But something stopped me. Guilt. And it wasn’t necessarily tied to the boy whose heart I would break.
I had always wanted to be a hero. It was what had driven me to the life of a warrior in the first place. I had chosen Combat because it was the most notorious faction of all. Again and again, I’d taken the hard road because it was the most celebrated.
After last year and my terrible case of jealousy leading up to the Candidacy, I’d been able to recognize that drive for what it really was: ambition. Sure, I’d wanted to save people, but I’d also dreamed of the status that came with it—something to distance myself from the others, something to make a name for myself… A glorious Ryiah on the battlefield, slaying villains and receiving recognition from the king and his people for a job well done.
Combat mages were ambitious and vain, after all, and if they weren’t, they never reached far. So silly girl that I was, I had chosen to chase after a lifetime of prestige. And over the years, my eyes had opened to the realities of that choice.
All of those soldiers in the forest of Caltoth…. That wasn’t Blayne’s doing. That was mine.
My hand gripped the side of the carriage rail, and all at once, my body was too hot and too cold. I felt faint and my vision was dancing in front of my eyes.
That was me.
It didn’t matter that I had been under Mage Mira’s orders during the mission. I had killed men fighting for the right cause, all because I had believed in a lie. Those deaths were on me. It was my magic that had ended the men’s lives.
And how many others would suffer under the same choice? All because they had wanted to be a soldier, a knight, or a mage of Jerar?
I couldn’t just walk away. I had blood on my hands. I owed this to them—to all of the others who didn’t know what their villainous king was capable of—to stop this before they were tainted as well.
During my ascension, I had made a pledge to Jerar to defend those in need.
I needed to be a real hero, not just the easy one.
Killing Blayne wasn’t enough; I needed to stop the war. There was no guarantee Pythus would pull out if Blayne was dead, no guarantee the truth would come to light without proof. I needed to stop others from making the wrong choice, because it was the only way to right my own wrongs.
The gods had to be laughing up above: You want to redeem yourself? To be a true hero, not just the one you dreamed up? Here’s your chance, but there’s a catch: to do so, you’ll have to betray the one you love and spare the brother that killed your own.
Destiny was cruel, and it was breaking me, piece by piece.
“Ryiah?”
Startled from the churning sickness in my gut, I saw Darren waiting by the door. His gaze was soft, free of arrogance or challenge, the countenance of someone happy and in love.
How I wished that could be me.
“Are you ready, love?”
I followed the prince outside the carriage and through the palace gates.
I had wanted to be the hero.
I just hadn’t known the price.
The ceremonial feast was spent toasting our marriage and the prosperity of our nation. I sat at the head table beside my new husband and his brother, who sat at the end in his father’s towering chair. A row of advisors were to our left. I spent those three hours forcing myself to swallow small bites of venison, my appetite long forgotten.
Darren’s gaze kept falling on me as the evening wore on. His hand slid underneath the table to grip my knee, and he leaned in close. “Please eat, Ryiah. I don’t like seeing you like this.”
I forced myself to spear a bit of cabbage and chew, painfully aware of his concern. I needed to appear well. “I’m fine.”
The prince’s face grew grim. “Ryiah, you aren’t—”
A loud voice echoed across the chatter, cutting off the rest of Darren’s reply.
“Six weeks!” It was one of the Crown’s advisors, a hefty man with expensive, but threadbare, Borean silks. He had grown more boisterous with each helping of ale. “Then forty Pythian warships set sail for Jerar. Would that I were a knight, so I could gut those Caltothian traitors myself.”
Six weeks, I swallowed, the previous moment’s brevity forgotten.
Darren seemed to be thinking the same thing. “How long do you think it will take them to reach our shore?”
The man preened under the crown prince’s stare, some of the words slurring as he spoke. “A month, Your Highness. Not a day before.”
Another advisor, a severe woman with a sharp jaw and jutting lips, set down her glass with an exaggerated scoff. “Two weeks, Cletus. You of all people should know. You are in charge of overseeing the Crown’s trade, are you not?” Her lips curved into a sneer. “Or have you been spending all of your time at dice?”
The man’s face turned mottled and red in embarrassment. He gasped, stuttering, “How d-dare—”
“Is that true, Cletus?” The question came from my end of the table, and it was deceptively calm. The man had captured the attention of his king, and not in a good way.
Cletus sank in his seat, the legs of his chair scraping against the marble tile. “Perhaps, sire. I don’t have my charts here to advise me—”
“And yet I pay you well enough to have them memorized.” The young king’s voice had gone flat. Gone was the celebration, and in its place was disgust. “Hestia is right. I have no use for wastrels in my court. Guards, see that this man is escorted off the premises immediately.”
“Blayne.” Darren’s murmur was only low enough for me to hear. “Is that really necessary? The man has had a lot to drink. You could question him when he is sober.”
The king’s angry gaze slid to his brother, and then he turned back to the advisor, his words growing cold. “We are to go to war in two months’ time. Your loose calculations could cost my men’s lives. Show your face in my court again and I will not be so kind.”
“Yes, sire.” The man didn’t hesitate. He was out of his chair and staggering out of the hall in an instant, with labored breaths and ruddy cheeks as he shoved past servants, musicians, and wandering courtiers unaware of his transgression.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Blayne said, once the volume of the room had returned once more, “but that needed to be done for the good of Jerar.”
Darren didn’t dispute his claim.
And that is why I never suspected a thing. Who could fault a king for actions that would save his subject’s lives? If he were cruel, it was because the alternative would reap a greater loss.
Only the truth could bring his deception to light—The fact that his actions weren’t necessary. The Caltothians were a peaceful people, and it was only by King Lucius’s greed and scheming that the rest of the kingdom and neighboring countries believed any different.
I shoved my plate away.
If I hadn’t had the stomach for the evening’s meal, hearing the other advisors now praise their new king’s dedication to Jerar was enough to make me sick. It wasn’t their fault. They didn’t know… or maybe they did? I had to wonder if Lucius had shared his plan with anyone besides his eldest? If Blayne had shared it with anyone besides the head mage of his regiment, Mira? The latter’s knowledge was probable, given her quick promotion following King Lucius’s murder—but were there others?
And then a new thought occurred to me: of all the king’s advisors, how many knew?
The room started to spin and I slumped back against the frame of my chair. What if they all knew?
“Ryiah?”
I had managed a ceremony, a two-hour procession through the streets of Devon, and a three-hour feast. I had withstood more than any person should ever tolerate in a known murderer’s presence. I needed to get away, if only for a couple of minutes.
I needed space away from everyone and everything. It was all becoming too much.
I turned to Darren and wove my fingers in with his. “I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.” It wasn’t a lie, at least. “Do you think your brother would
mind if I slipped away?”
The prince’s gaze never wavered from my face. “I’ll make your excuses. If Blayne takes issue with my new wife’s absence, he can answer to me.”
There was a tightening in my throat, and I made myself look away before I fell to my knees and spilled all my secrets out of shame. I didn’t deserve Darren in moments like this. A mumbled “thank you” was all I managed before I quietly left the table, the king busy in conversation with a visiting lord.
I wandered the halls, not bothering to admire the palace decor with its vibrant tapestries and gold-plated pillars. I’d seen enough of it in the months after the Candidacy. Everywhere I looked, sconces lit the way. I only wanted shadows. Even my dress was one bright flare of incriminating light with its cream yellow skirts and a gold and orange beaded bodice. The dress was the most beautiful thing I’d ever worn—or seen, for that matter—but the color was a constant reminder of just hours before and the revelation that came with it.
Ten minutes later, I found myself at the entrance of my chamber, which had been transformed over the course of an evening into a sitting room by the servants.
Gone were my oaken trunks and the beautiful cherry wood bed against the wall. Now there was a private table and cushioned benches to share with my husband. The only thing that had remained the same was the small adjoining room with its tub and chamber pot.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, staring. It was just one more thing that would never be the same.
With my barest casting, the flickering candlelight ceased, and I was ensconced in darkness. I reached around, not bothering to turn, and shut the door behind. My knuckles remained locked on the handle, holding it in place as my chest rose and fell, the mask crumbling away.
I held onto that door as time passed. Ten minutes, an hour? I lost count in the tears that followed. I was choking on air, and it made no difference. There was no such thing as time. A couple minutes here and there wouldn’t make up for everything I knew. They wouldn’t make up for the weight of the world or the crimes I intended to commit for the good of the many, but at the expense of a few.
I didn’t know how I was going to find the proof my brother had missed. I didn’t know if I could convince the rebels I had joined their cause when I was a part of the Crown. Even my twin didn’t trust me. And Pythus and the Borea Isles? How was I ever going to convince them to go against the New Alliance, the treaty Blayne had managed to secure following his father’s death and my marriage to his brother? How was a young woman supposed to convince a king and an emperor of two neighboring countries to betray a pact they had struck up with her country? Even if I came bearing proof, would they listen?
I should have drunk the wine, I realized. I’d never had a taste for it, but at least it would have numbed all these feelings. All this fear. It would have been something to push it all away, even for a little while. I had thought I would feel better in the freeing cover of darkness, but in some ways, the release only made it worse.
Perhaps the sensation would get better with time. But I didn’t have time. Hours were slipping by, and if what the advisors were saying was true, then we had six weeks until the Caltothians set their ships for sail and eight before their barges arrived on our shore. Our armies would march on Caltoth not long after.
The old me wanted to revert to the broken shade after Derrick’s death, that girl who had been a wandering ghost, resigning herself to despair and going about her days in a haze.
It was so much easier to be broken than strong.
2
He found me later that night, huddled against the wall of my old chamber, clutching my knees.
His magic sent off light to the sconces, and the next thing I knew, he was kneeling in front of me, his mouth opening and closing in a silent succession of words. His hands pressed into my shoulders, shaking me, but when I tried to explain, nothing would come out.
I must have been crying, because his thumb brushed my cheek, and when he pulled it away, there was a look of confusion.
When I saw the tears, I realized that today, already, I had managed to fail. Darren was never supposed to see me cry.
“I wasn’t supposed to see you cry?” The words were spoken inches from my face, and I realized he was repeating what I must have said aloud.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Ryiah, why are you apologizing?”
“Because…” My voice caught. It would be so easy to tell him the truth.
“Because you are still in mourning?” Darren swallowed, the lump in his throat rising. “Ryiah, Derrick might have been a traitor, but he was also your brother. Gods, if it had been Blayne…”
He was trying to help, but he had only made it worse. I tried my best to wipe my eyes, but the prince caught my hand in his.
“Please,” he whispered, “don’t hide from me, not like this. I know with today, not having your family here and what happened to Derrick… Ryiah, I don’t want you to go through this alone.”
He was so good, and his only fault was loving his brother—a crime I had committed just the same.
I made myself nod as the prince helped me to my feet.
“My brother wants us to return to the ball.” Darren’s garnet eyes met my own as we entered the hall. “But I think he can handle a night of formalities without the crown prince and princess, just this once.”
A warm wave of relief crashed over me until I saw the prince’s hand still along the handle of the adjacent chamber.
A couple months before and this moment would have been everything. It would have been the two of us and every tangled feeling that had been brewing between us for years.
But now? Now, as he unlocked the door and tugged me inside, the warmth of his fingers heating my own, the only thing I could think was that this was one more betrayal I could never return from. One beautiful memory Darren would grow to hate, and as much as the girl wanted the boy, I didn’t want this.
I hated myself for what I was about to do, but I would never be able to face myself if I didn’t.
“Darren, I…” I froze in my tracks. “I can’t do this. I know what the c-court expects…” My voice was hoarse and my eyes locked on the floor. Shame was crippling me out from the inside. “B-but I can’t.”
“Tonight I want to hold my wife in my arms.” The prince’s voice was quiet. “Nothing more.”
My heart was breaking. I wanted to say something, anything to explain. “I’m—”
“If you say you are sorry one more time, you will break my heart, love.” Darren took my hand and pulled me in front of the mirror—the same one from my chambers earlier before the ceremony, a beautiful thing gilded with pearls. The lighting of our chamber dimmed from his casting as he stood gripping my waist from behind. Garnet shown against the shadows reflected in the glass. It was smoldering. “You have me here, a man and a prince. You have the Black Mage at your feet.”
My stomach hollowed at his words.
He lifted one of my hands and pressed his lips against my palm, watching me in the mirror. “You have me as your husband.”
Darren’s hands rose to the stays containing my dress. Slowly, the laces trailed to the floor. The bodice came next. And as my pulse hammered against my throat, yellow silk glided down my skin to reveal a thin chemise and little else.
I felt his lips press against the hollow of my throat, and his fingers undid the fastenings in my hair. “The first night I touch you,” he said, “it will be because you are so captivated you can want for nothing else.”
My breath hitched, warmth pooling low in my belly.
“You have me.” Darren’s eyes held mine against the backdrop of darkness and light. “You always will.”
His fingers released my hair so that locks of scarlet framed my face, illuminating the girl with pale gray-blue eyes and white cotton clinging to her frame. I looked soft, lonely, and innocent with the barest stain of pink against my cheeks.
It was all a lie. Wetness formed at the co
rners of my eyes.
“Until then, I wait.” The prince stepped around me, blocking the mirror to stare down into my face. What I saw took my breath away. I let him lead me forward and onto the canopied bed, scattering petals. He enveloped me in his arms, and I rested my head against his shoulder.
It felt so good—the rising and falling of his chest, the way the scent of clove and pine lingered against his skin. I could still smell warm cinnamon on his breath.
I knew it was wrong to enjoy being so close to the boy whose heart I would break. But I was selfish. He was beautiful, and I was weak.
I had already denied myself so much, and the other part of me knew I couldn’t pull away—not without arousing suspicion.
That part of me delighted in any part of Darren she could get.
…All of me did.
And so for that first night as husband and wife, the prince held me close. I gripped him back, telling myself this wasn’t wrong—it was necessary.
The girl clung to the boy so she could chase away her dark. He was light, and she was fading. She was drowning, and she just couldn’t stop.
She was about to enter a world of shadows, and as she drifted off to sleep, she listened to the beating of his heart.
Somehow, she told herself, she would find a way to make all of this right.
The next day, I was expected to join the Crown in a daylong set of festivities. But when I awoke, Darren had already convinced his brother to grant me yet another reprieve. I knew the king’s benevolence wouldn’t last. I couldn’t avoid the court forever, so I pushed all self-hate aside and locked myself in my previous chambers, writing out lists only to burn them in the room’s hearth minutes later.
Again and again, I continued to write out possible plans. Plans to search and raid the palace from every square tile of marble to the lookout tower at its highest turret—any place my brother might have missed. Plans to hide my talks with the rebels when I reached Ferren’s Keep with the Black Mage in charge of its investigation, and plans to secretly correspond with the kingdom of Pythus with no one the wiser.
Last Stand (The Black Mage Book 4) Page 2
