My mind spun around, trying to make sense of Vasilia’s poisonous plot. She had become queen the moment she had killed Cordelia, but Bellonan custom dictated that an official coronation ceremony must be held on the next closest solstice, the Summer Solstice, in this case. A grand party would be thrown at Seven Spire to formally mark the start of Vasilia’s reign. Then, as soon as the party was over, and the queen’s crown was on her head, off to war she would go, forcing thousands of Bellonans to invade a kingdom and fight a people who had done nothing wrong.
No doubt Vasilia would spend these next few months leading up to the Summer Solstice drumming up support for her war effort and spreading even more lies about the Andvarians. By the time the solstice rolled around, the entire kingdom would be screaming for Andvarian blood.
“Well?” Vasilia demanded.
Serilda leaned back in her chair. My heart sank again. Now came the moment when Serilda would show her true colors. She would be seduced by Vasilia’s pretty words and the promise of power, like everyone always was.
“I’m honored. Truly, I am.”
“But?” Vasilia said in a sharp voice.
Serilda gestured out at the arena. “But this is my business, my responsibility. I have commitments that I cannot abandon.”
“Not even for your queen in her hour of need?” Vasilia asked.
She had boxed Serilda into a corner, but the other woman bowed her head again. “Perhaps there is another way—a better way—that I may serve you.”
“How so?”
Serilda gestured out at the arena again. “My troupe is going on tour—to Andvari.”
Sullivan had mentioned a tour when I had first come to the compound, but I hadn’t heard anything else about it, so I had assumed that it was off. But Serilda was making it sound like it was happening soon.
“Our tour will take us to several cities throughout Andvari, including the capital,” Serilda continued. “Perhaps I can use our wanderings as a way to gather intelligence on border security, troop movements, and the like. To make your march into Andvari that much smoother and assure you a quick, decisive victory.”
Vasilia drummed her fingers, pretending to think about it, but I noticed the faint flicker of satisfaction on her face. She didn’t want Serilda to work for her. No, for some reason, she wanted Serilda out of the way, out of Bellona, although I couldn’t imagine why. Maybe because Serilda had dared to suggest that another royal might have survived the massacre.
“Yes, I see your point.” Vasilia nodded. “That sort of information would be quite useful, especially since I intend to burn Andvari to the ground. When do you plan to leave?”
“In three weeks,” Serilda said, although I could smell the smoky lie in her words.
Vasilia nodded again. “Good. Then let’s talk about exactly where you are going and how you can best keep me updated.”
Serilda bowed her head.
And just like that, the deal was struck, and the two of them started talking about the logistics of communicating across such a long distance.
Vasilia leaned forward again, listening to everything that Serilda said and asking questions in return. She did everything one would expect of a queen in this situation, including telling Felton to take notes and ordering Nox to make sure that Serilda had everything that she would need for her new spy mission.
But the longer the two of them talked, the colder Vasilia’s eyes became, and the more I got a sinking feeling that she had just sentenced Serilda and everyone else in the Black Swan troupe to death.
Chapter Twenty
The acrobats finished their tumbles, the wire walkers climbed down from their platforms, and the second show finally ended.
Vasilia and Serilda finished their negotiations. The spotlight focused on Vasilia again, and she gave a brief speech about how much she had enjoyed the show. Then she walked down to the bottom of the bleachers and mingled with the crowd, shaking hands again, with Nox, Felton, and her guards trailing along behind her. A few minutes later, she exited the arena, and everyone else left as well.
Two hours later, I stepped out of one of the bathrooms in the barracks, my hair loose and wet, my clothes sticking to my damp skin, and several black feathers clenched in my hand. As soon as the crowd had cleared out of the compound, and the front gate had been shut and locked, the troupe members had gone to the dining hall to eat and celebrate another successful show. I had skipped the festivities, gotten Aisha to heal my arm, and come to the barracks instead.
I didn’t want Emilie’s blood on me a second longer than necessary.
I had taken a long, hot shower to wash away all the blood, sweat, and grime of the arena, as well as the ridiculous black swan makeup. It had taken me a bit longer to peel the blue crystals off my face and pull the black feathers out of my hair. I had thrown the crystals into the trash, but I had saved the feathers. I wasn’t quite sure why.
I had expected the barracks to be deserted, but Paloma had come inside while I’d been in the shower. She was sitting on her cot staring at the three objects that were laid out on her green ogre blanket—the poisoned white feather that Sullivan had given me, the silver bracelet that Alvis had made for me, and the opal memory stone that I had picked up from the royal lawn.
I hadn’t told Paloma not to look in the bag, and of course she would be curious enough to open it. My stomach clenched with worry, but I walked over, sat down on my cot next to hers, and laid the black feathers on the nightstand.
Paloma picked up the bracelet and studied the design. “Pretty.” She handed it to me. “Where did you get it?”
“A . . . friend gave it to me, right before I . . . left my new mistress. I never even got the chance to wear it. Not really.”
I hadn’t opened the bag in all the weeks that I had been here, and it was almost like I was seeing the bracelet for the first time. The curls of silver were much brighter than I remembered, and the band of thorns that they formed seemed sharper and more pronounced, like the tips would draw blood if you so much as touched them. And then there was the crown in the center. The seven tearstone shards fitted together perfectly, although they seemed a much darker midnight-blue, despite their constant glittering.
Summer queens are fine and fair, with pretty ribbons and flowers in their hair. Winter queens are cold and hard, with frosted crowns made of icy shards. Cordelia’s and Serilda’s voices whispered in my mind.
Shock rippled through me, and I traced my finger over the jewels. That certainly looked like a frosted crown made of icy shards, although I still had no idea what the fairy-tale rhyme meant, why both women had quoted it, or even why Alvis had made this bracelet for me. What did they all know that I didn’t?
I dropped the bracelet into the black velvet bag, along with the poisoned feather and the memory stone. I hesitated, then slid one of the black feathers into the bag as well, before pulling the drawstrings tight and tying the bag to my belt loop like usual.
Paloma leaned back against the bedframe. “Are you going to tell me what kind of magic you have now?”
My head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“First, you get rid of the poison in my body. Then, tonight, you took away Emilie’s speed just like you said you would.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Paloma shook her head.
“I’ve fought Emilie more than anyone else in the troupe. I know exactly how fast she is. But after you hit her with your shield, she was much slower. It’s like all her magic vanished. Just like that.” Paloma snapped her fingers. The harsh sound made me wince. “Emilie lost her magic. Only for a few seconds, but it was long enough for you to kill her. So how did you do it, Evie?”
My gaze fell to the ogre mark on her neck. “I’ll tell you what kind of magic I have if you’ll tell me why you never morph.”
Paloma’s face scrunched up. I thought she wasn’t going to answer, but then she started talking in a low voice. “My mother was an ogre morph. She disappeared when I was a kid. I don’t kn
ow what happened to her. If she got sick and died, if she was killed, or if she just ran off. But my father never got over it. As I got older, I looked more and more like her, especially when it came to my morph mark.”
She touched the blond lock of hair that wrapped around the ogre face on her neck. She grimaced, and so did the ogre. Then she dropped her hand and started speaking again, the words pouring out faster, as if they left a bad taste in her mouth, and she wanted to spit them out as quickly as possible. “My father hated that I looked so much like my mother, but he especially hated it when I morphed. I never really understood why. I guess it reminded him of her that much more. I tried to stop changing, but morphs have to, well, morph every so often, especially when we’re younger. It’s just part of who we are. When I was sixteen, my father said that he couldn’t live with a monster in his house any longer, and he kicked me out. Eventually, I joined the Black Swan troupe, and I’ve been here ever since.”
I could tell that there was more to her story—much more—but I also knew that she had told me everything that she was going to tonight. My heart ached for Paloma. My parents might have been murdered, but they had loved me, and my mother had died trying to protect me. Even at Seven Spire, Isobel and Alvis had cared for me in their own ways, and no one had ever made me feel like a monster, like I was some freak of nature who shouldn’t exist. Well, no one except for Vasilia, but that was just because she was a heartless bitch.
I grabbed Paloma’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry. Your father shouldn’t have treated you like that. You are not a monster.”
She shrugged, trying to pretend like it didn’t matter, but hurt flickered in her amber eyes, as well as in the ogre’s matching ones. “Your turn.”
All those old whispers and warnings from my mother rose up in my mind, about how I could never tell anyone—ever —about my power. About how they would hurt and use me if they knew about my immunity. But Paloma had shared her secret, and now it was my turn. Besides, I liked her, and I really did want us to be friends, and not just because I had saved her life. So I drew in a breath, let it out, and said the words that I had never said to anyone except my parents.
“I’m immune to magic.”
She frowned. “What?”
“I’m immune to magic. That’s how I got rid of the poison in your body, and that’s how I took away Emilie’s speed. All I have to do is touch something, or someone, with magic, and I can snuff out their power. At least, for a little while.”
Paloma looked at my hand on top of hers. “So you could take away my morph magic right now? Just by touching me?”
I could feel the magic crackling through Paloma, and I could feel how strong she was. As a gladiator, she was a fierce warrior, but as an ogre morph, she would truly be a force to be reckoned with, maybe even stronger than Lady Xenia. But I could also feel my own immunity pulsing through my body, wanting to lash out and destroy Paloma’s power.
“Yes, I could take your magic away just by touching you.”
To her credit, Paloma didn’t pull away, even though worry pinched her face. No one ever wanted to lose their magic, their power, the thing that made them who and what they were. I carefully removed my hand from hers.
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell Serilda, Cho, Sullivan, or anyone else about my immunity.”
“Why wouldn’t you want them to know?”
“I don’t want anyone to know.”
“But you told me.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
I let out an exasperated breath. “Because we’re friends. Isn’t that why you told me about your father?”
She stared at me, a thoughtful look on her face. “We are friends, aren’t we? True friends.”
“You sound surprised,” I drawled.
“It’s hard to be friends with someone with secrets. It makes it hard to trust them.” Paloma was blunt as always. “Maybe one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me the rest of your secrets.”
“Fair enough. And maybe one day you’ll trust me enough to let me see you morph.”
She shrugged again, but her features weren’t as tense, and the ogre on her neck gave me a small, brief smile. Paloma swung her feet off the cot and onto the floor. “But right now, we need to go. Serilda wants to see you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She just told me to bring you over to the manor after you got cleaned up.”
Paloma headed toward the barracks door. I grabbed one of the black feathers off the nightstand and followed her.
* * *
Paloma walked me over to the manor house, then headed back to the dining hall to get us some food before the kitchen closed for the night. I promised to meet her back in the barracks.
The front door was open, so I stepped inside. I expected to run into Sullivan or some of the other performers, but the manor was empty, and I walked to the library in the back.
“It’s over,” a voice muttered. “It’s well and truly over, and we are well and truly fucked.”
The voice had come from inside the library. Keeping to the shadows, I sidled forward until I could peer in through the doors, which were cracked open.
Serilda was slumped in a chair in front of her desk with a glass of sangria in her hand. Cho was sitting across from her, also holding a glass of sangria. An open bottle was sitting on the desk in between them.
“It’s over,” Serilda repeated in a grim voice.
“You don’t know that,” Cho said in a far more reasonable tone. “Of course Vasilia would claim that there were no survivors. You know what a snake she is. My sources are still searching. She couldn’t have killed all the Blairs. Someone must have slipped through the cracks and escaped. All we have to do is find them.”
It was more or less the same thing he had said the night that I had eavesdropped on them behind the dining hall. Once again, I wondered how they seemed to know so much about the massacre. They must have their own spies inside Seven Spire. Some of the older guards who had served with Serilda and Cho might still be friendly with them. At least friendly enough to tell them what had really happened.
Vasilia might have murdered the Blairs and everyone else at the luncheon, but hundreds of people worked at the palace, and she hadn’t killed them all. That would have been far too suspicious. And not even Vasilia was powerful or intimidating enough to keep all the turncoat guards from bragging about what they had done. Rumors, whispers, and gossip had always been a form of currency at Seven Spire.
Serilda shook her head and let out a bitter laugh. “No, it’s over. I can see that it’s over. That’s all that I can bloody see right now.”
I frowned. What did she mean? What could she see that Cho couldn’t?
“Vasilia has won,” she continued. “Even if there was another Blair, even if we found them, I doubt that person would have the fighting skills or the magic to challenge her according to the old laws.”
Old laws? My heart clenched, my stomach twisted, and I finally realized what game she wanted to play. Of course. I should have known all along. Serilda wanted to find a royal, a Blair, and put that person on the throne instead of Vasilia, and now I knew exactly how she wanted to do it.
Through a royal challenge.
In many ways, a royal challenge was exactly like a black-ring match. Two royals battled to the death for the right to rule. It was how Bryn Blair had held on to her power and been queen for so long, despite all those who had wanted to take away her fledgling kingdom. Bryn had killed anyone who dared to fight her in a challenge—royal and otherwise—until Bellona had been stabilized and the people had accepted her rule. Some historians claimed that the gladiators’ black-ring matches had been born from the royal challenges, while other historians said that it was the other way around.
Whichever had come first, Serilda’s plan was a foolish dream, at best. Vasilia had plotted to murder her mother for far too long to give up the throne without a fight, and
she was simply too good a warrior and too strong in her magic to battle. Even if Vasilia was killed in a royal challenge, even if someone assassinated her the way that she had Cordelia, Maeven was still waiting in the wings. She wouldn’t let her scheme to start a war between Bellona and Andvari unravel so easily.
But most of all, I couldn’t help but wonder why Serilda wanted to do this. Cordelia had kicked her out of Seven Spire in scandal and disgrace. So why would Serilda care so much about who was queen? She seemed to know that Vasilia was behind the massacre. Perhaps Serilda wanted to do what was right, and see Vasilia brought to justice, and war averted. I had my doubts, though. In my cynical experience, people did what was easy, convenient, or profitable. They rarely, if ever, did what was right .
The far more likely scenario was that Serilda saw this as a chance to finally get her revenge on Cordelia, even though the queen was dead, and to assert her own influence over Bellona. After all, if Serilda put someone else on the throne, then that person would be beholden to her. It would be as good as being queen herself. No, it would be even better, because the queen would be the target of everyone’s plots and schemes, instead of Serilda.
“Besides, we have no proof of Vasilia’s treachery,” Serilda muttered. “For all intents and purposes, she is the lawful, rightful queen of Bellona, and there is nothing we can do to change that.”
I shifted on my feet. The memory stone tied to my belt loop suddenly felt as heavy as a gargoyle. It was proof of what Vasilia had done, along with the Andvarians’ innocence.
Cho shrugged, not quite agreeing with her, but not dismissing her words either. “Well, if the Mortans have their way, Vasilia won’t be queen for long. As soon as she takes Andvari for them, they’ll turn their sights to Bellona. Once it falls, the Mortans will kill her and put one of their own royals on the throne. And they won’t stop there. Andvari, Bellona, Unger, Ryusama, Vacuna. They’ll conquer all the kingdoms.”
He fell silent, and the two of them sipped their sangria, contemplating that horrible possibility.
Kill the Queen (Crown of Shards #1) Page 62
