.
“How is she otherwise, outside of stunning, which she always is?” he asked.
“Nervous as a rabbit.”
Damn.
“Mother—”
She waved her hand in front of her face. “Elena, Silence and Ha-Lah are with her. After Elena’s suggestion that she do something called ‘meditate’ didn’t work, they’ve plied her wine.”
His brows shot up. “So my bride is going to be inebriated at our wedding ceremony?”
“Never fear. Queen Ha-Lah has a head on her shoulders. I have every faith she’ll stop things before they get out of hand,” she assured.
She moved from where she’d stopped just inside the room, coming to him.
When she arrived, she lifted a hand to brush nonexistent lint from his sleeve.
She also spoke on.
“Though that lieutenant of Elena’s, I believe her name is Jasmine, was there and that was a concern, for there is something not right about that girl. But Elena sent her off to find her seat in the sanctuary, therefore that should not be a problem either.”
Of course she would think Jasmine was not right.
Jasmine knew duty.
But once it was done, she devoted her life to fun.
Mercy ran her finger over the ribbons on his chest while her eyes watched.
“So all is well,” he noted.
She dropped her hand and clasped it with the other in front of her, lifting her eyes to his.
“All is well, my son.”
“You and father—”
She shook her head. “Let us not talk about such things on a joyous day.”
She thought this was a joyous day?
He studied her.
By the gods, she actually thought this was a joyous day.
“You and Farah—” he began.
“I’ve come to the decision, after some very good advice from a very wise woman, and words of support for your soon-to-be princess from your own man, to open my heart and see what comes in. And, just so you know, I thanked her for the taffy.”
She thanked Farah for the taffy.
She thus had some understanding of what would come into her heart.
His mother was making an effort.
A mammoth one.
For him.
As usual.
He did not have a warm and affectionate mother.
But he absolutely had a devoted and loving one.
He unclasped her hands by taking them in his own.
“Mother—”
“Now, you should start making your way. There is much traffic in the city. The capital guard has lined the streets and they’re keeping the parade route open, but you’ll need to allow your people plenty of time to take in their prince on his way to his wedding, so the ride will be slow.”
“Are you going to let me finish a sentence?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, giving his hands the barest squeeze before pulling away and moving toward the door. “I’m off now. Meeting your father at our carriage,” she said as she went.
She turned at the door, expertly flicking her voluminous skirts behind her when she did.
“Majesty is saddled and blanketed and waiting for you when you’re ready,” she declared.
“Thank you, Mother.”
“I didn’t saddle him, the royal groom did.”
“No,” he said, his voice heavy. “Thank you, Mother.”
She tipped her head to the side, and in response to that, oddly said, “Your father wanted to name you Frederick. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” he replied quietly.
Then he braced as her voice matched his and a thread of molten gold ran through it when she spoke her next.
“But it was as if I was a seer,” she whispered. “We discussed it for days and days. He put his foot down, but I was adamant. I knew what you should be named. And in the end, I was right. You turned out so handsome.”
He stared at her, his throat feeling thick.
> “And true,” she finished, her tone now an ache of pride.
Then, with another expert flick of her skirts, her head held high, True’s beloved mother walked out of the room.
The People of Wodell
Royal Wedding Parade Route, Notting Thicket
WODELL
There came the marching guard first.
All in dress greens.
Their hats with the long drifting feathers wrapped around the wide brims were set upon their heads.
Swords were unsheathed, and at the command of their captain, they thrust them high above, or at another command, they rested them on their shoulders.
This way, they marched in precise lines, ten across, fifty rows.
They were followed by the military drummers.
Ten across.
Five lines.
There came the mounted guard next, the rumps of their horses dressed with the blankets fashioned of the Dellish flag, a sea of green in the middle of which was an acorn, the nut in brown, the stem in yellow, the cupule a patchwork of reds, oranges and butterscotch.
This delegation was followed by the pipers.
Ten across.
Five lines.
After the pipers came the king’s carriage.
Open-topped, festooned in Dellish silver-pewter with a shiny forest-green lacquer, the doors of the carriage denoting the royal standard of the Wodell line. A shield cut in quarters, acorn to the top left, oak leaf under it, a tree in full bloom to the top right, a barren tree under it.
It was noted by all that the queen’s gown and jewels were resplendent, as was her visage and hair. She looked stately, but opulent, and most felt great pride viewing her as she waved regally at the crowd from her seat.
The king wore the dress greens of the Dellish military with a hat that had a dramatic flourish of a feather.
And it was noted by a fair few that he wore this uniform even if he’d never seen a single battle.
Mostly, though, they didn’t pay any mind to him, just his wife.
And then craned their necks to see what came next.
For this was when the crowd perked up and the excited cheering began to grow from constant…
To frenzied.
He was getting closer.
As was she.
For after the king was a procession of marching flag bearers.
The Plan Commences Page 59
