by Emma Fenton
“What illness?” Jaya asked, voicing Ria’s own question. The older girl held her head high, chin jutting out in challenge, her lips pressed in a thin line. Ria eyes darted between her sister and the councilmen; even they seemed to shuffle under the future queen’s stony gaze.
“The King and Queen have fallen ill. Physicians have, thus far, been unsuccessful in identifying the illness,” Paavo explained. His hands clasped and unclasped against his chest nervously. “Rather than let our enemies know in case they should seek to take advantage of this weakness—”
“How long?” Jaya interrupted.
“Princess Jaya,” Nasir started, but a single look from her silenced him.
“How long have they been ill?” she repeated with increasing anger. “And why am I just now hearing of it?”
The three councilmen shared a look Ria knew well. None of them wanted to tell her sister the truth.
“Most of the week, I’m afraid,” Paavo finally said. “We hoped for a miraculous recovery before it became necessary to inform—”
“I am your future queen,” Jaya shouted, sending her silverware skittering across the floor with a wide sweep of her arm. The councilmen flinched, but Ria was accustomed to her sister’s temper. With Jaya’s attention firmly on the three members of the Council, Ria stood slowly from the table and inched away. It was usually best to leave before Jaya began to throw things. Like knives.
“I will not have the happenings of my own court hidden away from me.” Jaya stood and approached the councilmen. There was not a tremendous height difference between Ria and her sister, but it was enough for Jaya to stand just taller than every man on the Council, something she knew made them uncomfortable.
“Of course, my lady,” Vili said, stepping forward as if to greet her amicably. Perhaps he thought his immediate appeasement would diffuse Jaya’s anger. It was a miscalculation. Faster than a southern sand-viper, Jaya’s arm lashed forward, the silver glint of a butter knife in her hand. Vili stumbled back with a cry, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid her blow. A thin, shallow cut ran directly under his right eye, and he brought his palm against it to halt the bleeding. If it had been so much as a hair’s width higher, he might have lost the eye altogether.
Jaya’s mouth twisted into a cruel imitation of a smile, bloodied knife at her side. Ria’s back was against the wall now, hand just a fingers-breadth from the doorknob of the servant’s exit. She turned it slowly, wincing at the slight squeak of metal in desperate need of oiling. Luckily, nobody was looking at her. All eyes were on Jaya.
“Careful Vili,” Jaya said. She spun the knife around her fingers, uncaring of the way blood smeared across her skin. “I’m starting to question the usefulness of this council.”
Ria slipped through the door and shut it behind her. She could hear the beginnings of an argument on the necessity of the Council, the role they played in government. It was useless; if Jaya wanted the council gone, she would just kill them once she was queen. There would be no formal disbandment, just three dead men. Ria planned on being long gone by then, sitting safely on the throne in Anor next to Mikhael. She had no doubt that Jaya would kill her, too. If she was still around.
She needed to find Mikhael and tell him about her parents’ sudden illness. They were due to marry during the middle of the Thaw when the weather would be at its warmest, but that was still two months away. If the physicians couldn’t identify her parents’ sickness—if there wasn’t a cure and Jaya took control of the Helish throne—Ria wouldn’t have that kind of time.
Mikhael’s room was in the guest wing of the palace and heavily guarded with soldiers he’d brought with him from Anor. He was cautious and with good reason. In coming to Helhath to finalize his courtship with Ria, he’d left his own country without their heir prince. And though he had not been officially crowned yet, he was king in everything but name. Mikhael spent most of his days corresponding with his generals back at home and trying to manage an entire country from a distance. Ria admired his commitment to his responsibilities.
She did not, however, appreciate the two glowering soldiers standing at her fiancé’s door. They were both strawberry blond and a full head taller than her with steely eyes and permanently downturned mouths. Ria had met them on several occasions, but if they remembered that she was engaged to their prince, they never showed it. They watched her with the suspicion one watches a known thief.
“I have urgent news for Prince Mikhael,” she said when the two soldiers blocked the door.
“His majesty is busy with affairs of state,” one soldier said, his Helish slow and heavy with an Anorian accent.
She scowled at them. “This is important.”
“Not more important than running a nation,” the other soldier said. He shared an amused look with his comrade. “The lili mata is demanding, no?”
Her Anorian was a work in progress—stilted and embarrassingly simple after three years of trying to learn—but she knew that one. Little mother. Her cheeks burned in indignation.
“I am not a mother,” she snapped. The two soldiers only chuckled.
“Not yet,” the first said with a grin. “But you will make the next king.”
The other soldier made an obscene gesture which had Ria staring determinedly down at the floor, face aflame. She turned on her heel and left with as much composure as she could manage. The two young men laughed.
“Run back to your books, lili mata,” one of them called, still snickering. “I’m sure his majesty will find you later.” This was followed by another outburst of laughter, and Ria did not have to turn around to know that the rude gesture had been repeated.
As soon as she turned the corner, tears prickled at the back of her eyes, threatening to spill over. She pushed them back. They could wait until later, preferably when she was back in her room where she could hide her embarrassment and frustration. But first, she needed to speak to the Elder Scholar.
The library, however, was empty. There was no sign of the Elder Scholar anywhere. Fine, she thought as she settled down at one of the library tables, book in hand, I’ll wait.
***
Ria’s first thought when she was jolted awake by the loud creak of rusty hinges was that somebody had been slacking on the upkeep of the doors in the palace. Her face had been pressed against one of the tables in the library, and the wood left an imprint on her skin. She rubbed at it to no avail.
It was still light out, no later than mid-afternoon, which meant she’d been asleep for maybe four hours. She didn’t remember drifting off, but she wasn’t exactly surprised. After her nightmares last night, she was just grateful to have gotten some undisrupted rest.
Ria was about to return her book to the shelf when she heard a series of heavy thunks and muffled swearing coming from the bookcases to her left. Must be Master Ameer, she thought, remembering why she’d come to the library in the first place. The Elder Scholar was no physician, but he was an extremely intelligent man. Maybe he can tell me more about my parents’ illness. Maybe he can cure them. She started over towards where she assumed the Elder Scholar was shelving books when a voice made her pause.
“This is a waste of time,” it hissed, sibilant and deep. Ria didn’t recognize it, although there was something about the voice that struck her as familiar. Regardless, she knew for certain that it didn’t belong to Master Ameer. “We no longer need the book.”
“Don’t be foolish,” a second voice said, this one crackling like a fire. Again, it seemed vaguely familiar, but just beyond the reach of her memory. “Imagine all that we could accomplish with it. Limitless power. Unimaginable feats made possible. And do not forget what our enemies could do with that power.”
The first voice sighed, bored. “Then I wish them the best of luck in finding the damned thing.”
There was a pause in the conversation as more books were pulled from the shelves, scanned, and discarded to the floor with a heavy thud. Ria felt like she couldn’t breathe, and not just because of he
r fear. The air had stilled again, like it had yesterday in the library, and this time it pressed against her from all sides. The bitter, burnt scent was back, this time with a metallic edge to it. It was so sharp that every breath felt like knives dragging down her nasal passages, down the back of her throat. She tried breathing through her mouth, but the scent clung to her tongue. It tasted even worse than it smelled.
“It’s not in this one,” the crackling voice said. “Let’s check the next aisle.”
Adrenaline coursed through Ria’s veins, rising like bile in the back of her throat. They would see her as soon as they rounded the corner of the bookshelf. She looked around frantically. There was nowhere to hide but amid the aisles of books, and no hope of escape; the squeaky hinges would give her away in an instant. With no other choice, she darted into the nearest aisle, trying to keep her breathing quiet as the footsteps grew nearer.
“Maybe the book isn’t even real. After all, where did you hear about it? From the dregs of society, the most unreliable of lowly filth,” the deep, hissing voice said. “Maybe—”
“Stop.” It was a firm command. There was a pause. “There’s a book on that table.”
Ria felt her stomach drop. Her legs shook. How could you be so stupid, she berated herself. She’d left her book behind.
“So?” the first voice asked. Ria could barely hear the brief rustle of movement over the sound of her heart beating in her ears.
“The table’s still warm. Somebody’s here.” Another pause. “I’ll keep looking for the book. Deal with our unwanted guest.”
Ria felt like she’d been nailed to the floor. She couldn’t move her legs, couldn’t even think. Her brain couldn’t process anything beyond the panic of you’re going to die.
“But what if it’s the Elder Scholar?” the deep voice asked.
“Make it look natural when you kill him.”
Ria was moving before the man finished speaking, her body working automatically. She ducked in and out of aisles in search of a place to hide. The library was big, but she could only keep running for so long. She’d always loved that there were times of the day when sunlight touched every inch of the library. Now, she wished there was at least one hidden alcove or dark corner to cower in.
“There’s no point in hiding,” the voice called. “You know I’m here. I know you’re here. Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be.”
Overconfident, Ria assessed. Likely to make mistakes. If she could just keep hidden long enough, maybe she could get out. Her pursuer was right; they already knew she was here. They just didn’t know who she was. It wouldn’t matter if they heard her leave the library so long as they didn’t see her. She’d just have to be smart about it.
She moved quickly but did not bother to be quiet this time. She wove in and out of bookshelves, making a path towards the back of the library—the part farthest away from the door. She could hear him following her at a lazy pace. Ria couldn’t look for him without risking giving herself away, but she didn’t have to. He was talking loud enough that she could guess his approximate location.
“I don’t mind playing games,” he called. “I have all the time in the world, and you’ll have to come out eventually.”
She slipped behind yet another shelf and, this time, intentionally pulled a book to the floor. It slammed loudly against the stone tile.
“Sloppy. Sloppy,” he taunted, much closer than before.
Ria clasped her fingers together to keep them from shaking. Plan now, panic later, she told herself. Her breathing was erratic, and she thought she might hyperventilate. She might vomit. She might die of fright. The possibilities are endless, she thought drily. Her teeth bit down on her tongue to suppress the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat.
He was close enough now that she could hear his breathing. There was a flash of movement on the other side of the bookcase, not enough to see who, but enough to know he was there. Exactly where she wanted him.
I must be insane, she thought as a thrill shot through her. Yes, she was terrified, and the terror blocked out everything short of her survival instinct. But there was a faint trace of excitement, too, at the prospect of her plan working. Pride, at being able to outsmart her hunter. If it works, she thought.
Timing was everything. She had to make sure they moved at the same precise moment or else he’d see her, and even a glimpse could be catastrophic: the color of her dress, the style of her hair, her posture. Any one of them could give her away. He was at the other end of the bookshelf, humming. Overconfident. A few more steps. Two more.
One.
And then Ria was turning the corner just as he was, each on opposite sides of the bookcase, moving like reflections in the mirror. She couldn’t be sure he hadn’t seen her, but it didn’t matter now. Either he had, or he hadn’t; she could do nothing but run. The shelves were a blur, the section markers incomprehensible black smudges as she sped past them. She didn’t need their direction. The library was her home, her sanctuary. She could have run through it blindfolded and still found her way out again.
She was only faintly aware of a frustrated shout coming from the back of the library. Speed was more important than ever. He knew she’d outplayed him. He was coming for blood now.
The door came into view, and she bolted for it, fear overriding caution. She wrenched it open, ignoring the high-pitched squeal of protest from the hinges, and fled, shoes clacking against the stone floor. Once she had rounded the corner into a moderately busy hallway, and she was sure she was out of immediate danger, she forced herself to slow to a walk. Running would only raise suspicion.
The path from the library to her room had never felt so long. She didn’t dare look back, only continued to march onward. Her legs and hands were shaking, her mouth felt like cotton, but she kept her head high, her face blank. There would be time to break down when she was in her room. When she was safe again.
If she was safe again.
***
Ria had been pacing for the past three hours. She tried sitting, but then her legs would start bouncing. She tried lying down, but she felt too vulnerable, as if someone would slip out of the shadows and slice her open if she left herself unguarded for even a moment. Her body was tired—after the adrenaline wore off, she felt like a rigid icicle melting into a puddle—but every time she stopped moving, she felt like something was going to grab her. She checked the lock on her bedroom door four times, but the paranoid voice in the back of her head kept whispering, what if they can still get inside? She paced, and paced, and paced until she was sure she’d wear down the stone of her bedroom floor into fine sand.
On the bright side, her calves were going to look incredible.
The same questions played over in her head: who were they, what book were they looking for, what were they planning to do with it, and why were they willing to kill anyone who found out?
The “who” was the easy part in theory. Logically, it had to be someone already in the palace. Sure, someone could’ve broken in, but even the best of thieves couldn’t go unnoticed for long. Especially not in broad daylight. They were too loud to be any kind of proper thieves anyway.
At first, Ria had considered that her would-be killers might be servants, but that was a short-lived theory. In Helhath, only high-born children received formal education. Many servants in the palace couldn’t read at all, and even those that could wouldn’t have been able to slip away unnoticed in the middle of the day for any extended period of time. It had to be one of the lords, then, or possibly even a Councilman.
Ria wasn’t sure if this was better or worse. If a servant wanted to kill her, they could poison her food or strangle her in her sleep. It would be easy, and they’d probably get away with it too. But if a lord or a member of the Council wanted her dead, they could potentially have enough power to have her executed legally. They could hire an assassin to stab her in the middle of the night and pay off the guards. It was this line of thought that made her feel incre
dibly unsafe in her own home in a way she’d never felt before. Even when the assassin had come to kill Jaya, Ria had felt safe. Jaya was the heir, the target. In comparison, Ria was nobody.
And now, if her would-be killers had seen even a flash of her, she was as good as dead.
An impulse struck her, and she frantically ripped at the lacing at the back of her dress. She shrugged off the garment—a fine, moss-green gown of expensive sea-silk—bundled it up in her arms and threw it in the lit fireplace. Ria went to her wardrobe next, found another gown of the same color, and threw it in the fire as well. Blues look better on you anyway, she thought as she watched the flames consume her dresses. At least now they wouldn’t be able to trace her by her clothing.
The other questions—the “what” and the “why”—were less important to her. Without knowing which book they were searching for, it was useless to speculate their motives. As for why they were willing to kill someone—namely her—she assumed it must be because they were up to no good. But of course, she couldn’t know exactly what without knowing the book, and she couldn’t know the book without knowing exactly who was involved. And thinking about these questions only made her more frustrated at her inability to do something.
She really, truly couldn’t do a thing about any of it. Without a clear idea of who was involved in the scheme, she couldn’t tell the Council or any of the lords. Any of them could be the man who tried to kill her today, as disconcerting as that was to think about. Jaya was out of the question; she was far more likely to seek out the would-be killer to offer her help in killing Ria. Her parents were too ill to accept visitors, let alone handle a potential threat. And Mikhael? He might believe her, but without proof, there was nothing he could do. If she told him about what happened, it would put him in danger too.
Ria was jerked from her thoughts by a single rap at the door. Her hands closed around the scissors at her bedside table. Another two raps. She moved towards the door slowly, scissors raised and at the ready. If I die like this, she realized, Sofi will think I was trying to cut my hair again. Another rap.
