Surah tilted her chin up a fraction, looking at her father with the calm that had taken her centuries to master, despite the roiling black ocean raging inside her. A black ocean that was the accumulation of a long life and its losses. Yes, her brother’s death had changed things. A final straw.
“This is no longer a place for me, father. I’m afraid I can’t accept your proposal.”
Syrian’s emerald eyes flashed with anger, just as Surah had known they would. He may not be a particularly productive man, but he was very kingly in the sense that he was not someone who liked to be told no. “You would leave our people without a Keeper?” he asked, disapproval now bordering disgust dripping from the words. “I had thought better of you, Surah.”
Surah’s teeth clenched a little, but her tone was as sweet and soft and delicate as always, her eyes indifferent. “There are others with greater control of the Magic than I have,” she said. “More knowledge and capability, even. I am not the only one who meets the requirements.”
The snifter of brandy Syrian had been holding flew into the fireplace and shattered there with a loud crack, making the blaze flare, throwing licks of orange on the walls and making shadows dance in the dark room. Surah didn’t flinch, though she felt the heat flash hot against her skin. Syrian hadn’t thrown it with his hand, but rather with his Magic, and Surah was careful not to raise an eyebrow at what he would have called a “useless display of power.” She loved her father, but that didn’t mean her father was easy to love. Over the years his temper had been a constant headache for her, but over time she had come to understand it was only his nature, something that had to be expected if they were to maintain a relationship.
“I am not asking as your father. I am telling you as your king,” he said, smoothing a hand through his dark, carefully styled hair, regaining his composure, like the flipping of a switch. “You will be Keeper, and assist the Hunters in their necessary and noble efforts. You should be ashamed that I have to demand this of you. Your brother fulfilled his duty with pride and without protest.”
Now there was a hypocritical statement if she’d ever heard one, and though she knew her next words would set her father off like a fireworks display, she said them anyway. She was beyond the point of holding her tongue, which was a pretty distant point. Syrian was not the only one who was grieving, and she didn’t need his attitude on top of everything else.
“I should be ashamed?” she asked, her calm delivery fueling the returning anger in her father’s eyes. She knew she should just shut her mouth, but she didn’t. She leaned forward in her chair, her posture straight and perfect, back rigid. “I’m not the one who calls myself a king and yet is too cowardly to seek justice for his son’s death.”
Harsh, she knew this, but also true. And he had started it.
Syrian’s eyes bulged from their sockets and a blue vein pulsed on his pale forehead. His long, manicured fingers dug into the leather armrests of his chair. “How dare you speak to me like that,” he said, spittle flying from his lips. “You ungrateful child. You think everything is about you. You have lived for hundreds of years and it has done nothing for your understanding of the world. Your mind is as youthful as your appearance. How is it you have become so selfish?”
Surah was a heartbeat away from saying that he had made her this way, but then a knock sounded on the oak doors of her father’s study, and a silence fell over the large room. Surah watched the flames from the enormous stone fireplace flicker across her father’s face as Syrian barked for the caller to enter. The double oak doors swung open simultaneously with smooth glides, and in walked Theodine Gray, the heels of his boots clicking softly over the polished wood. His black cloak rippled behind him with each smooth step he took, and his hard eyes spoke only of business. When they settled on Surah they softened a fraction and a crooked smile pulled up one side of his mouth.
Surah swallowed to keep signs of annoyance off her face. Theo was not her favorite person, as he seemed to be everyone else’s.
“Princess,” Theo said, coming to a stop in front of Surah. He held a black-gloved hand out to her, and she held her own gloved hand out for him, as she had done thousands of times for thousands of people over the years. Theo took it gently and bent at the waist to kiss the leather over the top of her hand, his gray eyes watching her the whole time. “Always a pleasure,” he said, then turned to Syrian and offered another bow. “My Liege.”
Syrian was not in the mood for interruptions, and though it was nearly painfully difficult for him, he wiped any emotion out of his expression and tone, his broad shoulders rigid. What went on between him and his daughter was solely their business. “Is it important, Theo?” Syrian asked shortly. “My daughter and I were having a discussion.”
Surah could feel the Head Hunter’s eyes on her, knew the crooked smile was on his face, and deliberately stared into the fire to avoid his gaze. She was a princess and had been for her entire life, so she was used to the eyes of others being on her and she was good at pretending as though they weren’t even there. But Theodine Gray’s gaze was different. She seemed to feel it slither over her skin, even when her head was turned. It always made her teeth clench for reasons she couldn’t explain. Theo had never given her a reason not to like him, had always, in fact, been very formal and kind to her, but she couldn’t help it. Reason or not, she didn’t like him, and hundreds of years in this life had taught Surah to always trust her instincts.
But her father trusted Theo, so she kept her opinions to herself. Another thing she had learned was usually a wise choice.
“I’m afraid it is serious, my Liege,” Theo said. His eyes and posture had gone back to all business. The seriousness in his voice made even Surah’s head turn, and he looked at her when he said his next words. Surah found herself wanting to slap that crooked smile off his lips.
“We received word from the Dark Mountain. The Black Stone is missing. Someone has stolen it.”
Surah’s mouth fell open, a rare expression of involuntary surprise on her face. She picked her jaw up and smoothed out her face as soon as she realized she was doing it, but when she looked over at her father she could see it was too late. He had seen her horror, no doubt felt it, too. His violet eyes stared into her own, and she could see the victory there. His eyes said this was exactly what he was talking about, why she needed to be Keeper. Why she didn’t have much choice.
What Theo said next sealed the deal like a licked envelope.
“Also, Merin Nightborn is dead. Looks like murder.”
Surah sighed, sat back in her chair, and thought, oh dear.
CHAPTER THREE
“What do you mean someone has stolen the Black Stone?” Syrian said, his fingers digging deeper into the poor leather of his chair, the blaze from the fireplace reflecting in his eyes. Obviously the Stone was a bigger worry than the death of a royal woman. Which said something. “That’s impossible.”
Theodine nodded his agreement, then shook his head and spread his hands. “Apparently not,” he said.
Surah sat silently, unmoving, even though both men kept glancing at her as though she should have some input. She didn’t, at least not other than the same question her father just asked. The Black Stone wasn’t supposed to be able to leave its place in the Dark Mountain. Everyone knew that. It was impossible. Also, she’d never much cared for Merin Nightborn.
Her father stood from his chair and began pacing the room, his thick brows furrowed and his head bent forward, thinking. His movements were not graceful or fluid like Theo’s and Surah’s, but he was a tall, bulky man who moved with deadly precision, and it was rare that he exhibited his anxiety through physical action in front of anyone other than Surah. This was not good. “How long has it been missing?” he asked, skipping over the disbelief to search for a solution.
“The word was sent as soon as the Hunters realized it was gone,” Theo said. “They make hourly rounds to check on the Stone, as you know. The Hunter assigned to check on it at eleven p.m
. reported it was still there. When the next man went to check at midnight, it was gone.”
All three of them glanced up at the enormous black iron clock hanging above the fireplace. The hour read one-thirty.
“No one saw anything?” Syrian asked, the disbelief evident in his tone again.
Theo’s jaw tightened and he shook his head. “No, my Liege. The Hunters assured me no one was seen entering or leaving the mountain. They have no idea how it could have happened.”
Syrian snorted. “Wonderful,” he snapped. He stopped pacing the room and sat down again in his red winged-back chair, the cushions groaning under his weight, eyes settling on his daughter. Surah returned his stare with her usual indifference, but inside she was boiling with questions, and yes, more than a little fear. The Black Stone was one of the most powerful weapons in existence. In the wrong hands it could deliver catastrophe on an unimaginable scale. Syrian knew she wouldn’t refuse his request now, and it made her clench her fists in her lap a little, because she knew it, too.
“These Hunters,” Syrian said, addressing Theo but still looking at his daughter, “the two that were on watch over the Stone. You questioned them yourself?”
Theo nodded once. “Of course, my Liege.”
“And you believe they’re telling the truth?”
The Head Hunter considered for a moment, and a small smile came to his handsome face as his eyes fell on Surah once more. Surah’s jaw clenched. “It would be wise to have the princess question them,” Theo said, “since we have tragically lost Syris and that would have been his job. She would know better than I if they are lying. It’s not my…forte.”
No, Surah thought, your forte is capture and kill.
For just a moment, Surah fantasized about throwing a Lightning Bolt at the Head Hunter’s midsection, watching him double over in pain, wiping that smirk off his officious face. Instead, she sat unmoving, said nothing.
Syrian nodded, giving his daughter a look that said told you so. Surah stood in one fluid movement, her long cloak rippling behind her, wanting all of a sudden very much to be out of this room, with the heat of the fireplace, where she had played many a nights as a child, with the eyes of her lost family watching her from the portraits hanging on the walls, with the dim lights that seemed to shadow pain.
“Take me to them,” she said, and moved toward the doors without a backward glance at her father. She would do this task because it was necessary, and even though she may only look all of nineteen years old, she was not as young-minded and selfish as her father believed. She had lived well as a princess among her people, and she would not abandon them with the Stone missing. That didn’t mean she intended to be Keeper, just that she could help in this matter and she would, and hopefully it would turn out to be a misunderstanding. Once it got straightened out she would take her leave, even though she had no idea where she’d even go. Just…away. Someplace without old fireplaces and portraits and shadows.
Theo bowed once more to his king and followed Surah out into the hallway, shutting the oak doors behind him with a small flick of his wrist. “It’s very generous for you to offer your assistance, Princess,” he said, holding an elbow out to her.
Despite her unfounded dislike of him Surah laced her arm through his so he could lead her out of her father’s quarters, where they would be able to teleport to their destination. For protection reasons one could not teleport into Syrian’s dwellings, only out. And though Surah would rather not make physical contact with the Head Hunter, she knew well enough what was expected of her. Theodine was a Knight, and to disrespect him by refusing his arm would be plainly rude. It was one of the reasons she dreamed of leaving this place, even though she knew she could never live any more lavishly than she did in her father’s kingdom. Too many appearances to hold up. Too many expectations. Too many secrets and shadowed sad times between these walls.
The hallway was dimly lit, no windows or points of entry save for the two arched doors at the end of the hall. Surah did not respond to Theo’s comment about her generosity. She got the feeling that he knew as well as she did that he had not given her much choice with his charging in and saying how she was needed to question the Hunters, probably to help solve the murder, too. It was an understandable request. One of Surah’s gifts, that both her lost sister and brother had shared, was being able to detect lies from most people, but that didn’t mean she liked the way Theo had pulled her into this. She didn’t like it at all.
Theo’s wrist flicked again and the arched doors leading to the foyer swung open. The foyer was a large room, one of fourteen in the beast of a structure that was her father’s castle. The ceiling towered thirty feet overhead, painted with a mural of a dark storm just rolling in. The bruised clouds seemed to sweep over the ceiling as if to swallow it, and the room was as poorly lit as the hallway they’d just emerged from. But the mural was no longer a comfort to Surah, just like the night black walls which held no windows were no longer, even though they used to be when she was a little girl. She could still remember when it had been painted, she’d been only a handful of years at the time. Syris and Syra had stood to either side of her, their necks craned back the same as hers.
“It looks like it could pour rain down on us at any second,” Syris had said.
His sisters had nodded, wide purple eyes still glued to the ceiling. Syra had leaned in a little, pitching her voice low so that the artist still finishing the mural wouldn’t hear her. “I don’t like it,” she’d said.
Surah had smiled at her older sister. “I do.”
“May I inquire something, Princess?” Theo asked, pulling Surah out of her memories.
Surah restrained a sigh and nodded. People were always asking permission to “inquire” things, as though she weren’t as accessible as any of them just because she was princess, the next and only person in line to the throne. No one just spoke freely to her like she was a real person. In her earlier youth, this had made her smug and conceited, made her think they should behave that way because she wasn’t like them; she was better than them. But those feelings had long since faded, and her soul had grown humble and weary of the treatment. Now that Syris was gone, her father was the only one left who said whatever he felt to her. She wondered briefly if her life would always be that way. It was a surprisingly sad little thought.
Theo’s eyes were on her. She could feel them. “Are you going to accept the position as Keeper?” he asked.
She lied without hesitation, smoothly. “I don’t know.”
Theo was silent for a moment, his hand resting on hers where she had her arm laced through his. This was one of the reasons she always wore gloves and long sleeves; so she wouldn’t have to touch the skin of those who always wanted to escort her about, and she had reasons for this that were not as conceited as they may sound. She was a princess, not an old lady crossing the street. She was pretty sure she could walk without everyone’s assistance.
“It would make me very happy if you did, my Lady,” Theo said, his tone pitching low, his gray eyes lowering in a rare show of uncertainty.
When he said things like this, which he did a good portion of the time, Surah felt bad about her unexplained dislike of him. He was, after all, a Knight who had fought for her father and done his bidding for hundreds of years. She had known him since they were both children, and nearly every eligible woman in the kingdom would cut off a finger to be with him. Handsome, charming, intelligent, strong. It wasn’t hard to see why, and Surah refused to believe her aversion to him was because of the small thing he’d done when they were children. When you lived as long as they did, everyone did questionable things at one point or other. She certainly had a fair share of her own. But, still…
Surah smiled her practiced smile. It wasn’t difficult. “Thank you, Hunter Gray,” she said. “I suppose we shall just have to see.”
He had never, in all the years they’d known each other, asked her to call him Theo, but she knew he wished she would. She never did, not bec
ause she wanted to upset him, but because she felt as though he was just waiting for that kind of invitation, and she had no desire to encourage him.
Theo said nothing to this, only continued to look down at her from his taller position. Surah decided it would be best to get back to the business at hand. “Where are we going?” she asked.
It was a question she already knew the answer to, and Theo knew this, but he answered dutifully, letting the subject drop. “The Hunters who are stationed at Black Mountain are not allowed to leave their posts, my Lady, so the two that were on watch tonight are waiting for us there.”
They were across the large foyer now, where five Hunters were guarding the Travel Room. They stood silent in their black cloaks, arms at their sides and faces unmoving. Two on each side of the door to the room, and one directly in front of it. Theo nodded to the one in the middle, and the Hunter twisted his wrist and the door slid open. Then he stepped to the side so Surah and Theo could enter, bowing as they passed.
It was just a small, square room, not much bigger than an elevator, the walls and ceiling all black, with a plush purple carpet on the floor. This was one of only five places in the castle where teleportation wasn’t blocked, and it could only be used two at a time. Surah and her father were the only ones who were allowed to teleport freely in the castle.
In front of them, the door slid closed. Much later, Surah would wish she had never stepped into the room in the first place. Had she stuck to her guns, and refused a hand in all this, so much could have been avoided. Maybe.
Theodine held out a hand to the princess, a crooked smile on his face that made Surah sigh mentally. She didn’t need the help teleporting any more than she needed the help walking, but there were those pesky expectations, obligations, really, so she placed her hand in his without hesitation, offering her royal smile as she did so.
Someday I will shed the mask, she thought. Someday.
Switch (New World Series) Page 25
