A knot formed deep in Andreus’s stomach. Doubt tugged at him.
Had his feelings for Imogen clouded his thinking? If so . . .
The knot tightened.
“My sister is no longer here.” He swallowed the bitter taste of those words. “I am, and I need your aid to find those who are plotting against Eden from inside this palace. As your King, I am asking for your oath of loyalty to me.”
Graylem didn’t hesitate for a beat before saying, “You have it, Your Majesty. Whatever the danger, I am honored to prove myself.”
“Good,” Andreus said, starting down the hall again. “There are questions that must be answered tonight, and the Council and their intelligencers cannot know I am asking them. You will distract them and be my shield, and we’d better hurry or we might face danger far sooner than I intend. There are two women in one of the Hall of Virtues antechambers who are expecting us.”
“We are going to speak with women, Your Majesty? How is that dangerous?”
Andreus laughed at the confusion in the guard’s voice. “Trust me, Graylem. And in my experience, there is one thing all women have in common. They don’t like to be kept waiting.”
The Hall of Virtues flickered with hundreds of candles. The white stone floors and columns reflected the light, making the towering white-and-gold hall radiate with a kind of warmth. A long table flanked by two servants was set with food and wine. It had been placed not far from the dais.
Two ladies jumped to their feet as Andreus and Graylem crossed the glistening floor and both dropped into curtsies. Andreus nodded and smiled, but his attention was focused on the throne atop the dais. The earliest memory he had was of his father seated on that throne. The light would gleam off the ornate gold arms and the inset sapphires glistening behind his father’s head. He had looked untouchable atop the dais, gazing down at those who bowed before him.
Andreus remembered thinking the throne was magic. That it made the person seated on it perfect—powerful. Unbeatable. That night, Andreus’s curse landed him in bed. Carys slept next to him, her hand in his as he stared at the ceiling holding his chest, thinking that if only he could sit on the throne the curse would go away.
In the past two weeks, Andreus had learned there was nothing magic about the ornate seat. It was hard and flat and impossible to sit upon with any hint of comfort.
He had come through so much, and still he was denied the thing he most wanted.
“Your Majesty,” Graylem asked quietly. “Is something wrong?”
Andreus looked at the throne one last time as it glowed in the candlelight appearing almost to be lit from within—looking once again as if it were the answer to all his problems.
But looks were deceiving, and he had believed in deceptive appearances for too long. It was time to find out the uncomfortable truths that lay beneath the light and virtues of his kingdom.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure standing deep in the shadows of one of the Hall’s antechambers. The figure shifted, and for a moment Andreus caught a glimpse of a scarred eye and a hairless scalp. Elder Ulrich. At least one of the Council was watching.
Good. Let them.
Turning his back on the throne, he smiled at the two girls looking nervous next to the banquet table. “With such lovely guests, what could be wrong?”
Andreus flattered the girls. He insisted Graylem sit next to the dark-haired one, and shook his head when Graylem started to correct her when she called him my lord.
“Lord Graylem’s title is still quite new,” Andreus said, looking over at the surprised face of his guard. “It was given to him because of service and sacrifice on behalf of my family and myself. I believe that rewards should not be saved for those who inherited their titles, but for those who have shown loyalty to the Seven Virtues of Eden.”
The girl next to Graylem took his arm and said something flirtatious.
The Queen’s tea smoothed away Andreus’s aches, but not the impatience he felt as he laughed and flattered and kissed the redhead’s hand and acted as if he had not a care in the world. Several times he caught sight of boys wearing the black attire that distinguished them as pages for the Council of Elders hovering in the antechamber doorways or near the entrance to the Hall. Each stayed for several minutes before racing off to make their report that the King was back to his old ways. That he was distracted. That he had completely forgotten that the orb was still glowing atop the highest tower, despite his commands to the opposite, and was oblivious to any plot that had been enacted against him tonight.
The easiest way to gain ground on an enemy was to make sure they were looking in a different direction when you advanced. It was time to see if his plan worked.
Pushing back from the table, he stood and held his hand out to Demitria, the redhead with the devastating smile who claimed her father was a jewel master. Perhaps he was. To Andreus, her family didn’t matter.
He turned Demitria’s hand over in his, placed a lingering kiss on her palm, and looked up into her eyes. “Would you care to see the orb from the battlements?” he asked. “It might be a bit cold outside, but I think we can find a way to keep ourselves warm. Don’t you?”
“The cold won’t bother us at all, Your Majesty.”
Elder Cestrum stepped through the main doors of the Hall as the four of them were heading out. The Chief Elder stroked his short, white beard with his iron claw. His eyes swept over Graylem and the two girls before settling on Andreus. “Your Majesty,” he said with barely a hint of a bow. “If I might have a word?”
“The three of you go ahead,” Andreus said smoothly. Elder Cestrum had not shown any recognition of the guard disguised as a noble, and Andreus wanted Graylem gone before that changed. “I will join you in a few minutes.”
Graylem didn’t have to be told twice. He held his arms out to the two ladies and escorted them from the hall. When they disappeared through the doors, the Chief Elder said, “Your Majesty, you should not have invited these women to the Hall of Virtues. Even your father would not have been this brazen with his mistress.”
“Would you prefer I invited them into my bedroom?” Andreus asked.
“I would prefer they not be here at all. I am certain you have been warned. There are those using your past actions to sow seeds of dissent. Your actions tonight will cause those seeds to grow. Your father understood that he . . .”
“My father is dead.” The words echoed in the Hall. “He planted his own seeds in this kingdom and what grew out of those seeds killed him.”
“Adderton soldiers killed your father and brother.”
According to his mother that was not the truth. But the Chief Elder said the words with conviction. If he knew the real reasons and people behind the King’s death, he gave no sign of it.
“My father could have ended the war. He chose not to. And he chose to go to the southern border to encourage Eden’s fighting men himself.”
The Council had objected. Yet, one of them must have rejoiced in the decision even as he voiced the group’s concern about the King’s safety.
“Your father did what he thought needed to be done.”
“And something I would never do,” Andreus said. “I have tried to fill my father’s shoes in ways that you would prefer, but I find they are a poor fit. Perhaps they will be better tomorrow, but for tonight I intend to be myself.”
He turned, put too much weight on his injured leg, and caught his balance. It all happened in a blink of an eye, but Elder Cestrum noticed. “Your Majesty, I thought Madame Jillian said your leg was healing. You did not appear to have any problems during the inspection. Did something happen after you went back to reexamine one of the lights? Two guards are dead. We have been told they lost their balance atop the wall and that you suddenly appeared from an unexpected direction. Naturally, the Council is concerned by all of this.”
“You’re also concerned about the ladies I appeared with,” Andreus quipped. Elder Cestrum studied him. His eyes narrowed. The
iron-claw hand twitching at his side. If Andreus trusted the man’s motives, he would explain how he fled for his life and that the guards died in the protection of their King. Instead, he said, “When I fixed the loose connection, the light went dark and then flared. I fear the guards must have been blinded in that moment and lost their balance. Please make sure their families are compensated for their loss. And now, I don’t want to keep my guests waiting.” Andreus winked, and reveled in Elder Cestrum’s glower before he headed out of the hall to the staircase that would lead him to the battlements.
He sent up a small prayer of thanks to the Gods for his mother’s tea as he climbed the low-lit staircase. The aggravated wounds hurt, but the pain was dulled enough that he would be able to continue with the rest of his plans.
Or maybe he had spoken too soon.
Andreus grabbed the wall as he wobbled and almost lost his footing. He started to curse the low light for his misstep, then remembered which stairwell he was in and what step he was on. It was their step. Carys’s and his. The already-loose step that Carys pried away so the two of them could pass messages without being seen. Carys had not been able to be on the battlements with him all the time—not without others noticing her presence and wondering why she felt such a need to watch her twin.
In the initial days, the steps had been a good way for Andreus to let her know what windmill he was working on in case she wanted to catch a quick glimpse of him or station herself somewhere nearby. After a while, they came up with other ideas, and the step had fallen out of use. Until the Trials of Succession, when his sister suggested they use the old hiding place to communicate since they would need people to believe they were true combatants for the throne.
He had never sent his sister a message, though. And he never checked the step to see if Carys had tried to communicate with him. Not after he learned that his sister was tied to the ones who attempted to assassinate him on the tournament grounds.
Imogen’s face, when she told him of his sister’s connection to the attack, had been so filled with love. She had been so worried that Carys would do absolutely anything to gain the throne that he had believed it, too.
Now both women were gone.
He leaned his head against the cold stone wall in shame as dark as the shadows wrapped around him.
If Imogen had not come to him the night of his father’s and brother’s deaths and stood by his side during the Trials, would his distrust in Carys have spung up and grown the way it did? Would he have checked under this step? Worked together with her to bring an end to the insanity of the Trials?
He had wanted Imogen. He had wanted the crown. Given the chance to have both, Andreus had refused to believe the best in his sister. He had chosen to believe her dark and greedy and filled with betrayal. But now he had to wonder if when he looked at her he had only been seeing his own reflection.
Slowly, Andreus knelt down and pulled a dagger from his belt. He wedged the blade under the lose step, pried the heavy brick up, and felt underneath it. There was nothing there. Just cold damp stone and sand. It had been foolish to think Carys had left something for him. Still, he had . . .
The side of his hand brushed against something. His fingers dug deep into the crevice beneath the rock and slid out a bit of parchment.
The parchment was folded and the edges torn. Andreus knew it had probably been there for years—from the time that he and Carys had first discovered the step. Still, he slipped the torch into a holder on the wall and unfolded the piece of his sister that she had left behind, and read the words that stopped his heart.
Dreus—you have not won. Be ready. I will return.
11
“What a delightful surprise to see you alive, Princess!” Carys’s muscles coiled as the Captain of Eden’s Guard strode forward. “I am sure the Council will be interested in knowing of your health! And that you are here as well, Lord Garret. I will be well rewarded by the new King when I return you both to the Palace of Winds.”
“King Andreus might surprise you,” Garret said as Carys reached under the cloak for the hilts of her stilettos.
Captain Monteros smiled. The metal of his sword scraped against the scabbard as he pulled it free. “I wasn’t talking about Andreus. Guards, seize them!”
“You promised no violence if you were allowed to keep your weapon.” The seer who had greeted them stepped in front the captain with his hands raised as the other guards raced forward.
“Out of my way!” Captain Monteros shoved the seer to the side and raised his blade. Garret lunged for the captain’s arm. Captain Monteros turned and jammed his elbow in Garret’s face. There was a sickening crunch as Carys pulled her stilettos free and looked for a way out. Four other guardsmen advanced. Two had knives. The others, cudgels.
There was only one exit to the round space lined with stone. She had to go through the guardsmen to get out the way she came in. There were too many attackers for her to throw her blades. Once she threw one, she might not be able to get it back.
The wind inside the circle began to swirl. Cloaks fluttered.
The men in yellow and blue approached as those in white raced for the exit behind them. Garret clambered to his feet.
A dark-bearded guard lunged, and Carys slashed with her blade. Sharp metal sliced through fabric and flesh. The guardsman dropped his knife as she spun toward the next.
A cudgel flew at her head. She flung herself to the side, felt the whoosh of air as the weapon missed cracking against her face and hit the ground. Flipping over, she scrambled back as the second guardsman with a long, hooked knife slashed at her.
“What are you doing?” Garret yelled. “This isn’t what I agreed to. This isn’t what my uncle and I ordered.”
Ordered?
Carys leaped to her feet, turned, and ran directly at the guardsman with the hooked blade. Surprise made him pause for just a second. A second was all she needed to jab her own blade into the base of his throat. The man crumbled, and his hooked weapon clattered to the ground.
“I have new orders.” Monteros spat the words.
Blood bubbled as she yanked the stiletto out. The man fell to his knees, and she whirled toward the next attacker who shoved a man in a white cloak to the side and began to advance on her.
“Garret! What is happening?” she yelled, parrying the guardsman’s knife with her blade. She ducked under his other arm as he tried to grab her, spun, and buried the stiletto deep in the man’s thigh.
The guardsman growled. She yanked the stiletto out and darted back as the man’s dagger clipped her arm.
Pain flared.
The wind roared.
“Kill her!” Captain Monteros yelled, swinging his blade at Garret.
Garret dove for the hooked blade that had fallen from her attacker’s hand, sprang to his feet, and yelled, “Carys, there will be more of them coming.”
“How do you know that?”
“It doesn’t matter. You have to run!”
More.
Garret knew there were others, just as he knew Captain Monteros was going to be here.
Carys clenched her blades tight.
He said he wanted to be trusted.
She had vowed to try. Only, he could not be trusted at all.
Anger burned hot in her chest and bubbled upward, desperate to be set free.
People shouted.
The first guard she injured lurched toward her. Garret blocked the captain’s broadsword with the long, hooked blade. Metal clanged. The guard charged her. The rage inside her grew. Hotter. Wilder. The whispers became howls blocking out all other sounds.
She lifted her stiletto, but before she could release it, the guard flew back. The knife he had been holding spun from his hand and buried itself in the cheek of a woman cowering against the edge of the stone circle.
Gods, no.
Carys stumbled back. Horror bloomed as bright as the blood that dripped from the woman’s wound and stained her white cloak.
That’s n
ot what I meant to do, she thought. That’s not what I wanted.
The wind howled. Garret dodged another attack, and the force of the wind brought him to his knees. He struggled to get back to his feet and turned toward Carys. The wind filled her thoughts. Her heart slammed painfully in her chest as he mouthed the word Run.
Carys ran to the entrance and looked down the hill. There were at least a dozen more guardsmen with torches climbing the incline toward her. She looked back into the center of the stone circle. Garret raked the hooked knife along the back of a guardsman’s thigh, sending the now crippled man to the ground. He swung back at Captain Monteros, who was once again climbing to his feet. Whatever treachery he had committed, Garret was fighting with her—for her. She had to help.
She lifted her blade as a hand latched on to her arm.
“You must come with me, now,” a woman in a dark cloak yelled to her. As the cloak flapped in the gusts of air, Carys could see hints of the white dress that marked her as a seer. “I know why you’re here. I can give you what you seek.”
The dozen other guardsmen continued to climb the hill as those in white descended to the safety of the town below. Garret was still fighting the Captain of the Guard and the wind.
“He will only survive if you come now.”
That decided it.
Hating herself for fleeing, Carys turned and bolted out of the stone circle. She followed the woman around the outside edge of the curved wall as the wind pushed them both off balance. It seemed to be growing in strength.
The woman yelled back, “Think of something that calms you.”
Calms her?
Shouts rang out. Metal clashing against metal rang in the night.
More men with weapons were coming to kill her, and this woman wanted her calm?
“Think of something that makes you feel safe,” the woman shouted. She turned and headed down a steep decline toward a group of squat evergreen trees. They bent in the wind that only seemed to be gaining strength. “Try! You must try!”
The hood of her cloak slipped from her head. Carys tightened her grip on the stilettos and looked back in the direction they’d come from. Her feet itched to stop—to quit running from the fight as she had been doing since leaving the Palace of Winds. To stop hiding and give in to her need to punish those who claimed to care for her and yet decided to betray her. First Andreus. Now maybe Garret. She needed to know what he had done.
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