Dividing Eden

by Joelle Charbonneau

  His valet had a bath waiting for him when he arrived. Andreus instructed the man to put out clothing for that night while he walked to a chest next to the fireplace and pulled out a recently sharpened dagger. Placing it on the edge of the tub of water, Andreus dismissed the valet to bathe and dress and wait for Imogen on his own.

  A knock at the door came when he was starting to dry himself off. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he yelled for whoever it was to enter and closed his hand over the knife.

  Imogen slipped into the room, closed the door, then looked down at the floor instead of at him. Her embarrassment at catching him undressed charmed him even as her worried expression filled him with dread.

  Crossing the room, he put his hands on Imogen’s shoulders and asked, “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, then looked up into his eyes. “All of Eden could have lost you. I could have lost you.” She stepped into his arms and pressed her hands against his wet back.

  “I’m fine. I’m right here with you.” He tipped her face up and pressed his lips against hers—first gently, then more insistently as the feel of her against his skin lit a fire in him. Nothing else mattered but the way she made him feel—like he was already a king. Like there was nothing he couldn’t do as long as he had her.

  “We cannot, Andreus. We have no time.”

  He didn’t need time. He just needed her.

  “Andreus. My prince,” she panted then shifted back so there was space between her body and his while still keeping her warm hand on his chest. “The ball will start soon. There are things I have learned and you must know. I came upon Elder Ulrich speaking with Captain Monteros. They were speaking about the knife the man used to try and kill you.”

  “What about the knife?” he asked.

  “It had a maker’s mark on it.”

  Andreus didn’t see why that was such a big deal. All of the blacksmiths in Garden City had a mark they used to identify their work. Adderton metal workers would follow the same custom. “That should make it easier to track down where the attacker came from.”

  “That’s the problem. They know the mark and where it is from.” She shivered and looked up at him with worry bright in her eyes. “It was made by the blacksmith here at the Palace of Winds. The attacker was not sent by the King of Adderton.”

  The words took his breath.

  Was the assassin from here? From Eden Castle—his home? Did someone in the court wish him dead?

  “Do they know anything about the attacker other than where his knife was made?” he asked, pulling away from Imogen so she didn’t see the fear that shivered up his back.

  When Imogen didn’t speak, he turned back. “Imogen? Is there something else I should know?”

  “Captain Monteros isn’t sure whether the rumor he’s heard is correct. He is not certain . . .”

  “About what? Tell me.”

  “No one from Garden City recognized the attacker, but one of the guards says he remembers seeing the man speaking to someone near the tournament grounds fence during the first trial. A woman. The guard recognized her as someone who comes often to the castle with her father to make dresses for the ladies of the court.”

  A girl who made dresses for the court. A memory tugged at him, of a dark-haired girl’s tear-streaked face and his sister’s smile when she played with the girl and the irritation he felt when he realized his sister cared for the girl almost as much as she did for him.

  “According to the guard, the girl gave the assassin the knife. They are searching for her now and . . . ” She stopped and shook her head.

  “What?” he asked. “What else are you not telling me?”

  “Elder Ulrich said two guards accompanied someone from the castle to the girl’s shop in the city just a few days ago.” Imogen ran her hand down his chest and stepped closer to him as she looked up into his eyes. “That person was Princess Carys. Your sister.”

  13

  “Princess . . .”

  Garret’s voice chased her into the castle, but Carys didn’t stop walking. Servants moved to the side and dropped into curtsies as she passed. Many couldn’t hide their surprise at her appearance. She wanted to put them in their place for not remembering that she was a princess and they were supposed to show respect. She wanted to slap them for their wide eyes and snickers and their horror at the fact she’d killed a man right out in the open.

  But there hadn’t been horror, had there? Not from the crowd. After she’d slain the would-be assassin they’d cheered her name. Carys had won a point that she was never meant to win—and that made this all worse.

  Now the Trials would go longer. And the future she ached for, one away from this castle where she could finally find peace, was a tiny bit further out of reach. She needed to be smarter and faster if she wanted to finally get away from the scheming and thirst for the power that came with the throne. She shivered. Her body felt too heavy and too cold to think.

  She needed the Tears. They would help her focus. She had to get to her rooms.

  The attacker.

  The stilettos.

  Her brother’s shocked expression.

  The man lying dead on the dirt-packed ground—dead by her hand.

  The cheers and the gasps of the people.

  The way Captain Monteros looked at her as if understanding she had a reason for not only learning to wield the stilettos, but to hide her skill.

  All of it jumbled together amidst the overwhelming need. The bottle was in her pocket. She just had to be alone.

  Her breathing became ragged as she attempted to outpace the two guard members, including the one who had accompanied her to the North Tower, trailing behind her. Watching her.

  In the castle, there were too many servants, too many guests in the halls for her to brave pulling the red bottle from the pocket of her cloak.

  One sip.

  Only one terrible, blissful drink.

  That would be enough. It would.

  She shivered in her cloak, feeling as though the chill of the wind outside was traveling through the halls with her as she headed up the stairs. When she got halfway, she stopped and listened to make sure there were no footfalls from above or below.

  Nothing. Only the beating of her heart as she pulled the red bottle out of her pocket and uncorked it.

  She took a small drink. The bitter taste made her wince. One more swallow, just in case the amount she had just consumed wasn’t enough to pull her body and mind back from the heavy, sweating, fear-filled state that had been creeping up on her since the blades left her hands and everyone saw her secret. They would wonder why she had special pockets to store weapons. They would want to know what a princess living in a castle surrounded by the castle guard was so fearful of. They would ask questions and in learning her secrets they might learn her brother’s and she would have failed at the one thing that had purpose in her life.

  She started to tilt the bottle again. Just a little more. It would make it easier to hide the secrets. It would make her better at helping her brother.

  No.

  Carys forced herself to pull the bottle away from her lips and put the stopper in the bottle’s throat before shoving it deep in the folds of her cloak. What she took would be enough to get her through the ball. She paused a moment, her back against the stone castle wall. Already she felt lighter. The throbbing in her head was clearing.

  Ignoring the guard posted at her rooms, Carys shut the door behind her and wished she didn’t have to go out of it again today. But she did. And she had to be ready for whatever came. Andreus was counting on her.

  Juliette hurried to greet her. If her maid was shocked by the stilettos Carys pulled out of her pockets before she allowed Juliette to assist her in removing her muddy clothes, she didn’t show it.

  “I have a rose oil bath waiting for you, Your Highness, and Miss Larkin delivered several items along with your dress for the ball.”

  “Larkin was here?” Carys had ordered her to leave the city.
>
  “Yes, Your Highness. Not long ago. She was wearing the dress of a noble lady. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me to tell you that she would be waiting after the ball at the place that you spoke of with her father—and that until you speak not to trust the stars. I couldn’t make sense of it. Do you think she’s gone mad with the same illness that struck the Queen?”

  Carys felt her pulse jump. Larkin wasn’t crazy. She had a warning for Carys. Something that she had to tell her in person. A warning about the person who looked at the stars—the seer Imogen.

  They would meet in the stables. After Carys knew what the problem was, she would fix it.

  The warmth of the Tears swept over her and all of her muscles seemed to melt at once. Carys allowed Juliette to wash the mud from her hair and her body before answering a knock at the door and receiving a message from one of the Council pages.

  “The Council of Elders will send an escort for you in two hours, Your Highness, who will bring you to the Hall of Virtues.”

  Two hours. Just two hours before the next trial. “Did you see Lord Garret of Bisog in the hall?” she asked as Juliette helped her into a red silk robe. He had seemed insistent on talking to her, and it wasn’t typical of Garret to be dissuaded so quickly from something he was interested in. Perhaps he had changed since his time away from Garden City, but Carys doubted that.

  “I heard several mention Lord Garret’s return to the Palace of Winds, Your Highness, but I have not seen him.”

  So he was waiting for another time to corner her. She would have to be ready when he did. Had the attempt on Andreus’s life today succeeded, it would have put Garret one step closer to the throne—which was part of Elder Cestrum and the Council’s plan. But was it Garret’s? Could he or his uncle have been behind today’s attack?

  She hoped not. But there were too many sinister occurrences in the castle for her to dismiss the idea that this was the case. The sabotaged power lines. The death of her father and brother. The poisoning of the only guards who knew what had really happened on the King and Prince’s trip back to Garden City. Carys was certain some if not all of the people behind these events would be in the Hall of Virtues tonight, smiling and dancing and waiting to stab her or Andreus, literally, in the back. She had to learn who posed the greatest threat and what they wanted. Andreus would take the throne, but that wouldn’t remove those who wished to cause them harm. Power was a prize too many wanted and would do almost anything to have.

  Normally, Carys cared little for the primping ladies like her mother enjoyed before public audiences. As long as her hair was brushed and the dress Juliette selected didn’t make her feel like she was wrapped in a tourniquet, Carys deemed her appearance acceptable. But today she knew it was imperative the Council of Elders believe she was making a true effort to win the Trials and the crown. Otherwise they might think about her knife throwing and wonder why it was she had no skill with a bow. After all, aim was all in both of those pursuits. The Council had to believe this contest was real. She had counted ten pegs across on the tally board that hung on the castle walls facing the city. Her brother needed to gain eight more without raising suspicion over the Trials’ legitimacy. Which meant letting Juliette brush her hair until it shone, then sitting for what felt like forever as her maid twisted and reworked the styling before weaving diamond-, citrine-, and sapphire-jeweled pins into the intricate braids and curls.

  Finally, Juliette declared her hair perfect and went to the wardrobe to pull out the dress Larkin had delivered for tonight. It was silvery blue and nothing like the ones her mother liked Carys to wear. When the light hit the fabric, it glowed like moonlight. And when Juliette fastened the gown and Carys turned toward the mirror and examined how she looked in the dress with the deeply scooped neckline, flowing sleeves, and shimmering skirt. Tears pricked her eyes. In Larkin’s hands, she was as close to beautiful as she would ever be. She wished she could give Larkin a farewell gift to match this one.

  Thanking her maid, Carys asked Juliette to stop by the Queen’s quarters to check on how she was doing. Once Juliette was gone, Carys carefully cleaned her stilettos until they glistened like the jewels in her hair, and then slid the silver blades into the sheaths hidden in the seams of her dress. The weight of the stilettos against her thighs was reassuring as she paced the room, waiting for the escort the Council of Elders would send. Normally, Carys would have defied their wishes, but they were in control of the Trials and her brother and her fate. Openly challenging them was a bad idea.

  Waiting was something Carys was bad at, and in the isolation of her rooms with only the rustle of her dress and the anxiety building inside her to keep her company, the minutes dragged by. The red bottle she’d stashed under one of the pillows on the settee called to her. She didn’t need another dose. Her hands were steady and her mind remained clear. Still, she couldn’t help pulling the bottle out from where she had hidden it and turning it over in her hands.

  She pulled the stopper out of the bottle then put it back in a dozen times as need warred with common sense. If given another minute, need might have won, but a knock at the door had Carys sliding the bottle back into hiding before opening the door to find Garret waiting on the other side.

  His red mane of hair looked almost like licks of fire against the black of his tunic. His nose looked more crooked than it had before. He had fought hard since he had left the Palace of Winds, and knowing Garret’s power, she was sure he had won. His eyes met hers and the intensity of the gaze and the strength of his large shoulders and arms pulled at the girl who longed for someone to shield her—a girl she never had been allowed to be.

  Garret bowed. “I have been sent by my uncle to act as your escort, Your Highness. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She should have known Garret would be the one Elder Cestrum sent to find her. The fact that she hadn’t immediately seen that possibility set her on edge. “Should I mind?” she asked as she closed her door behind her.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” Garret said, holding out his arm.

  She smiled, then turned and headed down the hallway toward the steps, leaving Garret to catch up. Once he did, he quietly said, “There are a great number of people who have done you harm over the years, Your Highness. I have never wanted to be one of them.”

  “Is it any wonder I find that hard to believe, Lord Garret?” she asked, glancing at him. “Plotting with your uncle to seize the throne from my family would do me considerable harm.”

  “I had nothing to do with my uncle’s scheme.”

  “Of course not.” She laughed. “It was loyalty to your fallen king that made you ride your horse into the ground to get here so quickly.”

  “It was loyalty to you.” Garret reached out and grabbed her arm. She pulled back, but he held fast and stepped close as he said, “I am not your enemy, Your Highness. You are the reason I left the Palace of Winds in the first place, and whether you choose to believe it or not, you are the reason I have returned.”

  The sound of stringed instruments drifted down the hallway. The ball was beginning. “If you think I will let you use me in order to climb the steps to the throne, you are sadly mistaken, Lord Garret.”

  “You will find, Your Highness, that I am the only person in Eden who has no interest in using you for personal gain.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “Unlike my uncle and your father and Micah, I understand how important you are.”

  “Because I might become Queen.”

  Garret studied her for several heartbeats. “You still don’t know you are so much more.”

  He let go of her arm, but she could still feel the heat of his touch as he stepped back and began walking down the hallway. “The ball will be starting and your guests are waiting, Your Highness. I need to deliver you safely to the Hall of Virtues.”

  She hurried to catch up with him and spotted her brother in the antechamber that the royal family used during formal occasions to wait for their entrance to the Hall.

  “I mu
st leave you here,” Garret said, not crossing the threshold of the antechamber. “May the winds guide you until we speak again, Princess.”

  With a bow he turned on his heel and disappeared out the door.

  Once she was certain Garret had truly gone, she turned to her brother. Andreus was eyeing her with suspicion. “Lord Garret was sent by his uncle to escort me here. He is trying to make me believe he has no interest in the throne.”

  “And do you believe it?”

  “Of course not,” she said. But there had been something in the way that he spoke that made her wonder if there was more to his purpose. “But there might be value in making him think I do.”

  Father always said to keep your friends close and your enemies even closer, mainly so that they couldn’t see the dagger until it slid into their gut. “It couldn’t hurt for you to appear to be friendly with him as well,” she suggested. “Elder Cestrum might start questioning whether Garret has changed allegiances, and sowing uncertainty in the Council can only help us get through these Trials and secure the throne.”

  “You mean help me secure the throne.”

  “Of course.” Carys frowned at the way Andreus stood looking at her. His posture was stiff, formal. She sensed doubt. “Do you think I have changed my mind about wanting you on the throne? Andreus, it’s not my fault you didn’t get all three points today. I had to defend you.”

  “I know,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m sorry. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have to worry about the Trials or the throne. I’d be in my grave instead. I’m having a hard time thinking about that or the man who . . . tried to kill me.”

  “But he didn’t kill you,” Carys said, squeezing his hand. “And tonight you will charm everyone at the ball and win whatever contest we are given.” He looked handsome in his gold-and-black doublet. With his shining dark hair and sword at his side, he looked as if he stepped out of a storyteller’s tale.