The Empty Throne

by Cayla Kluver

  “You have no idea!”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A LITTLE REVELRY, FAE-STYLE

  Gwyneth and I reentered the ballroom a few minutes later, having stopped to fix her hair in keeping with the ruse she had used on Luka. By this time, Davic had gathered a small group of Fae together near the front of the room, and they were animatedly talking and jostling one another.

  “Other than the royal entourage, are there a lot of Fae here tonight?” Gwyneth asked, following my gaze.

  “Fi and a few others.” I raised my arms to display the flowing sleeves of my gown, its bodice glittered with crystals that were reminiscent of the play of sunshine across the surface of my lost element. “We’re not that hard to distinguish.”

  “What about that chap over there?” Gwyneth gestured to a man in a dark suit standing at the edge of one of the refreshment tables, not far from Luka and the group of people with whom he was speaking. “He’s not dressed like the rest of you.”

  “Then he’s probably not Fae,” I flippantly responded, my attention focused on my cousin, who had returned to the ballroom and was striding over to join Davic.

  “I’m a spotter, remember? He’s Fae.”

  I shifted my gaze to the man Gwyneth was indicating, thinking he looked vaguely familiar. Before I could place him, the music ended and a ripple of excitement passed through the crowd. The Fae were taking over.

  Gwyneth and I moved toward the front of the room as Davic, a Fire Fae, stepped into the center of the rapidly clearing dance floor, holding a lit torch high. He walked in a large circle, theatrically waving his other hand to dim the lights throughout the room. Continuing along his path a second time, he drew designs in the air with the torch, the suspended embers twinkling like constellations. The guests, who were now forming a ring around the entertainers, gasped and applauded in delight. With a deep bow, he extinguished the torch and yielded the impromptu stage he had just created.

  One of the Queen’s Blades, a Water Fae, then stepped forward, motioning for a group of servants who held trays filled with empty goblets to approach. Taking the goblets one at a time, she deftly stacked them into a waist-high pyramid toward the back of Davic’s circle. With a nod of her head, she directed another waiting servant to set the basin of water he held behind the pyramid. When everything was in place, the Blade’s hands danced across the display of crystal, twisting the water into a swirling vortex that rose to fill the uppermost glasses before cascading down the tiers like a waterfall. With a little more urging from its mistress, the water rose again to create a continuously circulating fountain. Awed murmurs rippled throughout the room, and the people inched closer.

  Next, Ione, an Earth Fae, stepped forward holding a number of seeds. She rubbed them between her hands, and soon leafy tendrils emerged from between her fingers. She transferred the seeds to the floor on both sides of the fountain, and flowers grew and bloomed on the surface of the marble right before the eyes of the stunned humans.

  But it was perhaps Air Fae who drew the largest round of applause, for they could make objects rise and levitate, defying gravity and human understanding. Fountains could be designed, fireworks could be created, and seeds could be germinated. But moving objects on invisible air currents was nothing short of miraculous.

  At last the Fae party tricks came to an end, and Zabriel stepped center stage to take his turn, tossing his tailcoat aside and rolling up his sleeves. I glanced at the Queen to gauge her reaction, only to discover she was in discussion with Lisian. Her purpose became clear when the Blades moved to form a half-circle behind the Prince, their expressions wary. Zabriel’s remark that there was some concern among the Fae of an attempt on his life resonated in my head—his participation in the Fae revelry left him open and exposed.

  Davic and a few others pushed through the Blades to crouch down and pound out a rhythmic beat upon the floor. The vibration was enough to set the crowd astir, but when my cousin began to dance, the air itself felt lightning charged. Zabriel could move like no other, jumping, spinning, twisting, and turning, his feet and body at times a blur of primal energy, at other times as elegant as a bird in flight. Even with no elemental magic, he was all things Fae—fiery passion, cooling water, pulsing earth, and soaring wind. And throughout it all, his wings were shrouded upon his back.

  The crowd stood hushed and unmoving when Zabriel finally came to rest, still enthralled by what they had seen, their emotions yet engaged. Then applause erupted, and everyone flowed toward him like sand in an hourglass. The Blades immediately reacted, closing ranks around him and adding to the chaos in the room.

  In the midst of it all, one man caught my eye: the man in the dark suit that Gwyneth had pointed out to me wasn’t moving toward Zabriel but toward the Queen, his purpose seemingly distinct. I stared at him, panic pumping through my veins with each hammer stroke of my heart, my mind bombarded by images of the Winter Solstice celebration in Chrior on the night before I had lost my wings—memories of Falk, an outspoken member of the Anti-Unification League, setting a sickening human effigy aflame; memories of Falk’s three sons fueling the fire with bullets that battered their own people; memories of injury, and pain, and death; memories of a vengeful Queen dissatisfied with the death of the instigator and enraged that one of his sons had gotten away.

  I took several frantic breaths, trying to break through the paralysis that seemed to afflict my muscles, information about the man in the dark suit slotting into place in my brain: This man was Fae; this man had not been invited; this man was dangerous; this man was Falk’s missing son.

  “Protect the Queen!” I shouted, tearing at the shoulders of the people in front of me, clawing my way toward the front of the room. But no one reacted, the general din enough to drown out my cry.

  “Father!” I tried again, the strain making my throat feel ripped and raw. Only it wasn’t my father’s attention I drew. The man in the dark suit turned his head toward me, a scowl contorting his features, his eyes glinting maliciously. Those eyes told me everything I needed to know, for they were filled with hate. This man was intent on revenge; more than that, he was intent on clearing the way for Illumina to take the throne. Then the moment passed, and he refocused his attention on the Queen, moving ever closer. Fighting dizzying fear, I shoved people aside with all my strength, desperate to break free of the crowd.

  Falk’s son was now within an arm’s length of the Queen, and whether from vision or intuition, I knew he wielded a knife. But I wouldn’t get there in time. And no one else seemed aware of the approaching danger, all attention still on Zabriel.

  As if time were frozen in sap, I saw the thrust of the assassin’s knife arm and the resulting pain that flared on my aunt’s face. Then she crumpled against the back of the chair, my father finally taking up my shout and drawing the attention of the Blades. While he and Captain Lisian moved Ubiqua to the floor, other guards sprang into action and rushed toward the perpetrator. A ripple of shock passed through the crowd, and the people who had separated me from the seating area at the front of the room fled in horror.

  I hurried to the Queen’s side as Falk’s son backed away and drew a pistol. With knife flashing in his other hand to ward off the onrush of Blades and Constabularies, he attempted to retreat toward a side door, his back to the wall. But I paid him no further heed, for Zabriel had dropped to his knees beside me, his face pale and stricken. There was blood, so much blood, covering the Queen’s gown, tingeing her long silver hair and pooling on the floor.

  “Sale,” he directed while my father desperately tried to stay the stream of brilliant red with his hands. I met his eyes, and the small shake of his head confirmed what I already knew—the Queen had lost too much blood, her injury too severe for such efforts to succeed.

  “Don’t die, Mother,” Zabriel pled, taking her hand. “Prove that stupid Redwood wrong.”

  But Ubiqua�
��s blue eyes were glossing over, her breathing becoming shallower, her body going limp. Then her gaze found her son, Nature granting her a final moment of clarity.

  “I always loved you,” she whispered. “Don’t desert your people to spite me.”

  “No,” he moaned, lifting her into his arms and clasping her against him. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he released a heartrending wail, his sorrow telling everyone in the room that the Queen had slipped away.

  By this time, the Blades had cornered the assassin. Their conduit blades were at the ready as they awaited orders from Lisian, who strode to join them. Then Luka appeared and grabbed the Captain’s arm, drawing him to a halt.

  “We need him alive,” the Lieutenant Governor barked, voice rising above the tumult in the ballroom. Blades were now whisking my father and the other members of the Fae delegation out of the room, while Constabularies likewise escorted the Governor from the scene.

  I trembled, filled with anguish and rage, yet I could not pull my eyes from the confrontation playing out a few steps away from me. Then I caught sight of the dagger Falk’s son was wielding, its golden hilt and stunning ruby winking at me, taunting me. Queen Ubiqua had been cut down by her own weapon, by the weapon entrusted to Fae Royalty, by the weapon entrusted to me. Her blood had been spilled by the Anlace.

  The assassin looked wildly about the room, and I wondered if he expected aid, but everyone in the vicinity had a knife or pistol drawn—there would be no escape. His hand shook, then he tightened his fist around the dagger and pressed it against his throat. Luka shouted, and a terrifying snarl rent the air as Konstantin leaped forward to sink his teeth into the man’s arm, dragging him to the floor. The Queen’s Blades and the Constabularies descended, but by the time Luka called the dog off, the murderer’s forearm looked like shredded meat.

  Zabriel’s eyes went to the Constabularies who were holding Falk’s son in custody, and he carefully laid his mother’s body down, his expression grim and hard. Gone was the sorrow and grief, replaced by a cold and fearsome wrath. He shifted onto one knee, his hand trailing down to his boot, going for the dagger Fane had given him. I gripped his forearm, and he turned to look at me. His eyes were so dark and hollow that I hardly recognized him, and I knew with certainty what he intended to do. But I made no sound or move to stop him—if there had been a dagger within my reach, I might have risen to my feet beside him. Why shouldn’t he be judge, jury, and executioner? In this instance, didn’t a life for a life make perfect sense?

  The confusion surrounding the assassination aided Zabriel’s purpose, cloaking his advance. Feeling strangely as if time had gone backward, I watched his arm lift, the dagger coming into position, his gaze focused on his target—and I closed my eyes, one murder enough for me to witness this night. But I heard the condemned’s cry of pain and Luka’s frustrated shout.

  Daring to look again, I saw Luka pull Zabriel away from Falk’s son, whose own blood now washed the floor. His face ablaze, the Lieutenant Governor shoved my cousin off to the side, Fane’s bloody dagger in his hand.

  “What were you thinking?” he seethed. “You’ve put me in the position of having to arrest you!”

  “I was thinking he murdered my mother.”

  “I understand that, but you are my nephew and the grandson of the Governor. You can’t just take matters into your own hands.”

  Zabriel raised his head and belligerently met Luka’s gaze. “He took matters into his own hands. I just acted in kind. And now you don’t have to trouble yourself with an execution.”

  “Neither can I conduct an interrogation.” Marcus Farrier approached, and Luka extended Fane’s dagger to him. Then the Lieutenant Governor faced Zabriel, gripping him by both shoulders, anger still simmering. “We needed him alive. It’s infinitely more difficult to get information from a dead man.”

  “I don’t care. I did what had to be done.”

  “You are not the law here—I am. It’s time you started appreciating that fact.”

  Zabriel stared at him, and the expression on Luka’s face changed. In a fatherly gesture, he slid one hand up to squeeze the back of his nephew’s neck.

  “We’ll discuss this later. I don’t agree with what you did, but I sympathize with your impulse.”

  Addressing Marcus Farrier, Luka added, “Take Zabriel to his quarters. Get him anything within reason that he wants. And maintain the guard.”

  Farrier nodded, then took my cousin from the room.

  Too in shock to move, I remained beside the Queen’s still form, glancing at the milieu—instruments abandoned by the musicians, overturned vases and candelabras, shattered goblets and plates—and my eyes fell on the Anlace. I stared at it, marveling that something so deadly could be lying so innocuously next to the wall. It was mesmerizingly beautiful, its large ruby glinting at me from its golden handle, daring me to reclaim it.

  Heart pounding, I stood and moved toward it, aching to take it into my possession. But before I could close my hand around its hilt, Luka picked it up. I lifted my eyes to his face, angry that another non-royal hand had closed around it.

  “That dagger is from the Realm of the Fae,” I asserted, heart pounding, not willing to tell him of its true importance.

  “This is a murder weapon, Anya. It may be of Fae design, but right now it’s evidence. Since I don’t have a prisoner to interrogate, maybe it can tell us something about whoever else was involved in this plot—the assassin could not have gotten into this event without assistance.”

  I straightened my back and took a step closer to him. “As the only member of the royal family who can assert our rights, I claim the dagger on behalf of my people. I won’t interfere with your use of it in an investigation, but I demand that you allow me to take it into my possession.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I respect your position, but it is the laws of the Territory that govern here. And the investigation into the Queen’s murder is mine to conduct.”

  His frank summation of my aunt’s death hit me hard, and I swayed on my feet. Taking note, Luka motioned to someone, and a gentle hand fell on my arm. Tom had come to offer aid. I stared at him; then tears filled my eyes and tipped onto my cheeks.

  “Shh,” he soothed, putting his arms around me. I buried my head in his shoulder and sobbed, my chest heaving as my heart splintered. Queen Ubiqua could not be dead; none of this could be real. This had to be a nightmare or a hallucination.

  I don’t know how long Tom held me, but when my legs buckled, he lifted me and bore me up the stairs to my quarters. Without hesitation, he opened the door and carried me inside to lay me gently on the bed.

  “Don’t leave me,” I murmured. “I’m scared—scared of what I’ll see if I let myself sleep.”

  He stretched out on the bed beside me and wrapped me in his arms. “I won’t leave you, Anya. Now or ever.”

  I clung to him, anchoring myself in the present, afraid of the nightmares that might come if I let myself drift. At some point, I fell asleep, Tom’s strength keeping my fears at bay.

  * * *

  Ione came to my quarters the next morning to provide comfort when Tom reluctantly left. Though he had to report to Luka for work, the sunlight seemed dimmer in the aftermath of his departure, my heart heavier, my mind more muddled, and my nerves on edge. I was glad, however, to still have the comforting presence of a friend.

  Ione selected some clothing and helped me to dress, for the lethargy and sadness I was feeling were overpowering. Along with the stomach cramps and headache I was experiencing, they robbed me of all energy and desire. Insisting we get some breakfast, she walked with me down the staircase to the first floor, only to encounter bedlam in the mansion—servants dashing in all directions, Blades and Constabularies standing guard in record numbers, and angry voices rising from behind office and sitting room doors. The air itself was saturat
ed with sorrow in the same way it might have held water vapor, and it soon became apparent that the Fae delegation was accusing the humans of a lack of security, while the humans were pointing out that the assassin had been Fae.

  Having lost what little appetite she had, mine nonexistent from the beginning, Ione and I decided to forego breakfast, and walked through the solarium and out of doors. But instead of a stroll in the fresh air, we ended up sitting on the stone benches in the garden, my feet refusing to take me farther.

  “What happens now?” Ione softly asked.

  “I don’t know. I imagine news of the Queen’s death has already been sent to Chrior. When it arrives, Illumina will no doubt prepare to take the throne.” I frowned, almost too numb to care about that potential outcome. “But a lot depends on Zabriel.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?”

  “Grieve his mother. Plan her parting ceremony. Blame himself. Other than that, I don’t know.”

  “And do you? Blame yourself?”

  I nodded, biting my bottom lip to hold back tears. “I noticed Falk’s son earlier in the evening by the refreshment tables and thought it odd that he was dressed like the humans. If I’d just paid more attention, given thought to where I’d seen him before, he could have been stopped. He never would have had a chance to approach the Queen.”

  “But, Anya, he must have come through the reception line. You’re not the only one who got a look at him, and nobody recognized him. You’re too hard on yourself.”

  Irritation flared, then I sat up straighter, my heart pounding. “But he didn’t come through the reception line. And that means he didn’t come in through the main doors. Everyone admitted to the ballroom needed an invitation, and he never would have been on the guest list.”

  “Then how did he get in?”

  “I’m not sure. But this must be what Luka meant last night when he said the assassin needed to have assistance getting into the Ball. And that means someone on the Governor’s staff or someone among the Fae delegation is an accomplice to murder.” I gripped Ione’s hand. “Until that person is found out, Zabriel may be in danger.”