She says nothing, but I feel her hesitation.
“What?” I say.
“There was another woman bickering with a man over land rights. My guards obeyed Nolla Verin’s order before I could say otherwise.”
“This was before you were attacked?”
“Yes.”
“They are not loyal,” I say immediately. “You should choose others.”
“She is my sister. She was to be queen. They are loyal.”
“They should not have followed her order.” I pause. “And she should not have given one.”
Lia Mara says nothing. She loathes discord. I know she wants peace for her people—and for mine in Emberfall. She wants to rule without violence and fear.
I am not sure her people want to be ruled that way.
She leans into me again. Her breath is warm and sweet against the bare skin of my neck.
“What would you have done?” she says quietly.
“I don’t think you want to hear what I would have done.”
My voice is dark, and she cranes her head around to look up at me. “You would not have hacked your way out of it with a sword.”
“No. I would have dismissed the guards. At the very least, I would have demanded they swear an oath right then and there. And I would have dismissed your sister.”
“What? No!”
“Nolla Verin was to be queen—but she is not. There is enough doubt in Syhl Shallow, and for her to undermine you—and for your guards to obey her—I worry this attack will embolden others.”
“She is supporting me.”
“She is weakening you.”
Lia Mara goes very still against me, and for a moment, I’m worried my anger has gotten the best of me. I don’t want us to be at odds.
But then I realize her heart is pounding in her chest. Her fingers are gripped tight to the arm I have wrapped around her. She’s not angry.
She’s afraid.
That steals some of my anger, replacing it with a fierce protectiveness. I brush my lips against her temple. “Fear not,” I say softly, the same words I once spoke to her in Blind Hollow, after a soldier from Emberfall had put a knife to her neck. “No one will touch you again.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LIA MARA
By morning, the wall hangings and velvet carpeting have been replaced, leaving my throne room looking exactly the same as it did yesterday, but there is still an acrid scent of old smoke or burned fabric that seems to cling to the air. I don’t want to feel reassured by Grey’s presence at my side today, but I am. Mother never wore a weapon in front of her people, because she said it implied she did not trust them. But Grey is fully armed, and he’s made no secret of it. His expression is locked down and closed off, as distant and cold as I’ve ever seen him. Princess Harper once called him Scary Grey, and she’s right. When he looks like this, he truly is frightening.
Jake is here, too, along the wall with the guards. He should be out on the training fields, or spending time with Noah, or practicing swordplay with Tycho, but instead he’s here, his cool eyes assessing everyone who comes through the doors. He’s far less stoic than Grey, a bit more flippant and irreverent, but he’s grown every bit as dangerous as the sword-wielding prince at my side.
And while I trust them both, it’s clear that my guards don’t. I’ve heard enough whispers in the halls this morning to know that everyone suspects magic as the source of my attack. I suppose it’s easier to think the worst of Grey and his companions than to imagine someone from Syhl Shallow would take action against the throne. The thought makes me shudder. I don’t want to think about my people wanting me dead. I don’t want to think about failing as queen.
Grey said Nolla Verin might be weakening my position, but it’s not her. It’s me.
My sister isn’t here today anyway. She told me she would be working with Ellia Maya, trying to determine where the woman who attacked me came from. Iisak says she was no magesmith, but she must have known people would suspect magic, that her actions would deepen the distrust of Grey and his ties to Emberfall. By law, if she killed me, she could have claimed the throne herself—but Nolla Verin could have buried a sword in her belly and taken it right back.
Was that the goal? To put my sister in power?
Do people think that would be better?
I wish I could feel like I did yesterday, optimistic about how I can rule differently from my mother, but all morning I’ve been rigid in my chair, now wondering who might be a threat. It’s making me tense and distracted, and more than once Clanna Sun has had to lean in and whisper, “Your Majesty, they are waiting for an answer.”
Every time someone moves toward me, I think of the girl. Of the explosion. Of the searing pain, the way the glass barreled into my skin.
“Lia Mara.”
Grey’s voice, low and intense and just for me. I blink and look over at him.
His eyes meet mine, then flick down. I realize I’ve wrapped both arms across my abdomen. My breathing is trembling.
I swallow and straighten, then look back at the elderly woman standing before the dais. She’s peering up at me in confusion. I can’t even remember her complaint. Something about chickens or roosters or maybe something entirely different. Maybe she hasn’t even made one yet. Her hands are twisting around the handle of a basket.
“Your Majesty?” she says.
Yes, I should say. What is your complaint? But I keep staring at the way she’s working her hands around the handle. I’m wondering if she has a hidden weapon. A bloom of sweat breaks out on my forehead.
This is ridiculous. She’s probably eighty-five years old.
But I can’t speak.
“The queen has been taking callers all morning,” says Grey to Clanna Sun, though his eyes are on me, and his next words are a request, not a demand. “Perhaps we could retire for a time?”
I should refuse. I want to refuse.
I don’t.
I expect Grey to return me to my chambers, or perhaps to the library, which has been my source of refuge since I was a child. Instead, he leads me to the large doors along the front side of the palace, which open to splashing fountains and a long marble staircase that descends into the city proper.
Guards will follow us wherever we go, but I hesitate on the threshold.
I’m such a fool. I’ve never been afraid of my people. I refuse to start now.
Grey says nothing, but I’m sure he noticed. He notices everything.
The streets in this part of the city are busy with both foot traffic as well as horses and carriages. It’s not common for the queen to quite literally walk right into the street, so we generate more than a few stares, before people scurry to bow and curtsy. My guards fan out so we have a good distance from the people, though Jake follows more closely.
I glance up at Grey. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a tavern not too far from here that serves sliced beef that’s been fried into twists of pastry. Hushna Bora. Do you know it?”
Hushna Bora. The Wild Horse. I don’t know it—but I love that he thinks of a tavern. Nolla Verin would have found it scandalous. The queen, I imagine her hissing, should not eat with commoners. My mother would never have deigned to eat at a tavern either—which makes it tempting all by itself, even if he hadn’t mentioned the food.
But a tavern will be full of people. Full of strangers.
“You hardly ate at breakfast,” Grey says. “And I thought you might like a walk.” His voice is easy, revealing no tension or concern, but then his hand rests over mine and he gives my fingers a gentle squeeze.
This is one of my favorite things about him. He could easily take control. He could have taken over in the throne room, and I wouldn’t have stopped him. He could be questioning my guards and making demands.
But he’s not. He’s not yielding, either. He’s … he’s supporting.
His voice drops. “Rumor of the attack will spread. It is important that you do not seem afraid.”<
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I have to swallow again. My fingers tighten on Grey’s arm. “I am afraid.” I speak the words so softly that I don’t want to hear them.
“I know.” He pauses. “But I also know you are stronger than your fear.” He nods ahead and inhales deeply, as if he’s unaware that his words have lit me with a warmth I didn’t realize was missing. “Can you smell the food? Let’s surprise them with their queen.”
The food is as good as Grey promised. The patrons cleared a space for us in a dim corner, but we’re near the hearth, so it’s warm, and the guards have formed a wall between us and the rest of the customers, so we’re safe. Jake and one of Grey’s guards are playing dice at a table near the bar, where they’ll be able to keep an ear out for trouble. For the first time all morning, I’ve been able to take a deep breath.
Honestly, it feels like the first time in weeks.
“Better?” says Grey.
I meet his eyes and nod. “Better.” I pause. “I almost wish we could stay right here for the rest of the day.” I glance away, ashamed that I’ve admitted that. “But that would be hiding.”
“Do not think of it as hiding. Think of it as … strategic positioning.”
I make a very unqueenly sound. “Said by someone who never hides from anything.”
“I hid with you in the woods for days on end.”
“That was different.”
“How?” He pauses, his voice changing, becoming wry. “And I strategically positioned myself in Rillisk for months.”
I’ve heard his stories of Rillisk, how he fled Ironrose and took a job as a stable hand. How he worked in the shadows with Tycho, until the day he volunteered to fight in the stead of a man who was injured, and ended up revealing himself to Dustan, the commander of Rhen’s Royal Guard.
“Iisak once asked me why I took a job near the lowest rungs of Emberfall’s society,” Grey says.
I pick at a twist of dough left on my plate. “Why did you?”
He shrugs a little. “I’m not sure, really. I like horses. I knew how to do the job.” His voice has grown heavy, and he hesitates, fiddling with the handle of his knife. “My life had been so entwined with loss and fear and anguish for so long. I think I longed for … simplicity.”
Because of the curse. “If only Rhen longed for the same.”
Grey frowns. “In truth … I think he does.” He pauses. “I sometimes wonder if his actions were not solely due to fear of magic, but resentment that the curse was broken, yet he was still trapped. Envy that I was able to find freedom while he was not.”
I suck in a breath, because Rhen’s actions toward Grey and Tycho were truly terrible, and this seems to make them more so. “You can’t excuse what he did, Grey.”
“I surely can.” He looks at me steadily. “I fled my birthright—but it allowed me to escape, for a time. It allowed me to find myself in a way I never could during the curse. Rhen never had that opportunity.”
I lean in against the table. “He had you whipped—”
“The enchantress tortured him. Many times, and far worse than a flogging.” Grey’s shoulders are tense now, his hand still against the knife, his eyes cold and dark. “There were days when … when … when she—”
He breaks off suddenly, and takes a long breath, which is very unlike him. “Well. Your mother would likely admire her methods. But Rhen wouldn’t allow Lilith to torture me.” His eyes shy away from mine. “So she did it to him. Season after season.”
Grey rarely talks about the time during the curse, when he was trapped alone with Rhen in that castle. When he does, his tone grows heavy. He blames himself for so much, I know, but this is the first time I’ve learned this about Rhen.
It’s the first time, the only time, I’ve been able to garner a kernel of sympathy for the man.
“You never told me that,” I say softly.
He looks away. “What’s done is done.”
I reach out a hand and rest it over his. There are scars along his wrist, marring the smoothness of his skin, from before he knew how to use magic to heal himself. They’re nothing compared to the scars on his back from what Rhen did.
Grey tenses for a moment when I touch him. I’ve learned that he’s always startled by a gentle touch, because he went so long without it. He grew so used to being alone that touch and kindness became foreign.
He eases quickly, then turns his hand to capture mine. “None of these things matter if we are going to march on Emberfall to claim his kingdom.”
“Do you think there’s any chance he’ll yield?” I ask. “We gave him sixty days.”
“When I was dragged in front of him in chains, Rhen released me and said we should have been friends.” Grey hesitates. “I thought, in that moment, that he might yield. That he might allow me my freedom.” Another pause. “That he might trust me when I said I was trying to protect him.”
Instead, the very next night, Rhen chained Grey and Tycho to a wall and ordered his guards to find a pair of whips.
“He won’t yield,” I say.
“No.” Grey’s expression is cool again, the emotion of a few moments ago locked away. “I won’t either.”
“How go your efforts with the army?”
Grey grunts and draws himself up. “Many of your soldiers don’t seem to want magic on the training fields with them.” He pauses. “Many don’t seem to want me at all.”
“But you are our ally,” I say fiercely.
“It was not long ago that I was your enemy,” he says. “There are soldiers I faced in battle who I am now commanding. That would not be easy for me, so I can understand why it is not easy for them.”
I set my jaw. I know he’s right. Maybe I’m naive to think it could be any other way.
“So we’re about to lead a fractured army into Emberfall, to face a fractured country.”
“Yes.” He sighs heavily. “Our mission of peace.”
I sigh too. It feels wrong to bring peace with an army—but I cannot sacrifice my people to a cursed prince’s pride.
A serving girl steps between the guards to come remove our platters.
As she moves near me, light glints on a bit of glass. I have a flash of memory of the woman who attacked me, and I gasp and flinch away.
Aria, my guard, is at my side in less than a second. She has a blade drawn. So does Grey.
The girl shrieks and drops a plate. Bits of food scatter across the floor. She blanches, dropping to her knees, stammering an apology.
Grey and Aria exchange a glance, and then his eyes shift to me.
“It is fine,” I say in Syssalah. “I’m fine. It was—a misunderstanding.”
The girl is gasping, almost crying. “Forgive me, Your Majesty—forgive me—”
“It’s all right.” I’m gasping a bit myself. “Rise. Please.”
The tavern owner rushes over, an older woman with a mass of curly gray hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. She grabs hold of the trembling girl’s arm, dragging her upright. “Forgive us, Your Majesty. I will see that she is punished.” Then, without hesitation, she draws back a hand as if she’s going to slap the girl across the face right there in front of me.
“No!” Furniture scrapes as I find my feet. I catch the woman’s wrist. It was a strong swing, and I only dull the blow.
But the woman stumbles back. “I—Your Majesty—forgive me. I thought—I thought …” She looks appalled. The girl’s breath is hitching in her chest as she looks from me to the tavern owner, her expression stunned.
They likely thought I would have appreciated the abuse—or that I would have taken any disappointment out on her.
My mother surely would have.
“I know what you thought,” I say. “But I do not revel in punishment. The girl did nothing wrong.” I straighten and look at Aria and Grey. “Put up your weapons. No one meant any harm here.”
They do. The girl curtsies and ducks to pick up the fallen platter. She’s whispering apologies again, and her hands are
trembling. The tavern owner is wringing her hands, uncertain.
I look at her. “Prince Grey spoke highly of your tavern, and I am pleased to discover that the food has been excellent. Your girl has been dutiful. We are grateful to you both. I will be sure to tell my Royal Houses to dine here as well.”
The woman gasps. “Your Majesty.”
My heart is beating at a rapid clip in my chest. “We would like to finish our meal, if you please.”
“Yes.” She curtsies. “Yes, of course. I will send another bottle of our finest wine.”
She retreats. We sit. My cheeks feel hot, and I’m not sure I can meet Grey’s eyes. I’m embarrassed that I caused a scene.
But then he leans in. “As I said,” he murmurs, and there’s pride in his voice. “You are stronger than your fear.”
That makes me look up. I just flinched at … at nothing. I almost caused a girl to get slapped across the face—and maybe worse. “I don’t feel very strong.”
He looks pointedly at the serving girl, who is now on the opposite side of the tavern, speaking with two others. They glance in our direction a few times.
“They seem to think you are,” says Grey.
I blush. “I am glad you brought me here.”
“As am I.” He reaches out a hand to brush his fingertips along my jaw, and I go still. Much like the moments when I’m gentle with him, his softness takes me by surprise, especially since he was just on his feet with a weapon in his hand. It’s a side of himself he so rarely shows, especially in public.
He draws back and sighs. “Though I cannot be off the training fields all day.” He hesitates, his eyes holding mine. “Perhaps your soldiers should see their queen.”
“I’m glad you’re my ally now,” I say. His eyebrows lift, and I blush, because it sounds so sterile out loud. “I wouldn’t want to face you on a battlefield.”
“I wouldn’t want to face you on a battlefield either.”
“Liar,” I say, and I’m teasing, yet also serious. “I could never defeat you in battle.”
“On the contrary.” He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips. “You know all the ways to make me yield.”
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