Throne of Shadows

by Emma Fenton

  He was posing as her suitor, for the gods’ sakes, and yet here he was, blatantly flirting with other women. Is he trying to blow his cover, Ria thought snappishly. She thought the other woman looked far too comfortable in Peryn’s arms and fought back a scowl. Doesn’t she know he’s already made an offer of marriage to me? Well, a pretend offer, but this woman didn’t know that.

  Maybe he was trying to make sure that Izan didn’t think he was a real threat. Peryn likes the danger though, her inner voice said, effectively derailing Ria’s attempt to apply logic to the demon’s actions. It’s almost like he wants Izan to attack him.

  She hoped the person talking to her right now didn’t notice how little attention she was paying to the conversation—something about taxidermy? Or was it taxes? She couldn’t quite remember. Ria nodded along and hummed noncommittally at the appropriate places in the conversation. She was trying to pay attention, really, but even turning her back to the dance floor hadn’t done much good because now she faced the mirrored wall.

  It was frustratingly easy to pick out Peryn in the sea of people, his pale skin standing out against the shades of brown. But more than that, his movements were so graceful that he looked as though he was floating rather than dancing. She hadn’t been aware of it when she was dancing with him, but now she was entranced. Everyone else seemed clumsy in comparison. She absently wondered if this was another aspect of his magic. Her eyes were almost magnetically pulled towards him; she couldn’t seem to look away for long.

  “Your majesty.”

  Ria startled at the quiet voice. She hadn’t noticed anyone walk up to her, but there by her side was a petite serving girl with a slip of paper in her hand. The girl silently passed the note to Ria. The queen unfurled it and instantly recognized the Elder Scholar’s messy scrawl.

  There is no escaping this path now. Time grows short. Prepare yourself.

  She looked up, hoping the serving girl would be able to tell her something more about the Elder Scholar, but the girl was gone, already lost to the crowd. Ria frowned down at the note. Did this mean that the Elder Scholar was back? And what of the note? There was no mistaking the ominous undertone. She folded the paper and politely excused herself from the room, ignoring everyone who tried to stop her. She wanted answers, and she’d be damned if she let anyone get in her way now.

  The hallway was cool compared to the ballroom. She hadn’t realized how stuffy it was in there until now, and the chill of the empty halls was welcome. Ria wasted no time in hurrying towards the Elder Scholar’s private study; if the man was in the castle, he’d probably be there. She didn’t bother knocking at the door behind the suit of armor. Manners hardly mattered to her right now; if Master Ameer didn’t want to be rudely barged in on the moment he was back in the palace, then perhaps he shouldn’t have abandoned her in the first place.

  The Elder Scholar’s study was always dark considering it had no windows, and even now, a good portion of the room was darkened with shadows. But a single lantern was lit on his worktable, convincing Ria that the man had in fact been there somewhat recently. His desk was a mess too, papers scattered haphazardly as if he’d been looking for something in a hurry. She stepped closer. Maybe there’s a clue on the desk somewhere. Something to help me figure out what’s going on.

  But as she rounded the side of the desk, Ria stopped in her tracks. The Elder Scholar was sprawled face-down across the floor, dark liquid pooling beneath him. She dropped to her knees beside him, frantically pushing him onto his back, breath caught in her throat. No. No, no, no, no. There was no need to check for a pulse. Though his body was still warm, the man was clearly already dead, eyes glassy and mouth slack. There was a deep puncture wound right over the man’s heart, still seeping blood.

  “Ria?”

  Her head snapped up. Feodor was standing in the doorway she’d come through only a minute before, brow furrowed in concern.

  “Are you alright? I saw you leave the ballroom,” he said. He looked around, taking in the bookshelves and the strange herbs hanging from the ceiling. He turned back to her. “What is this place? What’s—”

  That must have been the moment he finally caught sight of the Elder Scholar, because his face went pale, eyes widening. Ria barely noticed, though. She was still leaning over the older man, unable to process anything she was seeing. The Elder Scholar couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to die, not now. Not when he had so many things left to explain to her.

  A scorching anger flooded through her and the bizarre urge to pound on the man’s chest was nearly impossible to ignore. How dare he, she thought furiously, tears prickling at her eyes. Her fingers dug into his robes, twisting the fabric in her fists. All you leave me are cryptic notes, you bastard, and then you can’t even stick around to answer my questions. Why couldn’t you ever be straightforward? Why did everything have to be a gods-forsaken riddle? A half-strangled sob tore out of her throat, the sound so foreign that Ria was only distantly aware that it had come from her.

  “We need to get the guards,” Feodor said weakly, looking as though he might vomit again. “Ria. We need to leave. This isn’t safe. He’s been murdered. His killer could still be in the castle—”

  She stilled at his words. The body is still warm, which means the killer is close. From the corner of her eye, it seemed as though one of the shadowed corners was shifting.

  “Feodor,” Ria said, finally tearing her eyes away from the Elder Scholar. Cold dread sank into her bones. “Run.”

  He frowned. “What—”

  Ria heard the knife whistling through the air before she saw it. It was little more than a blur of silver and she ducked out of instinct, but it wasn’t aimed at her. She heard the metal clash against the stone wall at the same time Feodor let out a hiss of pain. That was enough to snap her out of her stupor. She launched to her feet, hopped over the Elder Scholar’s desk, sliding over the top, careless of how the papers scattered or how her blood-stained hands smeared the Elder Scholar’s blood across the wooden surface and her dress.

  She grabbed Feodor by the elbow and tugged him back out into the hallway. Another knife whizzed by her ear, close enough that she could feel the air across her cheek. She pushed Feodor ahead and then turned back towards the open secret door. A lean figure dressed entirely in black stepped through the doorway, their face obscured by the cloth wrapped around their head, leaving only their dark eyes exposed.

  An assassin. Ria stared at them, weighing her options quickly. If she ran, they’d either follow or get away. If she stayed to fight, she was likely to get killed. But the assassin hadn’t thrown the knife at her; they’d been aiming at Feodor. Why, she wasn’t sure. But if she stayed to fight, then she could give him the chance to get away. He was only in Helhath, only at risk, because of her.

  “Go, Feodor,” she said, voice low, not looking at the prince.

  “What? No,” he immediately protested, as she knew he would. He really was too good. For the Helish court. For her.

  “Now.”

  Deciding it was better to listen than argue, Feodor turned and ran. If he was smart—and Ria knew that he was—he would go for help. She wasn’t deluded by arrogance; the assassin would outmatch her by far. She might get lucky and get a shot in, and she’d be aiming to kill, but Ria knew her chances of coming out of this encounter unscathed weren’t good.

  The assassin lurched forward, clearly going in pursuit of the prince, but even in her dress, Ria was fast enough to get in the way. She threw her entire bodyweight into tackling the figure. They slammed to the ground together, landing hard on their sides. Ria fumbled with her skirts, hands still wet with the Elder Scholar’s blood; if she could just get to her knife, she might have a chance. Come on. Come on. Why do these skirts have to be so damned heavy?

  Her hand closed around the hilt just as the assassin regained their bearings. They tried to gain the upper hand by scrambling on top of her. Ria lashed out, blade scraping along her own hip as she wrenched it fro
m its sheath and swiped up in wide arc. The assassin reared back, though Ria’s blade still caught the edge of their mask. It was enough to cut away the fabric across their mouth.

  Ria didn’t give the boy—only a child, no older than fifteen—a chance to retaliate. She drove the point of the blade back towards him, aiming for the neck. He moved at the last second, and so the blade sunk into the soft of his shoulder instead. Instead of pulling the blade back out, she pushed forward, driving it further into his flesh as she all but shoved him off of her.

  Aside from a near-silent grunt of pain, the assassin showed no sign that the knife in his shoulder was inhibiting him. He grabbed Ria’s wrist and pushed it back, forcibly yanking the knife out of his own shoulder. He only gritted his teeth and hauled himself to his feet. Ria scrambled to do the same.

  She had barely regained her footing when the assassin slammed her into the nearest wall. Ria’s head knocked back against the stone as the assassin’s hand wrapped around her throat. She tried to raise her knife again, but he grabbed her wrist with his other hand and twisted just enough for her to drop the knife. It clattered to the ground.

  Her vision started to blur, darkness edging in. She kicked her legs but couldn’t seem to make contact with anything. The grip on her throat only tightened further, and Ria was distantly surprised by the boy’s strength. She gasped for air to no avail. Her hands clawed at the one around her neck, nails digging into his skin. The assassin didn’t budge.

  Ria’s eyes fluttered. She couldn’t keep them open much longer. The darkness was embracing her, calling out to her. And it was strangely soft. She just wanted to sleep. No, I can’t, she thought, though she couldn’t remember why. Why wouldn’t she want to sleep? It felt so nice to close her eyes. When she closed her eyes, everything that hurt seemed to hurt less. When she closed her eyes, she couldn’t remember why she’d ever had them open in the first place.

  Then the pressure around her neck was gone, and she was only distantly aware of stone sliding against her back and she collapsed to the floor. Why was there pressure on my neck? She couldn’t remember. But suddenly her lungs burned with a thousand fires. Sucking in more air only stoked the flames, yet she couldn’t stop. Every inhale was like dragging hot coals down her throat.

  “She needs a physician,” someone was saying. “Now!”

  Why do they sound so angry?

  “Ria.”

  She still wanted to sleep, even though the sleep hurt now. Maybe the darkness was only friendly when it killed you. Why won’t they let me sleep?

  “Ria, I need to know if you can hear me.”

  It was the same voice, the angry voice, but not angry now. Soft. Nice. Ria tried to think past the pain in her chest and throat. It was important. She had to tell the voice she could hear it. But her throat hurt so much.

  Then someone—the person with the nice voice who was sometimes angry—took her hand. Oh, Ria thought. She knew this touch, the smoothness of the skin and the way magic buzzed pleasantly between them. She felt the magic tingle over her palm, race up her arm, and settle in her chest, warm like sunlight. It bloomed up through her throat, dulling the pain to mere embers instead of a wildfire.

  “Let me know you can hear me,” Peryn said again, his voice still low and soothing. It was so hard not to just sink further into the floor and let his voice wrap around her. She thought it might almost be as soft as the darkness that tried to strangle her. But he was waiting for her answer.

  She squeezed his hand in hers, eyelids fluttering open. He was a blur of dark hair and dark fabric crouched next to her on the floor. Ria couldn’t clearly see any of his features, but she watched his shoulders drop. She tried to blink the world into focus. The assassin was unconscious on the floor only a few feet in front of her, but a few guards were putting him into chains and hoisting the boy up over their shoulders. Probably taking him to the dungeons, she thought, letting her eyes drift shut again.

  Peryn squeezed her hand in return. “You can’t sleep yet. The Council has questions.”

  Ria scrunched her face, not opening her eyes. “Hurts,” she croaked.

  “I know.” Another tingling sliver of magic raced up her arm towards her throat. “Come on. Let’s stand up.”

  Peryn didn’t give her the opportunity to protest. He slid her arm over his shoulder as gently as he could and lifted her to her feet. She leaned on him a little longer than she would have liked to, but her legs were slow in coming back to her. Ria hoped the Council was quick with their questions. She had no desire to collapse in front of them.

  The three Councilmen and Izan—all dressed in simple robes, no doubt having been woken abruptly from their sleep—emerged from the Elder Scholar’s private study, all four of them sporting grim expressions. Vili sighed heavily as they approached.

  “Your majesty. We’ll need you and Prince Feodor to clarify some things for us,” he said. He waved over the physician that Peryn had called for earlier. “You’ll be seen to by the physician. And then have the guards escort you to the meeting chamber. I want this sorted out as quickly as possible.”

  Ria nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck.

  “Your majesty,” the physician said. “This way, if you will.”

  She looked up at Peryn, who no doubt had questions of his own. She would have to explain later. He’d probably be waiting for her in her room once she was done with the Council. She squeezed his hand once more, and then let go.

  Ria steeled herself. She had a long night ahead of her.

  ***

  When the Council had finally run out of questions and theories, and Ria was allowed to return to her room, it was nearly dawn. The sky was no longer inky black and dotted with stars, but gray like well-used dishwater. She trudged back to her room in silence, ignoring her two escorts. The Council had decided that she should be accompanied by at least two guards at all times, at least until they could figure out how the assassin had gotten in. Ria was fairly certain that they had ulterior motives, such as using the guards to spy on her, but she hadn’t been able to come up with a good reason to refuse them. After all, she had come unnervingly close to dying tonight.

  The Council was firm in their belief that Ria was the only logical target. They claimed that the assassin had killed the Elder Scholar after trying to interrogate the man, and that Feodor had only been a target because he was in the way. And no matter what she or Feodor had said, they could not convince the Council otherwise. She had stopped wasting her breath after a while; her throat hurt too much for her to keep talking when no one would listen.

  The one thing that she could not understand, however, was the fact that apparently the assassin had fainted just as Feodor returned with help. No one had attacked the boy, it seemed; he had just crumbled on the spot. Ria’s first thought was that Peryn had somehow dropped the boy with magic, but she disregarded it almost immediately. The boy would be dead, not unconscious, if Peryn was involved. The only other logical option was that he had fainted from either blood loss or pain from where Ria had stabbed him in the shoulder, but she also found that extremely unlikely. It wasn’t like she’d hit a major vein, and the boy had barely flinched when she’d stabbed him. The Council wasn’t concerned with the logistics and hadn’t wanted to waste time discussing the why and how of it, but it bothered Ria.

  When she finally reached her room after what felt like an eternity, she had to stop the guards from going in to make sure there was nobody lurking in the shadows, waiting to kill her. She already felt like her sacred space in the Elder Scholar’s private study had been violated; she didn’t want her only remaining sanctuary to be invaded and torn apart in search of potential murderers. Besides, Peryn would undoubtedly be in there, waiting for answers, and she couldn’t have anyone seeing him in her private chambers.

  “The Council has ordered us to keep you safe,” one of the guards said, looking very put out by her objections.

  “And your queen is telling you she will be fine.” Ria raised a brow, darin
g the man to challenge her. “If I require your assistance, I will shout.”

  The guard’s jaw clenched, but he nodded tersely. She supposed that was the best she could hope for right now. Eventually, they would loosen up once they realized that there were no more assassins in the palace. They probably wouldn’t be too happy to know that the only person still trying to kill me is someone they can’t protect me against, she thought. Izan was too crafty to go after her when he risked getting caught, and her security detail would only stop head-on threats.

  She slid into her room, careful to only open the door enough for her to go through without giving the guards a chance to peek inside. It was a good thing, too, because Peryn was pacing almost immediately in front of the door. She scowled at him once the door closed behind her.

  “Stop being careless,” she snapped, voice barely above a whisper just in case the guards could hear. “Anyone could have seen you.”

  He ignored her. “What did the Council say?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Nothing of consequence. They’re blinded. I tried to tell them that I wasn’t the target, but they wouldn’t believe me. Or Feodor, for that matter.”

  Peryn stopped in front of her, brow furrowed. “What do you mean you weren’t the target? He was choking you.”

  “Only because I got in the way.” It occurred to her belatedly that Peryn hadn’t been there with her when she’d gotten the note during the ball or when she’d discovered the Elder Scholar’s body. She quickly recounted the events—hopefully for the last time, she thought, her limbs feeling heavy—and watched as he worked through the same arguments she’d had with herself.

  “If the assassin went after Feodor,” Peryn said slowly, “there’s a chance Izan was involved.”