The Blackest Heart

by Brian Lee Durfee

  Do any of us ever truly show our true selves?

  Here is what I need you to do. . . .

  Find what secret parchments Jondralyn has hidden away in her chamber. Deliver unto me what you find. A terrible danger she keeps hidden, a danger that may lead to Purgatory and beyond.

  Once you have the parchment, you must bring Glade Chaparral with you. And you must include your cousin, Lindholf, too. Meet with me in the lost Chamber of Queens in five days’ time. The directions are on the other side of this note.

  You know how to decipher them. . . .

  And here she was, but without the secret parchments or the two boys. She had purposely disobeyed the letter, purposely not searched the secret places of Jondralyn’s chamber, purposely not brought Glade and Lindholf with her. In fact, she’d be fine if she never saw Glade Chaparral again. She refused to play any further games until the Bloodwood answered to her. “Tell me what foul poison I fed Lawri,” she said sharply. “The green stuff in that vial, it’s changed her somehow.” And also brought her back to life. Tala shuddered at the thought.

  “Did you bring the parchment that I asked for?”

  “Get it yourself. You probably know where it is—”

  “Never make demands of me.” A dark form drifted into the light from behind a rich tapestry. The cloaked figure, face obscured under black hood and shadow, made no move to approach, just stood there, a slick black dagger in hand.

  As poorly lit as this room was, it was the most Tala had ever seen of her silent tormentor. Her heart hammered. “I’m not scared of you.”

  “My blade thirsts. And you’ll be a long time dying. I will make it painful.”

  Tala did not balk. She walked straight toward the assassin, forcefully, her own dagger gripped in hand. The Bloodwood whirled and vanished into the same dark nook in the wall behind the tapestry from which he had sprung. Tala raced to the alcove and peered into the darkness. There was nothing but three stone walls rising to the ceiling. Dust floated down into her eyes as she looked up, craning her neck. She backed away, wondering what madness had gotten into her.

  “You will bring me what I’ve asked for.” The assassin was perched in the rafters overhead. “We haven’t time for childish nonsense.”

  “Childish nonsense,” Tala said, still looking up. “What about your silly games? Of the two of us, who is truly full of childish nonsense?”

  “Don’t think yourself so clever, girl.”

  “Do any of us ever truly show our true selves?” Tala threw the question back at the Bloodwood. “Do you? Hiding from me always. Climbing rafters. It is you who are afraid of me.”

  “We both know what you desire.” Silent as a goose feather floating, the assassin flitted across the arching wooden beams, disappearing into the shadows far above.

  “You desire to read what parchments Jondralyn keeps hidden as much as I.” The Bloodwood’s voice grew faint. “Next time we meet . . . remember your true self. . . . You do not want Lawri’s dreams to come true. . . .”

  And then the voice was gone and Tala was left standing alone, staring into the dank depths of the arching, cobwebbed rafters. She felt more disconcerted now than ever before. She thought of the dream her cousin had shared with her. I was given in marriage to the grand vicar! She recalled how her mother had hated arranged marriages, how Alana had argued with Borden about the betrothal of Squireck Van Hester and Jondralyn when Jon was just sixteen. Like her mother, Tala felt a woman should have the right to determine her own destiny. I’m just not sure what that destiny is to be. At one time, she had thought it a good idea to be betrothed to Glade, overjoyed by the prospect, even. She couldn’t get the Bloodwood’s parting words out of her head. Next time we meet . . . remember your true self. . . . You do not want Lawri’s dreams to come true. . . .

  Denarius! Marriage!

  Then Tala saw it—the dark leather sack on the floor at her feet. Her blood ran cold. Handsomely made, it was about the size of a lady’s bonnet and made of dark leather tipped with gold-leaf edges and inlaid with finely crafted scrollwork. It was cinched closed at the top with a thin leather thong.

  When she loosened the leather tie, something glowed green and bright from within.

  Tala slipped the jeweled dagger back into her belt, knelt, and gingerly picked up the bag. It was heavier than expected. Her fingers further loosened the leather thong. She pulled back the flap and gazed within, confused. She dumped the sack’s contents onto the floor.

  A slip of paper followed by a stream of green, coin-sized marbles spilled forth. Near a dozen. Bright little things. All glowing. Tala sat back, suddenly surrounded by luminescent green. She snatched one of the shiny orbs from off the floor. Its texture surprised her. It wasn’t like the glass-hard marbles she’d played with as a child, but rather soft to the touch. A green, gleaming liquid encased in a thin, translucent skin. She pinched it between two fingers, squishing it slightly. The glowing innards appeared similar to the potion she’d fed Lawri.

  Tala dropped the malleable marble back into the leather sack and snatched the slip of paper from the floor. It’s a note!

  As she read, a tremor, as if ice-tipped nails had suddenly been hammered into the length of her spine, ripped through her.

  Your cute little cousin is only partially healed of what afflicts her. Make no mistake, she will spiral into insanity and die if she is not fed more of the antidote.

  In this sack I have left you twenty dosages. One per day. More will be given to you later . . . but only if you continue to do my bidding and bring me what I ask for. Only then will Lawri’s transformation be complete. Only then will your own destiny be underway. One day, Tala, at the time of Absolution, you may be the only heir of Borden Bronachell still standing, the only one holding the key to all mysteries. These games you think are so silly are designed to test you, to prepare you for your own future. Take them seriously. Lawri’s life depends on it. Your own life now depends on it.

  †  †  †  †  †

  A mournful wind moaned across the crenellated stone battlements of Greengrass Courtyard. Atop the lofty walls above were a dozen Silver Guards, keeping watch over the courtyard and the safety of the king’s sister and cousins as they practiced swordsmanship with Val-Draekin and Seita.

  “M’lady, you seem troubled today,” Seita said with a pleasant smile, bowing before Tala.

  “ ’Tis nothing,” Tala responded coolly, emotionlessly.

  Seita did not balk at the reticence in her tone. “It’s hard being royalty,” the Vallè princess said. “Friendships are hard to come by. Hard to sustain. And ofttimes it’s hard to know who truly is one’s friend. It’s hard enough to even know oneself.”

  Know oneself? Tala furrowed her brow. Am I friendless? She looked at Lindholf and Lawri Le Graven. The twins were banging wooden swords with Glade Chaparral and Val-Draekin in the center of the courtyard. She dimly recalled the friendships of her youth: Lindholf, Lawri, Glade. But Glade was a stranger to her now—dark and evil. A killer. And her relationship with Lindholf had grown strained and awkward. Lawri had changed too. Have I changed? How does one know oneself? Of late she had made every effort to form a passionless, emotionless void inside her heart.

  Feel nothing. Emptiness was her aim. The game isn’t over and Lawri is still in danger.

  “Ninety percent of the nobility in the king’s court care little for me,” Seita went on. “The Vallè count few as friends. I seem to be distrusted wherever I go. And it’s mostly the other court ladies who despise me the most.”

  Because their boyfriends and husbands stare at you. Today the Vallè princess wore leather breeches, laced up the sides, which fit perfectly, exquisitely. Her black belt and tan tunic matched her pants. Her hair hung carelessly over the sides of her alluring fey ears and face like fine white silk. Her pale features were tapered and slight and effortlessly bore the flawless, sharp beauty of Riven Rock marble. Yes, every man stares at you, Tala mused. Even I stare.

 
“May I ask you a question?” Seita inquired. “If it please m’lady, of course.” She bowed again, green eyes glittering. Tala nodded and the Vallè princess continued. “Do you think your brother has many friends? I mean, real friends. I’m sure Jovan has no lack of courtly friends. Folks who may seek favor of the Silver Throne.”

  Tala pictured her older brother and his relationship with Leif—the kiss she’d witnessed between them. “Jovan has no need of friends,” she said a little too curtly.

  “Did he not grow up with Leif Chaparral? Are they not still close?”

  Can she read my mind too? Tala’s heart crept up into her throat.

  “I’ve my own thoughts on the matter,” Seita continued. “Others of royal blood, is that the only type of friend a prince or princess, or even king, is doomed to have?”

  Royal bloodlines do not automatic friends make. Tala had learned that lesson all too well over the course of her life. One cannot just thrust two people into friendship.

  “Perhaps we can be of some service to each other.” Seita bowed again. “I would wish to share an alliance with you, Tala. It would do me great honor.”

  Tala swallowed hard, finding she was almost glaring at the Vallè princess.

  “Sorry.” Seita looked away. “Alliance was the wrong word. That sounded a bit cold and clinical. Not at all what I had in mind.”

  “What are you getting at?” Tala asked sharply.

  “I’ve always desired a friendship like you and Lawri have,” Seita said. “Even Glade and Lindholf are your friends. It must be comforting.”

  Tala had always thought the Vallè princess full of unabashed confidence. But she was showing a vulnerable side. That vulnerability tugged at Tala briefly. When Seita stole a shy glance at her, Tala felt her own gaze soften.

  “I reveal my own jealousy, I suppose,” the Vallè princess said. “I do wish to be closer to Val-Draekin. But he has eyes only for Breita. And I could never betray her.”

  “Where is your sister?”

  Seita’s sharp eyes remained fixed on the courtyard. “I must admit, Tala, I do not know where Breita is. And that vexes me.” Her thin brow furrowed. “I ofttimes think I know everything. Think I can predict everything. But the truth is, you can tell lies to yourself for so long you don’t even know when to stop. Or when it’s safe to stop. Sometimes you can only hide inside for so long.”

  Tala didn’t know what to make of the Vallè princess’ comment. She looked to the courtyard too, watching as Val-Draekin ran Glade through a quick series of exercises with sword and shield, both hammering at each other back and forth. Glade’s armor glistened in the sun as he moved. Lawri, laughing, darted into the fray and poked him teasingly in the rump with a wooden practice blade, breaking his concentration. She jumped back as he whirled and swung his shield at her, irritated.

  “Always be wary of the unexpected, Glade.” Val-Draekin’s voice rang with laughter. “Lawri just taught you a good lesson.” He turned to Lindholf. “Your turn. And keep your concentration.” Lindholf stepped up to Val-Draekin, sword and shield at the ready. As Glade backed away from Lindholf and the Vallè, Lawri did a quick curtsy, pointing her wooden sword at him, sticking out her tongue in mock defiance, laughing. Not able to stay mad at her long, Glade quickly joined in her laughter. And Lawri danced a mocking little jig, waving her wooden sword at him.

  How can they have so much fun, whilst I sit and brood?

  “See how joyful friendships can be?” Seita said.

  Joyful? Tala’s mood worsened. All she could see was Glade, bloodlust in his eyes, pulling a sharp blade across the throat of Sterling Prentiss. And then threatening to kill Lawri. Now the two in question capered about, banging wooden swords together in joyful mock combat. In days long past, she had felt a mysterious cloud of luxurious and heavenly air engulf her every time those dark, bold eyes of Glade’s met hers. It made her sick now, knowing his true cruel nature. Don’t fall for his charms, Lawri! her mind screamed as she watched her cousin spar with the boy.

  Earlier, Tala had followed the wandering eyes of Glade and more than a handful of the Silver Guard as they’d made their way into the courtyard behind Lawri. They’d all stared at Lawri Le Graven. Like every man stares at every pretty woman. True, Lawri looked fetching in her tan riding breeches and blazing blue shirt with long billowy sleeves, the color the perfect complement to the blond hair cascading around her face. A full, healthy face that bloomed of roses, no longer sickly and pale.

  Tala wore no frilly dress or corset herself; instead she wore something more befitting the courtyard and out-of-doors. She sported the same clothes she’d worn in the secret ways earlier—leggings, shirt, tunic, and a leather belt around her waist, the same small bejeweled dagger at her side. Do the men all stare at me when I am not aware?

  She found that Seita was staring at her curiously, almost sadly. Then the Vallè princess looked quickly away.

  “You can consider me your friend,” Tala said, and without thought she touched Seita gently on the arm, letting her fingers linger. “After all, I shall always know how to disarm a knife-wielding attacker because of your lessons.”

  “My honor.” Seita dipped her head in thanks, then touched the inner part of Tala’s wrist. “Like I said, strike hard on the inside of the wrist here, just below the palm, then strike the back of the hand.” Seita put pressure on both spots against Tala’s hand and pushed. Tala recalled using the exact same maneuver to disarm the Bloodwood of a black dagger in the secret ways—a dagger she’d left near the cross-shaped altar in the red-hazed room buried deep in the castle.

  “You can disarm the strongest of foes.” Seita’s grin was infectious.

  Tala felt herself smiling back at the Vallè princess. They both watched Val-Draekin and Lindholf spar with the daggers. It took a moment for Tala to notice, but the Vallè princess had kept her hand gently in hers, their fingers entwined. A warm feeling engulfed Tala as she realized that since her parents had died, she had shared scarcely a moment of physical contact with anyone. She recalled the day she’d found both Seita and Val-Draekin teaching Lindholf how to become a pickpocket in Swensong Courtyard—how Val-Draekin had snatched her pouch right off her belt with just a brush of his body against hers. Both Vallè had taken a particular liking to her two cousins as of late.

  Out on the practice field, Lindholf’s hair flipped and flopped atop his freckled forehead. As always, it was a sweaty, mussed, corn-colored tangle. A strawlike patch of beard protruded from under his nose and burn-scarred chin. He sweated and strained as he tried to block the Vallè’s attacks.

  Val-Draekin always sparred with grace and poise and practiced ease, comparable to a member of the Vallè acrobat troupe, Val-Auh’Sua. His distinctive Vallè ears and fine features were similar to Seita’s, but more chiseled. Tala remembered when he’d arrived in Amadon on his quest to find Breita, he’d come with his shoulder in a sling. But now he fought as if he’d never been hurt at all. Like all Vallè, he healed quickly.

  “Enough!” A shout rang out through the courtyard, snapping Tala from her silent reverie. Lindholf and Val-Draekin ceased their sparring.

  King Jovan Bronachell’s smile was cold and terrible as he made his way from under the courtyard’s main archway toward the group, his shoulder-length brown hair confined by a glittering silver band about his head—the royal crown. He wore his familiar black cloak trimmed in silver-wolf fur, a decorative ring-mail corselet of fine-worked silver under it. He carried no sword or dagger at his belt. His regular retinue of Dayknight guardsmen were nowhere to be seen. The Silver Guards who lined the battlements snapped to attention at his entry.

  Jovan walked toward them with care, eyes boring into Tala’s, face still sickly and pale—the physical remnant of the assassination attempt he’d survived not long ago. Still, despite his ponderous approach, her brother radiated power. When he stopped in front of her, the others all bowed before him. Tala did not.

  Jovan cast her a shrewd look, then stepped past her tow
ard Lindholf and Val-Draekin. The timbre of his voice was deep, commanding. “What manner of boneheaded Vallè swordsmanship are you poisoning these young men with?” He brusquely snatched the wooden practice sword from the Vallè. He whirled, sword in hand, letting his cool gaze rove over Tala and Lawri. “You children have tested my patience.” His eyes tightened around the rims as he faced Lindholf and Glade next. “Bow again and pay proper homage to your king!”

  Lindholf and Glade both dropped to one knee, not daring to look up.

  “I ought to banish you both from this court,” Jovan said.

  Glade looked up, face morphing from scared and ashamed to angry.

  “Oh, don’t be upset.” Jovan’s laughter was mirthless. “We all know I can’t banish either of you or your families. I need what fealty and armies your fathers have to give, lest the White Prince gain more ground in my lands.” Then his face was instant cold fury. “But don’t think I can’t make everyone’s life miserable!” he bellowed.

  Tala’s heart was galloping now. Her brother brandished Val-Draekin’s wooden practice sword in front of her, swinging it violently up and around before her face three times. A chill, keening whistle sang through the courtyard at the wooden sword’s swift passage. It came to within a hairsbreadth of her nose each time he swung it. She did not flinch.

  “Please, Your Excellency.” Lindholf stepped up beside Jovan. “You might accidentally hit her.”

  Jovan’s eyes widened, sword now at his side. “You dare speak to your king without so much as a by-your-leave?” Lindholf blanched as Jovan glared at him. “Let me show you fools how to fight like men.” The king tossed his fur-trimmed cloak to the ground. “I will teach you to fight stout and grim and powerful and proper. Like a real man ought. Like a real swordsman. Not like some prissy ballet-dancing Vallè dandy.”

  He headed for the center of the courtyard, beckoning the two young men. Pale-faced, they reluctantly did as ordered, wooden swords and shields in hand.