by L. Penelope
Ella stared, understanding settling over her. Syllenne hadn’t admitted it, but her lack of denial was clear. “You did bomb your own temple.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Me, personally? If you thought that, you wouldn’t be here.” Syllenne clenched her jaw. “However, in military strategy, one must often accept a strategic loss. If it supports the greater good.”
Ella turned away. “You knew about it. You gave your approval for the murder of the Prince Regent and all those worshippers. Your worshippers. I don’t know why I would expect anything less.”
“Ask yourself, if your theory is correct and I am a Reaper, then how am I here? Why have I been offered up like a sacrificial lamb for this … misery?” She motioned around the prison cell.
Arms crossed, Ella regarded the woman silently.
“I walked into a trap.” Syllenne’s expression was wry. “I knew Zann Biddel couldn’t be trusted, but I thought I had enough leverage to properly manage him. I underestimated him. Don’t you do the same.”
The High Priestess turned and made her way back to the cot, sitting heavily. “I see a lot of myself in you, Ella. An intractable will. A sharp mind. Just like your sister. You two are very much alike. Very much like me.”
Gripping her arms tight, Ella shook her head. “I’m nothing like you,” she whispered. Syllenne shrugged and waved the statement away.
Ella’s heart beat painfully in her chest. “So if not you, who carried out the bombing?”
Syllenne kept her head turned, staring at the stones in the wall.
“If they have abandoned you as you say, why protect them?”
“I protect no one but myself.” Syllenne’s voice was low.
“So why talk to me at all?”
She peered across the cell down her angular nose. “Call it nostalgia. How do you know so much; I assume Kess left some sort of diary? Thought I taught her better than that.”
Ella rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. She couldn’t go there. “I want to stop the next attack. You can help me. Make up for some of what you’ve done.”
Shrewdness entered the woman’s gaze. Her posture straightened. “Where is the baby? He’s the last card to play against Biddel.”
“No.” The word vibrated against Ella’s lips.
Syllenne spread her arms. “Then I cannot help you. The herd must be culled. For Elsira.”
A growl of frustration left Ella’s lips. “Do you even believe that nonsense?”
“I believe that men have ruled tyrannically since the beginning of time. I fought and clawed my way into power to stand up for us, for the women of this land. For our children and grandchildren. At every step I was opposed, mocked, disregarded, and belittled. I finally landed in a place of influence, with a hand on the wheel to direct where we were going, and then the Great Awakening happened and it all went to shite.
“The Goddess set us on this path with no direction. Absorb a horde of foreigners who don’t speak our language or know our ways—that’s a recipe for utter destruction. And then She disappears, unreachable, unwilling, and unconcerned. You should be grateful for the Reapers. You should thank your ineffectual saints for people like me, willing to do what must be done, regardless of the consequences.”
Ella listened to the diatribe, her will turning steely. “The same consequences that landed you in here? Where are your Reapers now? Why aren’t they helping you?”
Syllenne refused to respond. Frustration warmed Ella’s blood. “Do you know the plans for the next attack or not? I don’t care who’s behind it. I just want to stop it.”
The High Priestess made a show of pressing her lips together.
“You’ll only help me if I let you use my nephew in some vengeance scheme against Biddel?”
“The child is proof that Biddel is a liar. A foreigner, like those he rails against. Do you think the people would follow him so blindly if they knew his secrets?”
“I won’t use the baby that way,” Ella said firmly. “Zann would kill him to keep the truth about his own heritage hidden, as you well know.”
Syllenne crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. “Strategic loss. Greater good.”
Tears gathered in Ella’s eyes. She was done here. This woman was hopeless. She had no conscience and no heart.
“I hope you rot in here, Syllenne. For every bad deed you’ve ever done, and those still to come. I hope you never see daylight again.”
She spun around and raced toward Benn, eager to be out of this underground prison that she hoped would be Syllenne Nidos’s crypt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The heat of the sun made her skin feel like clay, baked and cracking. Girl-With-Hands-Like-Ice pressed her palms to Ayal’s cheeks, cooling them. This comfort was a kindness, and the seeker found herself profoundly grateful. “Are not gratitude and praise two sides of the same coin?” the girl asked.
—THE AYALYA
Lizvette clasped and unclasped her hands repeatedly. She straightened her skirts for the fiftieth time, then adjusted the sleeves of her dress. Next to her, Tai sat motionless, staring straight ahead. When her fingers threaded through themselves again, he gently settled one large hand over hers. The tension bubbling inside her melted away at his touch. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm.
She and Tai sat just outside of Jack’s office in the waiting area. Around them, the sounds of normal palace life rang out. The hard-soled boots of servants and guards clapped across the marble floors in the outer hallway. Phones rang in nearby offices, and Jack’s secretary answered a call a few paces away.
Clove had flown them to Elsira, and then she and Vanesse had gone back to Melbain City to await word of Darvyn and the others. Lizvette and Tai had been sent to see the chief of the Intelligence Service and had given their accounts of everything that had transpired in Yaly.
Well, not everything …
Lizvette stroked the underside of Tai’s palm with her thumb. Even the tiny contact sent a thrill through her, further relieving her anxiety. His scent surrounded her, and while she hadn’t seen him since they’d arrived at the palace that morning and been hustled off to separate debriefings, he had never been far from her mind.
Jack’s secretary, Netta, looked up, phone to her ear. “The king and queen will see you now,” she said, and gestured to the office door.
Lizvette stood, straightening her shoulders and tilting her chin up until she felt the strain in her neck. That was how Mother had taught her to stand.
Use the discomfort, channel all your feelings into it until they are just sensations. Like water rolling over you but not a part of you. Things are only real if you make them so.
With that reminder, she strode into the king’s office, nearly prepared to come face-to-face with him.
Jack and Jasminda sat side by side behind his grand desk, presenting a united front. Lizvette executed a deep curtsey and then rose, keeping her eyes steady.
For the first time in a long time, setting her gaze on Jack didn’t hurt. She looked upon the planes of his face—only glancing so as not to stare—but the old ache in her heart didn’t flare to life. A tiny prickle of jealousy flickered when she took in Jasminda’s beauty—the queen’s hair was arrayed magnificently, full and bold; she was quite imposing—but the gnawing suffering her presence had once delivered was no longer present.
Tai took a step closer. Her heart twitched at his nearness. They weren’t touching, but she wished they were. Wished it were appropriate to take his hand right now.
A movement on the side of the room caught her attention. Her cousin, Zavros Calladeen, stood next to the chief of the Intelligence Service, Luqos Dillot, whose walrus mustache was almost comical. But the way Dillot looked at Tai could only be described as malevolent. Lizvette shuddered before reluctantly turning her attention back to the king and queen.
Jasminda broke the silence. “Miss Nirall. Master Summerhawk. Jack and I are both extremely grateful for your service
to our nation.” She set her dark eyes on Lizvette, who tensed under the scrutiny.
“To bring in your own father under such circumstances is worthy of much praise. We thank you.”
Lizvette bowed. When she rose, she noticed Jack’s jaw was tensed as he looked off into the distance. He appeared harried, and she hoped he was coping well with the strain of the position. But she dropped her gaze when she felt Jasminda’s stare burrow into her.
“It is my honor,” Lizvette said. “I hope this serves to prove where my true loyalties lie, Your Majesties.”
“We continue to take your case under advisement,” Jasminda said. “Your reports both stated that Darvyn stayed behind to attend to a personal matter?”
Lizvette swallowed, unwilling to lie to the queen.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Tai said. “He found that the Physicks were holding someone very close to him and stayed to rescue her.”
Jack frowned at this but stayed silent.
Dillot stepped forward. “I have personally questioned Nirall, and he claims to have no specifics about any further terrorist plots. He also has not been able to shine a light on the identities of the temple bombers. According to him, all his Dominionist contacts were Yalyish, not Elsiran. We need to be certain he did not mention anything more to you, Miss Nirall.”
Lizvette’s nostrils flared, but she quickly brought herself under control. “Chief Dillot,” she began, “I assure you that I relayed every word my father said to me. I tried diligently to find information regarding future acts of violence and destruction, but either he does not truly know, or he would not entrust me with the details.”
Dillot frowned, looking ready to respond, but the queen cut him off. “Thank you, Lizvette. You may return to your apartment. Your house arrest is lifted, but we ask that you do not leave the palace for the time being.”
“As a safety precaution,” Jack added, the first words he’d spoken.
Lizvette curtsied again, then shot a look at Tai. He winked at her, and she felt herself blush. She turned quickly and exited the office with Zavros stepping up to escort her. But she longed to speak further with Tai. He lingered outside the office doors, but Zavros was urging her away down the hall.
He turned to her, his eyes bright. “Well done, Lizvette. I don’t know how you managed it.”
“It’s easy to do things when everyone underestimates you.” She was a bit snappish but didn’t feel like withstanding Zavros’s superciliousness at this moment. They were walking away from Tai. She would have to find him later, perhaps send a servant to suss out where he was staying.
“How is the king handling the news about Alariq’s murder?” she asked, veering the conversation in a different direction for her own sanity.
“Surprisingly well. Though, of course, it was a great shock to everyone on the Council. It just goes to show that you never really know people.” He shrugged it off as if it were only a small matter. Then again, he had never been very emotional, though he had certainly liked Alariq a great deal better than he liked Jack.
“Do you think this is the end of it, then? I’ll be free?” she asked as they walked through the hallways back to her family’s apartment.
“I suspect so. I have done my best to advocate on your behalf, cousin. For your sacrifice, I think a full pardon is the least you deserve. I always thought the charge of treason quite severe. I mean, any of us would have acted similarly in your position, with foreigners infiltrating the palace and whatnot.”
Lizvette held back a grimace. There was no love lost between the queen and Zavros—he was one of the Council members who was least friendly to the Lagrimari. Lizvette also didn’t bother to remind him that Jasminda was an Elsiran-born citizen, not a foreigner.
“And besides,” he continued, “I’d think forcing you to take the journey with that pirate was punishment enough. I’m surprised Jack would agree to such a thing. Who knows what he could have done to you? Those Raunians are brutes.”
“Master Summerhawk was a perfect gentleman, I assure you. He was extremely helpful in capturing Father.”
Zavros grunted and waved off her defense of Tai. “I’m just glad he managed to bring you back in one piece. The whole event was very unusual, indeed, sending an unmarried young woman of your status off with such questionable company. If I’d been consulted, I would certainly not have allowed it.”
Lizvette gripped her skirts tightly and worked to reroute her growing rage.
“The situation will make securing your future a bit more difficult, given your association with those foreigners, however brief,” he said. “But there are still respectable families who will overlook that, as well as Nirall’s difficulties, in order to align themselves with someone so close to royalty.”
Lizvette stopped short, nearly crashing into a passing Guardsman. “What are you talking about?”
Zavros frowned and stroked his goatee. “Do be careful, dear. I’m talking about securing you a marriage after you are pardoned. The news has spread quickly. Aunt Mari has already received calls from several families with eligible bachelors, though many are far too lowborn to be acceptable and only interested in the gossip. The key is to find someone in just the right circumstance—with enough money to provide for you and your mother, and well bred enough not to be an insult.”
Lizvette swallowed the lump in her throat. Zavros went on, rattling off the names of families that would be acceptable who had sons of the right age and education. Apparently, Mother had made a rather miraculous recovery from her dubious illness once she’d been apprised of Father’s capture. She was certainly well enough to entertain correspondence with Rosiran aristocracy.
“This is the perfect opportunity to redeem the family name, and with a strong association, your children may not feel the effects of this scandal. At least not too deeply.”
Lizvette frowned as they reached the hallway leading to her apartment. “And what if I don’t want to marry any of them?”
Zavros looked at her incredulously. “Then what will you do with yourself? Join the Sisterhood? Seriously, Lizvette, I thought you were shrewder than that.” He chuckled and held the door open for her. “This unsavory business will follow you for the rest of your life if you don’t erase it with a good marriage. And when Nirall is convicted, your family wealth will be forfeited to the crown treasury. That’s the way it is with traitors. Then what will you do? How will you survive? How will Aunt Mari survive?” He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Do give her my love,” he said before turning and striding off down the hallway, his black coat billowing behind him.
Lizvette stood in the entryway for several minutes, thinking about Zavros’s words. Would the daughter of a traitor even be allowed to live in the palace? Hardly. And when their money was confiscated to the state as part of Father’s penalty, what would she do?
She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. Tai winked at her from the darkness behind her lids, and she opened them again.
A tattooed, blue-haired, Raunian smuggler would never be thought of as an acceptable choice. Falling in love with the pirate was probably the worst thing she could do.
A pity it was already too late.
* * *
Jasminda stared sightlessly out the window. Normally, she loved the view of the gardens below. The carefully tended greenery stretched out to the base of the mountain, which towered over the Rosiran palace. It was her favorite place in the city, but the worries weighing on her mind blinded her to the beauty outside.
On the other side of the palace, protestors blanketed the main lawn, some supporting unification and some opposed. Though she could not hear their cries and shouts from here, they were like a swarm of insects gathering, ready to blight the land and rend it in two.
Jack approached, his presence warming her back. He placed his hands on her shoulders, kneading gently against the tension stored there.
“Catching Nirall is a huge step,” he murmured close to her ear. “I think he’ll tell us
more eventually and lead us to the rest of the Reapers.”
Begrudgingly, she had to admit that she owed Lizvette quite a lot for doing what no one else had been able to accomplish. And though Jasminda couldn’t have imagined it a few days ago, Lizvette’s earnestness and dedication did inspire some level of confidence, and, perhaps one day, forgiveness.
“I’m worried by the time Nirall decides to talk, it will be too late.” She leaned back, enjoying the strong press of his fingers on knotted muscles.
“Maybe if we take execution off the table, he will be induced to give up his conspirators.” His voice was shot through with pain. Justice for his brother’s death was still a long way off.
“And Syllenne Nidos isn’t talking. I doubt she’ll confide in Benn’s wife again.” Jasminda pressed her forehead against the glass to cool her fevered skin. “Even with two suspected Reapers in custody, why don’t I feel any safer?”
Jack sighed slowly. “We’re watching Zann Biddel and his organization closely. If he so much as jaywalks, he’ll be brought in for questioning.”
“Why can’t we take him in now? We know he’s involved. Can’t we stuff him in a hole somewhere so he won’t stir up so much trouble?” Frustration bubbled within her. She was only half joking.
“You’d make a fine little dictator, my love. Biddel is squeaky clean. His operation is tight and by the book. We can’t yet tie him to the anonymous newspaper editorials—and even if we could, there’s nothing illegal about those or his protests. Plus, if it looks like Biddel’s being targeted, he could turn into a martyr. Pull even more people onto his side.”
She pursed her lips, unhappy with the reasonableness of his logic. “The right to spew hate is all well and good, but there are always consequences.”
“Yes, and we’ll have to deal with them as they arise.”
She shook her head. “And then there’s the tribunals … I’m worried agreeing to them was a mistake. It’s all happening so quickly.”
