“Scepters? I mean sure, there have been scepters of all degrees of power for as long as there’s been written history. Most are pretty minor, ones that can transform someone’s shape or change someone’s fortune. But even then, most haven’t been seen in centuries. Why do you ask?”
I explained the conversation I’d heard between Mother and Kathryn, or at least the parts relevant to the scepters. Meryn listened intently. Jyn’s face had become stone—expressionless, though I knew that a storm brewed underneath that was far more dangerous than the emotions he wasn’t showing. I didn’t pay him mind, though, as Meryn ducked down the hall the second I finished my story. Her little green and white felie, Ailuros, peeked out from behind the curtains with a soft mew. She was a tiny feline creature with long, pointed ears topped by little puffs of fur. Another identical puff perched on the end of her tail, the tail that flicked anxiously as she scanned the room. Ailuros was usually quite sociable, but I had to imagine that Lucian’s presence might have thrown her off.
Meryn returned with a massive tome and flopped the pages open on the rug in front of the fire. A cloud of dust puffed out as she landed on her knees beside the book.
“There’s a ton of scepters your mother could have been referring to. There were sets, several sets, over the span of our history.” She flipped through several pages. Her hair fell into her face, and she brushed the locks back with a huff of annoyance. “There’s the scepter of the Ancients, the scepters of the Titans, the scepters of Cerbius . . .”
She glanced up, and I nodded. “Take all the time you need. If you can help me figure this out I’ll be eternally grateful.”
“If Kathryn was desperate to have you informed, there must be some importance to this. Maybe involving all the kingdoms.” Meryn rocked back on her heels and her eyes slid to Lucian. “Has your mother ever mentioned any of this to you?”
He shook his head, bewildered. “No, but I can ask her casually. Maybe I should wait until after your mother mentions the scepters to you?” Lucian turned to me.
“Do you think she’ll actually tell you?” Jyn spoke up from where he still stewed. “Queen Kathryn asked your mother to tell you. I’m not saying she’ll be withholding, especially given the circumstances, but if your mothers were discussing this privately I would assume they want to handle this matter themselves. Their way.”
“We can sit on this for now.” I picked at a blueberry. “Meryn, can you keep looking? See if there’s anything that could immediately affect our kingdoms? Or one that might be of particular interest to Thrais?”
“Certainly.”
“Also . . .” My cheeks blazed with heat. “What do you know of the painting in the ballroom? Your father was employed when Mother was deliberating its removal. Did he ever mention the artist?”
“Briefly, now and then. He knew the painter, but I can’t remember his name. ‘The Council of Thanatos,’ he’d called the piece. Whatever that meant. I think they meant the painting to be of your Ancients, but I never looked into the matter.”
“Your Ancients?” Lucian asked.
“I certainly don’t follow a religion that immortalizes the Titans as Gods,” she scoffed. Jyn nodded his agreement.
“What do you worship then?”
Meryn measured Lucian carefully before speaking. Her rapid page flips paused as she said, “The spirits of the earth, the elements.”
Lucian nodded and cast a hesitant look at Jyn. “And you?”
“The Elves have a deity, Lytheria, but our beliefs are fairly similar to Meryn’s.”
“Why not the Ancients?”
Meryn shifted uncomfortably, and Jyn spoke up again. “The Titans weren’t Gods. Powerful, immortal to an extent, yes. The humans once followed a religion similar to the Elves, with their own deities, but that was centuries ago. After the Titans vanished, the humans began to worship them instead.”
“Yes, well. It’s tradition,” I said. I twisted the ends of a lock of hair around my finger. “And from the stories, Nahara was a champion of mortals. If nothing else, worship seems an appropriate way to commemorate her.”
“Worshiping the Titans just seems so . . . barbaric.” Meryn squirmed.
“Thrais thrived, thanks to Nahara,” I argued. “So why not?”
Lucian rubbed his forehead. “Well, I didn’t know any of that, so thank you for enlightening me. My training on that matter seems to be far briefer than I previously would have believed.”
“I have books, if you ever have more interest,” Meryn said quietly.
Lucian nodded, and I leaned back in my chair. The fire was warm, and I closed my eyes to listen to the dull drone of chatter. Meryn asked Lucian whatever slightly invasive questions came to her mind, and between that were the soft shuffles of flipping pages. Occasionally, there was a pause in those, and the small shift of her marking a spot with parchment. Jyn had pulled out a dagger to sharpen. The sound of metal sliding over whetstone was gentle behind all the other noises. He was irritated, I could tell. I wasn’t sure if he was sour because I’d breached a subject he’d asked me to leave be, or because I’d done so with Lucian there. Maybe both.
***
The next two days passed in a blur. Mother insisted I spend as much time with Lucian as possible. I made a note to tell her in the morning that I was going to issue a formal rejection of his advances, since he didn’t seem to be picking up on my subtle hints. The whole situation was tiresome.
We stood in the main foyer and watched as the servants loaded their valise inside the carriages. None of them had brought much, partly due to Kathryn’s desperate love of shopping. Likely they would stop in every town here to Wydus, if she had her way. Drask had stepped out to help hitch the horses, and Mother and I were in the midst of our goodbyes.
“You did well today.” Lucian smiled.
“Thanks. I should have probably left my sleeves attached, in hindsight.” I winced.
The weather had been exceptionally warm this afternoon and I’d torn the sleeves from my shirt in desperation. Now my shoulders were a brilliant shade of red and stung when I shifted. I saw a flicker of sympathy cross Lucian’s eyes.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“No need, this is all my fault. On the upside, Jyn went to see Meryn about the burn while I was changing. She gave him a mix to help soothe them.”
“I’m glad.” We fell into awkward silence.
Our mothers chattered softly and then Drask said, “We can depart.” He swept into a bow. “Thank you, Palina. You’ve been a gracious hostess, as always.”
Mother returned his gesture. Kathryn pulled me into a tight hug, and Drask pecked a dry kiss to my cheek. I leaned against the door frame as they climbed into their carriage, Lucian pausing long enough to offer a wave. And then they were gone.
Chapter 13
At first, I wasn’t sure what had woken me. I could barely register the blur of movement that was Jyn as he moved to my side in the dark. There was a small pop, and the candle on my side table flicked to life. I blinked. My head was still sluggish under the fog of sleep, and it took me a moment to make out the concerned crease on Jyn’s forehead.
“That wasn’t you?” he asked softly.
I shook my head. “What wasn’t me?”
“That scream.”
A scream.
I had thought the sound was part of my dreams. I shook my head again in an attempt to wake myself. A book rested on my chest, the one I’d fallen asleep reading, and I shoved the tome and my blankets aside. I fumbled for my dressing robe and tied the waist. The cold of the stone bit at my feet as I stood, and I winced.
“What time is it?”
“Morning. Early morning. You should stay here.”
I met Jyn’s eyes when another scream shattered the silence. A war raged in his eyes, a battle between the decision to leave me here in potential safety—or potential danger. I pulled out the dagger I kept hidden in my side table and jerked my chin at the door. Jyn’s breath caught slightly, bu
t he nodded and held up a hand so I would pause. He leaned into the hallway and scanned the pockets of shadow in the corners. I couldn’t help a small rush of gratitude for his Elven vision, but the palace was mostly silent now. A sound poured from one of the other bedrooms. Jyn shot me an anxious glance, and I couldn’t tell if he was unsure what the sound was—or he knew exactly and didn’t want to say.
We were much closer before I realized the noise I heard was sobbing. Loud, violent sobs that were only muffled by the thick walls. I lowered my dagger while Jyn asked one of the guards what had happened. The two spoke in hushed tones. I tried to push past, but Jyn grabbed my hand.
“Princess, don’t. You should stay with me.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
When he swallowed in place of a response, I became acutely aware of my tight throat and the steady beat of my heart against my ribs. I sought a clue in his expression but his eyes were soft. Sad? My eyes slid to the guard behind him, but he looked lost and out of place. He offered a sympathetic glance before his eyes dropped to the floor. I couldn’t take that glance. I shoved Jyn out of the way.
Annalea was the one we’d heard, her body wracked with the strength of her sobs. She was on her knees beside Mother’s bed, her face buried in her hands. Hands that were covered in dark splatters. I couldn’t make out what the substance was—the light was too dim. Maybe I didn’t want to. My eyes shot to Mother’s maidservant who was off to one side wringing her hands, her cheeks stained with tears. I didn’t know why I avoided looking at the bed. Subconsciously, I had already done the math.
I knew what I was going to see.
“Anna?” I asked softly. Finally, my eyes snapped to our mother.
Our mother, who looked far too pale and made no move to comfort her sobbing daughter.
Our mother, whose throat was a pool of crimson and whose sheets were splattered with the dark liquid.
Our mother . . .
The dagger in my hand clattered to the floor. The hole in my chest gaped wide before I could process what was going on, a healed wound ripped back open. The awareness slipped from my body. I was frozen and gaping, my eyes locked on the mess in front of me. Small hand-prints traced the upper part of the askew quilt, and I realized with horror that Annalea must have tried to wake her up. I knew without a doubt that the scream we’d heard had been hers and likely the maidservant was the one who’d woken Jyn.
At some point, I dropped to my knees. I only realized I’d fallen from the sharp pain, and the impact that vibrated through my bones. Some part of me was aware of Jyn’s hand on my shoulder, the gentle tug to stand me up, to draw me away, but I couldn’t move. The air had been forced from my lungs, and I gasped when blackness crept into the corners of my vision. I sat and watched. Morbidly transfixed.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed before Annalea moved to hug me, my shoulder soaked with her tears as I tried to console her. Things sped up at that point, but everything moved in a haze. Blood was smeared across my robe now, dark stains that I saw but couldn’t seem to register against the chaos in my mind.
My sister’s guard and maidservant led her away after a while. I stayed, listened as Devlyn and Jyn argued behind me—Devlyn didn’t think it appropriate that I was still here. He was probably right. The glow of morning peeked through Mother’s windows and servants covered her with sheets. I could hear them making arrangements around me, could hear Devlyn ordering his men to scale the palace. No corner unturned, no man on break till a thorough search was completed.
Peripherally, I could tell that Jyn was uneasy, not sure what to do. He didn’t leave me though. He knelt by my side, hand on my shoulder and waited. Hours, minutes, I couldn’t tell. Long hours. Long minutes.
Finally, I sucked in a long breath and nodded. Annalea needed me. I was going to need to issue a statement in town. Had someone informed the priestesses? If not, that would need to be done. And who . . .
Who?
I had a list of tasks that needed done. Too many tasks. My shock, my grief . . . there would be time for that later. I needed to be a queen. I reached for Jyn’s hand, a silent request for him to help me up. My lungs were on fire and tears prodded at my eyelids. Not now. I took another deep breath.
When I turned on my heel and walked out, still silent and stone-faced, I didn’t miss the panic that lit Jyn’s face. I was strong, I was in control, I wouldn’t break down. There were things to do and too many people needed me. My grief simply had to wait.
Not now.
***
I stared at myself in the mirror. The black gown blended with my hair, which fell loose around my shoulders today. I didn’t care. I didn’t want myself or anyone else fussing over how I looked. Not today. Even the tiara I’d chosen was simple, silver with little moonstones, and I’d skipped the kohl and other beauty accents. I wasn’t in the mood.
The dress was ugly, layers of lace-trimmed satin under a corset with whale boning. I could barely breathe. Mother had loved this ensemble.
My heart ached.
Last night had been long. I hadn’t slept much, and I’d spent most of the night pretending to read. I genuinely tried, but the words swam in front of my eyes. My mind wouldn’t stop—I couldn’t remember if there had been a moment my mind had paused since we’d found her. Annalea stayed to her rooms. From what Raye had told me, she’d finally cried herself to sleep late this morning. I didn’t know how to help her, even knowing how she felt.
I had tried to ride into town to announce Mother’s death immediately, but one of the Council members had sent word to go into town today and give myself a day to grieve. Instead, I’d spent the extra time writing up my announcement, crumpling the parchment, and starting again. Jyn hovered more closely than usual. I appreciated his presence even though I hadn’t spoken a word since yesterday morning. He knew me well enough that I could simply nod my needs. I didn’t have the energy to talk anyway. Jyn had seen my best and worst in fluctuation and nothing had ever fazed his loyalty to me. I couldn’t ask for a better friend and confidant.
One more glance in the mirror, one more attempt to ignore the light purple circles under my eyes. Jyn tried to take my hand before I stepped from the room, but I pulled away and locked my fingers together over my stomach.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked softly, his fingers gentle at my elbow. I nodded and he added, “I can cancel your lessons with Camion for the week. And if you like, I’ll send word for Lucian. He might be able to help you finish your studies. If I send the message today the courier should manage to cut him off before he reaches Morland."
“Keep the lessons,” I said. My voice cracked. The idea of hitting something right now seemed therapeutic. A distraction. I cleared my throat. “And yes, please. Thank you.”
I hated the halls, the palace. I wanted to stay in the solitude of my room. Devlyn had increased the guard’s shifts again, and they were everywhere. Lining the halls, securing the doors. I hated the pity in their eyes, but I knew there would be more of this. More sympathetic glances, more apologies for my loss. I tried to take everything in stride. If I listened too closely, I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together and that was unacceptable.
No one felt the loss like my sister. Annalea was Mother’s darling—as much like her as she was herself. Maybe that’s why I was numb. Mother and I weren’t as close as Father and I had been. Or maybe I functioned better simply because I had a task to do, a purpose to keep my head focused. Annalea did not. I knew I should feel bitter about that, the ease of her mourning, but I genuinely felt nothing. Hollow, empty, nothing.
Father . . .
I missed Father every day. I couldn’t hold Annalea’s pain against her. When he’d passed, Mother had deemed me inconsolable and had given up after a matter of hours. Jyn had stayed with me. I had never been more grateful for Jyn than I had been in the hours and days when I was certain my heart had been torn from my chest and my world had ended.
The hole never went away, not truly. There wa
s always an ache where there was loss, and nothing would ever quite fill the hole that had been there.
Patched, never filled.
Jyn had fallen asleep in my room last night. He was worried I was going to break and he wouldn’t be there. I hated that I was a burden to him when I didn’t even know how I felt. My mind kept replaying what I’d seen, my sister’s scream, and yet the scene wouldn’t click. Wouldn’t shift into place. Maybe that only panicked Jyn more. Maybe I needed sleep.
But I couldn’t sleep.
Not when every time I did, my vision was clouded not with black but with blood.
***
Jyn tailed me closely as we mounted our horses and rode into Thrais, a procession of guards behind us. My hands shook where they gathered my reins in my lap and in my chest came the familiar tightening. The cotton in my throat. I took a breath and another. Not now. Not today. I closed my eyes and focused myself. My horse dropped behind the others, but I didn’t correct her. She didn’t need much direction, and I wasn’t going to let my mind take control today. I had a duty and one that would be performed, my own anxieties be damned.
The guards around me were a wall of black leather. Mourning gear—onyx leathers, cloaks, belts. Even the horses had black saddle pads with the silver gryphon embroidered on them.
I was struck by the silence when we passed through the low fence into town. Even the animals seemed struck into grief. The thought tore at my throat, like a swig of potent, fiery liquor. Banners of mourning hung in several of the shop windows, and most of my people were adorned in black as they poured out at the sight of my company. My chest tightened as I opened my mouth to speak, but I swallowed the knot and went on. Not now. I was counting down the endurance of my will.
Not today. Not now.
“Good citizens of Thrais.” My voice wavered. “I come to you with a heavy heart. The news has spread, but I think that it is vital that I tell you myself what has happened.”
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