Throne of Shadows

by Emma Fenton

  It was Mikhael’s knock.

  Still, she didn’t lower the scissors as she clicked back the lock. She cracked the door, and sure enough, Mikhael stood in the hallway looking as pristine as ever. Ria breathed a sigh of relief and let him in. His eyes landed on the scissors in her hand, and he raised his brows.

  “You weren’t planning on doing anything with those, I hope,” he said, amused.

  She swallowed and forced a smile. “Worried I’ll cut my hair?”

  He reached out and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, smiling. “My soldiers said you had urgent news to tell me?”

  Ria would have been angrier about his lack of apology for making her wait if she hadn’t completely forgotten that she’d wanted to have a conversation with him in the first place. After the chaos of literally almost dying, every other horrible thing that had happened today had slipped to the wayside.

  “Yes. Although by now I’m sure you’ve heard about my parents’ illness.”

  Mikhael’s good humor slipped away. “Yes. I was sorry to hear it.”

  “And did the Council tell you that the physicians are at a loss?” Ria asked. “They don’t know what the illness is. It doesn’t seem they’re able to stop it.”

  “I was not given that particular information.” His frown deepened. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Ria, but we should prepare for the likelihood that Jaya will be queen soon.”

  Ria breathed a sigh of relief. She should have known Mikhael would understand. “That’s precisely what I wanted to talk to you about. She’s not stable—”

  Mikhael gave her a sharp look. What she was saying bordered on treason. It wasn’t smart to talk like that. Not now, when Jaya was closer to the throne than she’d ever been.

  Ria lowered her voice. “If you’d seen her this morning, you would know what I know. She doesn’t like to be challenged. The moment she’s queen, she’ll either kill or disband the Council. As her sister, I’m also a threat. She’d kill me too, given the chance.”

  And she’s not the only one, Ria thought.

  He was quiet, thinking. “I’ll speak to the Council about moving up the date of our wedding,” he said after a moment.

  “Thank you,” she said, leaning up to give him a chaste kiss. The Council would disregard the request if it came from her. But if Mikhael asked, there was a chance they would listen purely out of fear of ruining international relations.

  “You are the future for my country and for me,” he said softly, kissing her in return. “I won’t let anyone harm you.”

  But once he left and Ria stood alone in her room, his words felt exactly like what they were: words. They could not stop Jaya’s knife. They could not stop the men in the library. They could not keep Ria alive on their own.

  She fell asleep with the scissors in her hand.

  ***

  “Consider, for a moment, that Helhath is the enemy,” the Elder Scholar said. “How would you defeat us?”

  They were in the garden for her lesson today, and Ria was thankful to be out of the palace, even if the Thaw had not quite melted all the ice yet. It seemed that she and the Elder Scholar were in silent agreement to avoid the library. Ria hadn’t told him about her incident three days ago—she hadn’t told anybody—but she wondered if he somehow knew anyway.

  Not that he would tell me, Ria thought somewhat bitterly. At first, she had pressed him for more information about her parents, but all of her questions were met with vague answers and the suggestion that she ask the physicians. Then she asked about Siraj, but even bringing up the man had earned her a death glare. Inquiries about her marriage plans were met with a derisive snort and a how in the hells would I know expression. Ria had given up on questioning the man altogether and stuck to answering his increasingly bizarre questions.

  “Helhath’s army is well-trained, but smaller than that of other similarly-sized nations. We could be overpowered by a larger military, I suppose, although not without heavy losses to both sides.” Ria plucked a newly bloomed rush-rose from the nearest bush and twisted the maroon flower between her fingers. “But…”

  “But that’s not the way you would do it,” the Elder Scholar finished. His lips twitched into a knowing half smile. “You are no fighter, Ria.”

  She frowned at that. “Not like Jaya. Or Mikhael.”

  Mikhael. Ria had barely seen him since he’d promised to speak with the Council about their wedding, though not for lack of trying. She knew he’d met with the Council two days ago, but whenever she tried to track him down to talk, he was locked away in his private quarters to handle Anorian business. It was infuriating, especially because his guards refused to pass her message along.

  Trying to talk to the Council was a waste of time as well. Nasir flat out refused to acknowledge her most of the time, and the other two only assured her that everything was being handled.

  “Don’t think on it, princesza,” Paavo had said. “These things take time to arrange.”

  But Sofi said that nobody had been instructed to start preparations for a wedding ceremony—Sofi knew everything that went on with the servants—and so Ria could not stop herself from thinking about the wedding. Why did everyone insist on keeping secrets from her? Didn’t they think she could be trusted with planning her own wedding at the very least?

  “There are other ways to win a conflict,” the Elder Scholar said, drawing Ria out of her thoughts. “Open combat is perhaps the most common, but it can be ineffective, and the costs are high. In war, everyone loses something. Your objective is to be the one who loses least.”

  “But not all conflict can be solved with treaties and negotiations.” Ria dropped the rush-rose and wiped her hands clean on her skirts. She met the Elder Scholar’s unnerving gaze. “What do I do if I cannot reach a diplomatic solution, and I do not want to face my enemies in battle? Nothing?”

  “Inaction is the choice of fools and cowards. By doing nothing, you allow your enemies to decide the outcome of your conflict.” The Elder Scholar appraised Ria coolly. “Are you a fool, Ria?”

  “No,” she snapped, indignant.

  “A coward, then?”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. There was so much to be afraid of. Jaya. The men in the library. Her future. What would happen to her parents? What would happen to her? Would she be a good queen in Anor, or would they find her insufficient?

  The Elder Scholar placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Do not define yourself by how much you fear, but what you do with it. When you are queen, I expect you will be faced with many impossible situations.” He offered a wry smile. “So, if open combat and diplomacy are not viable options, how would you defeat Helhath?”

  Ria frowned in thought. She was completely inexperienced in war. Helhath hadn’t been in international conflict for nearly a hundred years, and peace was sustained primarily by treaties, marriage contracts, or trade negotiations. The only exception was Pesh, whose violent history with Helhath prevented amity between the two nations. But the two armies had always met in open combat during wartime. There was no other solution that Ria could think of that might satisfy the Elder Scholar’s question.

  Except, Ria remembered, the Pesh assassin that had come for Jaya.

  “That’s certainly an option,” the Elder Scholar said approvingly. Ria jolted; she hadn’t realized she’s spoken aloud. “A country without its leader is unstable at best. Even if there happens to be an heir, sudden shifts in power are always tenuous and create the perfect opportunity to strike. How would you do it?”

  “I…would feign a diplomatic approach,” she said slowly. “And while everyone is distracted with finding a peaceful middle ground, I would send a small, elite unit to eliminate the leader.”

  He eyed the princess with some amusement, noting her expression. “Very strategic. But you find this idea distasteful.”

  Ria wrinkled her nose. “It’s just not very…honest.”

  “Because war is always ho
nest,” the Elder Scholar drawled, one eyebrow arched.

  “I suppose I don’t like the idea of unnecessary death.” She rubbed her arms to bring some heat back to them as a sudden breeze sent a chill through her. Ria looked up at the gray sky warily. Snowstorms rarely happened this close to the Thaw, and when they did, they could be catastrophic to crops and trade ships. And Ria’s wedding plans.

  “Besides,” she continued, “assassinating the leader of a nation could potentially fuel the common people to band together. And even if I win the war, my enemies will always desire revenge. What good is ending one conflict if another arises as a result?”

  “Very good,” the Elder Scholar said. “But you still have not answered my question, Ria.”

  She groaned. “Forgive me, Master Ameer, but as I am Helish, I cannot see a situation in which this scenario will ever be relevant.”

  His milky eye seemed to bore into her. “Are you quite certain about that?”

  “Yes!” Ria was close to pulling her hair out. She was tired of these pointless questions. First at the docks—as if she would care about the particulars of trade ships aside from their practical use; it wasn’t as if she ever planned to board one herself—and now this. Perhaps the Elder Scholar was losing his touch. “My marriage to Mikhael will strengthen the bond between our countries. Anor has no reason to wage war against Helhath, so I really don’t need to plan for it.”

  The tall man pursed his lips for a moment. “I see. Well, there’s no harm in knowing your own country’s shortcomings. Knowing where you are weakest will help you better defend yourself.”

  Before Ria could tell the Elder Scholar that knowing your weaknesses was different from outright planning how to destabilize your own country, a palace guard came running into view in the distance. Just the sight of the gray-uniformed guard was enough to set her on edge. Instantly, she thought of the men in the library and wondered if they’d been caught, or if they’d hurt someone. What if something had happened to Mikhael?

  The guard was panting by the time he reached Ria and the Elder Scholar, chest heaving. His dark eyes were wide—panicked and sad and exhausted all at once—and Ria’s gut churned, something deep in her bones seeming to know what the guard would say.

  “My lady. Your parents.”

  ***

  Once, when Ria was very young, her parents had let her watch the first snowfall of the year from the window in their bedchamber because it looked out over the whole city. She remembered how beautiful it had looked: the city far below coated in a thin layer of snow, glittering, and the white-gray light too bright against the pale stone of the palace. She sat by the window for hours watching the snow pile higher and higher as the draft horses pulled sleds through the streets in an effort to clear a pathway, and fresh smoke drifted from every chimney.

  Now heavy burgundy drapes were pulled over the high windows so that only a few slivers of gray light crossed the dim room. A small fire burned in the fireplace, casting shadows across the wall that danced like the dark spirits from Ria’s childhood bedtime stories. Omens of chaos, her old nursemaid had called them. Just silly superstitions, Ria reminded herself.

  Physicians crowded around the bed chattering quietly amongst themselves, but when they saw Ria approach, they cleared a space for her. Her gut twisted as she stared down at her father. Just two weeks ago, he’d sat at the high table looking as hardy and lively as ever. Now, what was left of his dark hair was streaked gray, the lines of his face more pronounced and creased in pain. He was still breathing, but it was shallow, raspy.

  But what really caught Ria’s eye was the decay that had begun on his hands. His dark skin was mottled with black spots, and the skin sagged as if it was trying to melt from his bones. Any muscle he’d had was gone; there was nothing but skin and bone now.

  He looked like he was already dead. Like he had been dead for some time. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it back down. How could her father be fine one moment and on the brink of death the next? Ria was not an idiot; she knew that one day her parents would die. She just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. They weren’t young, exactly, but Ria had always imagined they’d live long enough to see their grandchildren. She’d always imagined they would go in their sleep, dying from old age.

  “What’s happening to him?” Ria asked, her voice barely audible above the grating breaths of the king.

  A physician to Ria’s immediate right—a tall, wiry woman with deeply-etched wrinkles—turned to her. “As best as we can figure, it is a degenerative disease. He is, quite literally, decomposing.”

  “Can’t you stop it?” she asked. “Even, I don’t know, removing the infected limb. If you could halt the progression of the disease—”

  “We have tried.” The physician motioned to the king’s legs. “It started in his right leg. With his permission, we amputated the limb at the knee. But it spread regardless. The skeletal muscle in the lower half of his body is almost completely useless, and the process has started in his hands. It’s only a matter of time until the disease affects his internal organs, at which point he will undoubtedly die.”

  “There must be some type of medicine. Leeches? A tonic? An herbal treatment, or –”

  “I am sorry, my lady,” the physician interrupted, “but we have tried everything. Our best researchers have examined every possible treatment.”

  “Then you’re not trying hard enough!”

  Before the physician could respond, the king erupted into a coughing fit. The coughs wracked his whole body and left him with tremors even after. Thick black blood tumbled from his between his cracked lips, and the other physicians rushed to wipe it away.

  “Princess Ria, I assure you, we have not given up yet. We will keep applying treatments as long as he lives,” the physician said once the king had settled back into his sleep-like state. “But you should prepare yourself. This is nothing like we have ever seen. It would be generous to say he has even a week left.”

  She swallowed heavily. A week. A week was no time at all.

  “My mother?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

  The physician’s frown deepened. “Worse, I’m afraid. The rapid acceleration of her condition has caused us to suspect that the disease only presents symptoms when it is already too late.”

  Her throat went dry. “Is it…” She trailed off, her eyes locked on her father.

  “Contagious?” the physician offered. She shook her head. “No. We don’t know much about this disease, but we are confident that if it were contagious, more cases would have appeared by now. It is an extremely fast-acting sickness.”

  Ria frowned at that. Though she was beyond relieved to know that she was not likely to spontaneously decompose, the physician’s answer only brought up more questions.

  “Have you…have you considered that they may have been poisoned?” she asked, lowering her voice.

  The physician shot her a stern look. “I know of no poisons that act in this manner. And if you are suggesting that someone in the court poisoned them, that someone is attempting to murder the king and queen—”

  “I’m not,” she hurried to assure the older woman, lying through her teeth. She forced her eyes to water as she looked up at the physician, not that it was hard to look mournful given the circumstances. “I just…I wish I knew why they’re dying. I wish I could do something.”

  She let a few tears slip before wiping them away. When she looked back at the physician, the woman’s expression had softened.

  “You should rest, my lady,” she said, leading Ria away from the bedside. “Who knows? We may have better news tomorrow.”

  Ria gave a jerky nod and wiped another tear from her eyes, sniffling. “Thank you.”

  As soon as Ria left the chamber, all the horror and sadness she’d felt at seeing her father evaporated, replaced by a numb, hollow feeling that filled her from head to toe. Her parents would be dead by the end of the week, of that she was sure. The physicians would
never find a cure because they weren’t meant to. Somebody was murdering her parents, no matter what the physicians seemed to think.

  As Ria neared the council room, she noted the door was cracked open. The Council, Izan, and Jaya were seated around the table, arguing heatedly. From behind a curtain of thick black hair, Ria eyed Jaya as she slammed her fists on the table.

  Somebody in the palace was a killer. Somebody who thought they were above the law. Somebody who had the most to gain from the king and queen’s death.

  Ria kept walking. She had to get out of Helhath, and soon.

  It was almost too horrible to even consider. But if Ria knew Jaya half as well as Ria thought she did, then it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Jaya had killed their parents. And if she was willing to do something like that—and capable of getting away with it— nothing short of leaving the country would keep Ria safe from her.

  Chapter Three

  Ria was deep in thought as she walked to her parents’ bedchamber. It was a futile effort, she knew. The physicians had made no more progress yesterday or the day before, and neither her father nor mother were conscious enough to appreciate Ria’s presence at their bedside. But she went every morning anyway and sat with them.

  Funny, she thought, though it was not funny at all, that I never spent this much time with them when they were well.

  Neither of her parents had been the nurturing type. When she and Jaya were toddlers, they’d been passed off to nursemaids and, as they got older, various tutors. Ria had only really seen her parents during social functions and for family portraits. She was still fond of them, in a way. They had been good rulers, she thought, and never unkind. But Ria had always had the impression that if they hadn’t been required to produce an heir for Helhath, they would have never chosen to be parents.