Crush the King
Page 9
The two of them reminded me of Gemma, the crown princess of Andvari, and Grimley, her gargoyle. Leonidas seemed to have the same sort of deep, close relationship with the strix as Gemma did with her gargoyle.
“Stay with you, Leo,” Lyra chirped in a high, singsong voice.
I blinked. And Lyra could talk, just like Grimley could.
Tears gleamed in Leonidas’s eyes as he stared down at the strix. “I want to stay with you too,” he said in a low voice. “But we both know what will happen if you don’t go.”
Lyra shivered, and the onyx tips on her feathers pointed straight up, as if she were a porcupine getting ready to defend herself against some horrible threat. After a moment, she settled back down and pressed her body against Leonidas’s side again.
“Stay with you,” she chirped in a louder, firmer voice.
“Even if you could pry her away from your side, you would still have another problem.” I rapped my knuckles on the glass, making it ripple. “Like I said before, you can’t send anything through this Cardea mirror.”
A stubborn look filled Leonidas’s face, and he pushed up the sleeves of his light purple tunic. “I can send something through to the other side. All I have to do is use my magic.”
Power sparked in his eyes, and the scent of his magic drifted through the mirror—hard stone mixed with sweet honeysuckle. The aroma was sharp, old, soft, and fresh, all at the same time, as though his magic hadn’t matured any more than his body had. But I had sensed a similar scent before, so I knew how strong he was going to be someday—and exactly what kind of magic he had.
My eyes narrowed. “You’re a mind magier.”
Leonidas’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t say anything, but his lips pinched together, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Maeven really needed to teach her son how to lie. His emotions were written all over his face for everyone to see and use against him, and her too.
Including me—especially me.
“So let me get this straight. You want to use your magic to send Lyra through the mirror and into my palace.” I gestured at the chambers around me. “Most people in Bellona don’t like strixes very much. Queens don’t like them very much either, especially when they’re coming from Mortan assassins.”
Leonidas shook his head. “I’m not an assassin, and I’m not sending her there to hurt you. I’m sending her there to escape, so she can finally be free, even if I can’t.”
He’d said the same thing to Lyra before he’d realized that I was watching, and the raw, naked worry and clear desperation in his voice made me bite back my retort. I opened my mouth to ask what he wanted to protect the strix from, but a sharp bang sounded in the distance, like a door had been slammed shut—or thrown open into the wall behind it.
Leonidas whirled to his right. I couldn’t see what he was looking at, but his eyes widened, and the twin scents of his coppery fear and ashy heartbreak gusted through the mirror. “It’s too late,” he whispered.
“Too late for what?”
He gave me an anguished look. “To save Lyra.”
I opened my mouth to ask him another question, but he waved his hand, and that bright silver light flared in the glass. When it vanished, the boy was gone, along with his strix, and the mirror was just a mirror again.
I frowned at my own reflection. Who was going to hurt Lyra? Maeven? Someone else? And why would they harm a strix, one of their own creatures?
I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking about everything he’d said, but I had no way of finding out the answers to my questions. Still, I had learned something important about Maeven’s son.
He was very, very afraid of something—or rather, someone.
And that someone had to be the Mortan king. The boy hadn’t flinched when I’d said Maeven’s name, other than the normal way all children did when they were worried about getting into trouble with their mothers, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say the king’s name.
More of that surprising sympathy filled me. I might despise Leonidas’s mother and the rest of his family, but he couldn’t control who his parents were or the situation he’d been born into.
I stood by the mirror for five minutes, wondering if the boy might return or if Maeven might appear, but the glass remained smooth and still. I turned away from the mirror to leave, when my gaze fell on the jewelry still sitting on the writing desk.
I walked over and stared down at the bronze pocket watch, the silver signet ring, and the gold-coin pendant. All the tokens of my enemies. I started to leave them here, but something made me scoop them up off the desk.
They felt as cold and heavy as anvils in my hand, and the mix of metal and jewels dug into my skin. But in a strange way, I welcomed the chilly weight and the pricking sensations. They reminded me that I had survived these enemies—and gave me hope that I could survive all my others.
I tightened my grip on the jewelry, then left Maeven’s chambers and locked the door behind me.
* * *
I should have returned to my own chambers, climbed into bed next to Sullivan, and tried to get some sleep, but I wound up on the royal lawn instead.
It was completely deserted, and not even the guards were patrolling out here, given the cold, blustery wind and the snow fluttering down from the midnight sky. The hard, tiny flakes had already gathered on the flower beds, iron benches, and towering trees, and I felt as though I were standing in a giant globe, watching the snow swirl all around me.
The snow-dusted grass crunched like bones under my boots as I walked over to the low stone wall that cordoned off the lawn from the cliffs and the two-hundred-foot drop to the Summanus River below. I drew in a breath, pulling the chilly air deep down into my lungs, then looked out over Svalin.
I had always enjoyed the view of the city from the royal lawn, but the contrast of the black night and the white flakes made it even lovelier than usual. Lights still burned in many homes and shops, and the soft glows resembled fireflies hovering in the sheets of snow. The glows also highlighted the metal spires that adorned the corners of practically every building and made the sharp, slender points look like swords made of molten gold, silver, and bronze. In a way, the spires were swords, since they represented Bellona’s gladiator history and tradition, just like the seven spires that topped the palace did.
I was still clutching the jewelry I’d taken from Maeven’s chambers, and I laid the watch, the signet ring, and the pendant on top of the wall. I traced my index finger over the coined woman’s face, then stared down at the Retribution Bridge and the plaza on the far side of the river.
The dead geldjagers were still strung up on the scaffolding, and the snow had started to crust their black cloaks. I wondered if the DiLucris had realized that their geldjagers were dead yet and that they wouldn’t be able to fulfill whatever contract they had with the Mortan king. I hoped so. I wanted the DiLucris to realize how spectacularly they had failed, and I especially wanted them to worry about how I was going to strike back against them.
My gaze flicked from one dead magier to the next until I finally focused on Lena, the girl whom I’d so badly wanted to be a Blair.
That mix of anger, shame, and embarrassment scorched through me again, making my cheeks burn, despite the snow. I’d told myself over and over again not to get my hopes up, but I’d done it anyway, and the DiLucris had thoroughly crushed them. No, not the DiLucris—the Mortan king. He was the one who’d most likely hired them, and he was probably the one responsible for the Blair rumor and everything that had followed, including this terrible, terrible ache in my chest.
Footsteps crunched through the grass behind me, and the hard, sharp smell of blood mixed with coldiron filled my nose, along with a faint, fruity tang. Serilda walked up beside me. She was clutching two empty glasses, and a bottle was tucked under her arm.
“A crown for your thoughts?” she murmured. “Or perhaps some cranberry sangria to drown them?”
“I’ll take the sangria.”
The sangria hit my tongue like a ripe honey cranberry exploding in my mouth, sweet and tart at the same time, with faint notes of apricot and just a trace of bright, tangy orange. Cranberry sangria was a popular drink during the winter months, served ice-cold, and I took another sip, savoring the intense flavor, along with the pleasant warmth that started pooling in my stomach.
Serilda and I sipped our sangria in comfortable, companionable silence for several minutes.
“What are you doing out here so late?” I finally asked.
She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to roam through the palace, soak up the quiet, and clear my head. It’s a ritual of mine. You?”
“The same.”
We fell silent, and I once again stared down at Lena’s body.
Serilda tracked my gaze, then studied me over the rim of her glass. “You’re still thinking about what happened with the geldjagers. Not the attack itself, though. You’re upset because the girl wasn’t a Blair.”
“Did your magic tell you that?”
Serilda was a sort of time magier who saw possibilities, all the ways that people might act in the future and all the consequences those actions might have.
She shrugged again. “My magic, and the fact that I know you, Evie. You tried to hide it, but I could see the hope on your face as soon as Xenia told you that another Blair might still be alive.”
I sighed. “Was it really that obvious?”
“Only to me.”
I eyed her. “You didn’t say much during our planning for the plaza meeting. Did you know the rumor wasn’t true? That the whole thing was a trap?”
“I thought it was more likely a trap than not, but I always think that way. It’s one of the reasons I’ve lived this long. I also knew that you had to see it for yourself.” She paused. “But you weren’t wrong to hope.”
“What do you mean?”
Serilda stared out into the snowy night, her blue eyes dark and dreamy. The scent of magic swirled around her, although the wind quickly whipped it away. “Because I think there really is another Blair out there somewhere,” she murmured. “Maybe even more than one. I don’t know who or where they are. My magic won’t let me see them. It just whispers to me about them.”
Once again, a bit of warm, sweet honey hope oozed through me. I let myself feel that hope for a moment before ruthlessly quashing it and latching on to the other emotion that it roused in me—cold, cold rage.
Serilda stared out into the dark, snowy night a moment longer, then blinked and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be more help.”
“You’ve been plenty of help. You brought me sangria.” I toasted her, then drained the rest of the fruity liquid and set my empty glass aside. Time to get down to business.
“I already asked Auster to increase the number of guards patrolling the city plazas, and he and Xenia have their spies searching for more information about the geldjagers. Now we need to talk about how we’re going to respond to this latest attack.”
Serilda snorted and waved her glass toward the bodies hanging in the plaza. “I think you responded quite clearly.”
I shook my head. “That was only the beginning. I mean how we’re going to respond during the Regalia.”
“What do you have in mind?”
I gestured at the silver signet ring and the gold-coin pendant lying on the wall. “Maeven, the Bastard Brigade, and now the DiLucri bounty hunters. The Mortan king just keeps sending people to kill me.”
“So?”
“So I’m tired of always being the one on the defensive. We need to beat the Mortans at their own game, and the Regalia is the perfect opportunity. The Mortan king and the DiLucris will be there, maybe even Maeven too. No doubt they’ll try to assassinate me again. Whatever they do, however they come at us, we need to strike back at them even more viciously. We need to end the threat they represent to us, to Bellona, once and for all.”
Serilda’s eyes narrowed with understanding. “You want to kill the Mortan king during the Games.”
“I want to fucking crush the king.” I slammed my fist down on top of the wall. “I want to take away every little thing he cares about, no matter how small it is. I want to hobble him, break him, and yes, I especially want to bloody kill him. But only after he’s felt some of the pain that I have. He crushed my hope, my heart tonight, with his damn Blair rumor, and I want to crush his in return.”
My words echoed out into the night air, although the wind and snow quickly drowned them. But they couldn’t douse the cold, cold rage flowing through my veins with every beat of my heart.
“Diante told me earlier that I needed to do more of that.” I gestured at the dead geldjagers. “And she is absolutely right. I have to go on the offensive, and I can’t think of a better way to do that than by assassinating the Mortan king during the Regalia.”
“How do you want to kill him?” Serilda asked, ever practical about such matters.
I shrugged. “Shoot an arrow into his throat. Poison his wine. Bash in his skull with a brick. I don’t care how he dies, only that he does.”
“Very well,” she replied. “We’ll start working on it tomorrow. Auster, Cho, and I can talk about arrows and the like. Xenia and Sullivan will probably have some ideas about potential poisons. And I’m sure that Paloma would be quite happy to bash in the king’s skull with her mace.”
I sighed. “And that’s the problem. I want to kill the king, but I don’t want to lose anyone doing it. His death doesn’t mean more to me than your lives. I want you to know that.”
Sympathy filled Serilda’s face. “I do know that, just as you know that we would all give our lives for you, for Bellona. Don’t worry, Evie. We’ll find a way to keep you from having to make that choice.”
My gaze flicked over the many spires that decorated the city rooftops, the ones gleaming like freshly sharpened gladiator swords. I already knew of one way to potentially kill the Mortan king, although I didn’t mention it, given the inherent dangers. That way, the traditional Bellonan way, would be my last resort, a card I would play only if all else failed.
Perhaps it wouldn’t come to that, but if it did, then it would be my choice, my decision, my sacrifice as queen. And I would make it just as gladly as Serilda and the others would lay down their lives for me.
Serilda tipped back her glass, draining the rest of her sangria. Then she grinned and poured us both some more of the sweet liquid. She handed my glass back to me, then tinked hers against mine again.
That one crystalline note rang out loud and clear, summoning up that phantom music in my mind again. I listened to the rhythm and started thinking about the best ways to deal with my enemies.
“Well, then, there’s only one thing left to say, my queen,” Serilda purred, her grin taking on a hard, sharp edge. “Let the games begin.”
Part Two
Games People Play
Chapter Seven
The morning of the first day of the Regalia dawned bright and clear, and I stood at the top of a rocky ridge at the edge of the Bellonan camp. Sullivan, Paloma, Serilda, Cho, Auster, Xenia. My friends were standing in a line with me, and we were all staring out at the spectacle before us.
The Summanus River emptied into a large natural harbor that stretched all the way over to Fortuna Island, where the cold, churning river currents mixed with the warmer ones of the Blue Glass Sea. Ships of all shapes and sizes were anchored in the harbor, and my gaze moved from one vessel to another, studying the flags they were flying.
Wide, flat barges bearing the Floresian royal crest of a golden horse running through an equally golden wheat field. Sleek, skinny ships displaying the Vacunan symbol of a green volcano with a trickle of red lava running down the side a
nd a plume of black smoke rising above it. The large Ryusaman vessels with their thick paper sails and dragon crests done in rich jewel tones. The much smaller Andvarian ships with their snarling gargoyle faces. And finally, the Ungerian vessels with their many flags and figureheads, all of which bore fearsome ogres.
People moved all along the decks, tugging on ropes, trimming sails, and calling out to each other. Small boats surrounded many of the ships, and folks were rowing toward the massive port that lined this side of Fortuna Island. No one wanted to miss the opening ceremonies, and the smell of everyone’s collective eagerness drifted over to me on the steady breeze, along with the mix of fresh and salt waters from the river and the sea.
Captain Auster had said that the ships and the kingdoms they represented were anchored in their usual spots and that everything was proceeding as normal in the harbor. Everyone seemed to be clinging to the status quo—for now.
I had never been to the Regalia before. Back when I was just Lady Everleigh, I hadn’t been an important enough royal for Queen Cordelia to bring me, and I hadn’t had the money to attend on my own. Instead, every time the Regalia had rolled around, I had stood on the Seven Spire lawn and watched the procession leave Svalin, desperately wishing that I was skilled enough at, well, anything, to be part of the festivities. I had also been on the lawn when the procession returned, once again watching from afar and wistfully wishing that the people were cheering for my victory.
Now my childhood dream had come true, and I was finally here—but I wasn’t so sure that was a good thing. If I hadn’t been queen, I would have been thrilled to see the competitions. But I was queen, and the Regalia was my most important test to date.
More eyes would be on Bellona—on me—than ever before. Royals, nobles, merchants, and wealthy citizens from the other kingdoms would all be watching, waiting to see what mistakes I made, and if I was strong enough to survive those mistakes. They would study my every word, smile, and gesture, silently judging me the whole time, as they decided whether or not to align with me and do business with Bellona.