Spades’ voice was soft, throaty. “I can teach you more than sword fighting.”
Ava opened her eyes and looked into those cool green orbs of her new tormentor. Cry me a river, the Sør Sevier woman’s eyes seemed to say. I’ve had worse done to me. Besides, Ava knew, an ocean of tears wouldn’t make any difference now.
And truth be told, the woman’s touch was a comfort. . . .
“You can teach me what you like,” Ava whispered, still staring into Spades’ eyes, not even believing what she was saying. “But realize, Aeros will betray you too, just as he betrayed Gault Aulbrek.”
“Truly?”
“The Spider and Aeros, together they conspired to kill Gault in Ravenker, and now Gault is gone. If you and I grow close, Aeros will kill you too.”
The woman’s gaze narrowed. “They betrayed Gault? How do you know this?”
“Aeros and Spiderwood talk freely in front of me. They plot their plots and then people do their bidding and none are the wiser—”
There was a sharp metallic sound behind them.
Startled again, Ava whirled. Aeros Raijael stood in the canvas entryway, the fine-hewn chain mail under his plate armor aglitter with a million sparkles in the candlelight. Tufts of sweaty blond hair were plastered to his forehead, and his war helm rested in the crook of his right arm.
He smiled, his dark-pupiled eyes beaming with both affection and delight at the sight of Spades and Ava kneeling together on the rug. But when his gaze found the open chest and the horned helm and two angel stones, his smile swiftly disappeared.
“I was going to have her tend to my wound.” Spades stood, holding her injured arm gingerly. “Like she tends to the Spider.”
“Leave us,” the White Prince ordered Spades. His tone brooked no argument.
Spades gathered the ruby-hilted sword from off the rug and brushed by Aeros.
At the door of the tent, Spades turned back to Ava. “The Angel Prince gets broody when he’s jealous.” Then she disappeared between the tent flaps.
Aeros glared at Ava with blazing hatred. The gulf between them was a tangible force. It now seemed whatever affection he’d once had for her had retreated into the sooty darkness of his pupils. And it was in that cold look that Ava Shay knew her life would be over soon.
* * *
On that great and last day, the enemies of Raijael will be gathered together under that great and last fire of Absolution, whispering of death among crow-picked bones.
—THE BOOK OF THE BETRAYER
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CRYSTALWOOD
9TH DAY OF THE ANGEL MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
ROKENWALDER, SØR SEVIER
King Aevrett Raijael’s grand palace, Jö Reviens, was still. Quiet. Its myriad of dark corridors were just now coming alight with the faint break of dawn. And Krista was finally on the trail of something interesting. Something completely out of the ordinary and wholly unexpected.
And it came in the form of a familiar face—a face she had not expected to see ever again: Solvia Klingande.
Even amidst the opulence of Jö Reviens, the finery of Ser Aulmut Klingande’s voluptuous young wife was hard to miss as she scurried down the sweeping spiral staircase leading to the parlor that emptied out into the rear palace gardens, thinking herself unseen. Solvia was bedecked in a glorious white-brocaded gown set with gleaming yellow gemstones, a web of silken lace bejeweled with sapphires woven into her fine blond hair.
Krista emerged silently from the closet she’d been sorting laundry in. She began to follow the woman, unconcerned that she herself was abandoning her job. She had been in Jö Reviens for a week, and in that time had learned nothing. Seen nothing. And grown more restless by the day. Living in the servant quarters was a bore. Her job as housemaid was a bore. Especially in her entry-level position under Head Laundress Dame Portea, a pale-faced crone with a surly mean streak that could rival Bogg’s bulldog, Café Colza.
In fact, Krista was at the point where she was certain that her task of spying on King Aevrett was all just another odd trial in a string of odd trials Black Dugal had strung together merely to test her patience. In the week she had been in Jö Reviens, King Aevrett had done naught but lounge about the palace daily. After his morning breakfast, he would rouse himself only occasionally to mete out some kingly bit of business, or to dote on his wife, Queen Natalia, who to this day he still treated like a precious jewel. And that was it. Every day. All the time. Without ceasing.
The only good thing about her time in the king’s palace was that she enjoyed being away from Hans Rake. She was glad to be working alone on this assignment, and working in a place familiar to her. For Jö Reviens and everything about it was exactly as she had remembered before joining Black Dugal’s Caste. The chamberlains were the same, the stewards, pages, squires, housemaids, watch commanders, all of them were mostly the same faces she knew from before. Truth be told, there were a few new faces sprinkled in, and those were the ones she’d befriended first, worried she might be recognized by the others if she got too close.
But Krista was mighty pleased with her disguise. She wore the simple raiment of a housemaid, white skirt and shirt under a tan linen smock, room enough in the pleated folds to hide six Bloodwood daggers. She’d dyed her brows, eyelashes, and hair black, and kept her hair unbound, wild bangs a-tangle, covering her eyes. She’d colored her teeth rust yellow and kept hurion tac paste stuffed in her cheeks and gums to make her jowls appear fatter. With a mouth full of the tac paste, her speech was slightly slurred. But that only added to the disguise, made her seem simpleminded whenever she talked. She had easily fooled Dame Portea during the interview for the job, a job that had come open because of the convenient disappearance of several laundry girls a moon ago. A fortuitous coincidence. But Krista knew that with Dugal there were no such things as coincidence. And now here she was. She did not look like Krista Aulbrek. Aevrett and Natalia and the rest of the palace court would remember the old Krista as a rail-thin, long-haired, ponytailed blonde with an articulate manner. Plus, they would remember the old Krista as five years younger and a few inches shorter.
So to be following Solvia Klingande was most definitely a welcome change in routine. The woman, still not aware that she was being tailed, reached the end of the staircase, scampered through the dark parlor, and slipped out the large wooden door and into the rear gardens, closing the door behind her.
Krista hurried after. Through the parlor window she could see Solvia dashing lightly over the grass, heading east toward the tall square castle shrouded in morning fog, bare feet leaving a trail in the dew. Krista stepped softly from the palace and followed. The air on the ground of the vast garden was crisp with a light mist, and the moon and stars above had melted into the light of dawn. Solvia disappeared into one of the many openings in the hedgerows, still heading east. Krista let her eyes stray over the gardens, noticing nothing out of the ordinary, seeing no one. Comfortable that both she and Solvia were unseen by prying eyes, Krista took to the chase.
She recalled her previous interaction with the nineteen-year-old wife of the Rokenwalder nobleman Ser Aulmut Klingande. With Hans Rake, she had broken into Aulmut’s manor house, stabbed the young woman just above the heart as she’d slept, and left a cryptic note on her dresser. The note had read:
The hole above your heart will speak to the danger you are now in. Return all the coin your husband stole. All of it. To every innocent he conned. You have three days. If you do not, we will carve your beating heart from your chest in front of your waking eyes. You cannot hide from us. The blade with this note is evidence of who your new masters are.
We will deal with your husband however we deem appropriate.
After, Krista and Hans had stolen through the decadent house, located Ser Aulmut in his chamber, and assassinated both him and his guards in spectacular fashion. Later, with Bogg and Squateye, they had found Ser Aulmut’s corpse strung up in the trees north of Rokenwalder, his
guts strewn about the forest. It was that twist in the story that had seemingly prompted Black Dugal to order her to spy on King Aevrett. Now she was chasing Solvia Klingande through the gardens of King Aevrett’s palace grounds.
Jö Reviens was on a large estate in the center of Rokenwalder, nestled in the midst of a grand lush yard, the entire grounds surrounded by a stone wall stretching more than five miles in circumference. Rokenwalder Castle stood at the far eastern end of the gardens. A square, brutish-looking fortification, it rose up at least thirty stories high. Broad stone walls and a deep moat of dark waters carpeted with bright green lily pads surrounded it.
King Aevrett’s throne room was in the castle, as was the library containing The Chivalric Illuminations. Nobody but Aevrett or his five Knights Chivalric was allowed to look upon the original copy of the Illuminations or add to it. Copies of Illumination passages were distributed throughout Aeros’ armies, though. The throne and library were all the castle was ever used for. That and the sprawling dungeons of Rokenwalder buried in the caverns deep underneath—a never-ending black maze of death and despair that stretched underground seemingly forever in dingy dark splendor. As Krista followed Solvia’s path through the hedgerows, just knowing those dungeons were somewhere under her feet made her shudder. She hated prisons and confinement.
It was why she also hated Jö Reviens, for it represented a period in her life where she was a prisoner. A captive. A slave. Under the constant torment of the queen. Jö Reviens was the place Gault had left her, the loneliest place in all the Five Isles.
Through a break in the greenery, Krista spied the gleaming armor and white cape of one of King Aevrett’s five Knights Chivalric, and her heart slowly turned to ice. The knight was fully armed, silvery coned helm atop his head. He had his back to her. Krista ducked behind a shrub, heart jumping. For a Knight Chivalric to be in the gardens meant only one thing—King Aevrett was on his morning walk. If the king was out here, then so too were all five of his bodyguards. In the five years she’d lived in Jö Reviens, she’d come to know the names and faces of all Aevrett’s five Knights Chivalric, for they watched her constantly. She wondered if the knight before her was a man she would recognize, or if any of the king’s bodyguards had changed in the interim. The Knights Chivalric guarded King Aevrett, whilst the Knights Archaic guarded the Angel Prince, Aeros. Krista’s father, Gault, had been a Knight Archaic—a ranking just under Knight Chivalric—for almost as long as she could remember.
She heard muffled voices in the distance, but the knight remained rigid at his post. Krista crept slowly through the shrubbery toward the voices, acutely aware of the Knight Chivalric behind her. As a child she’d wanted to know all the ins and outs of Jö Reviens and the palace yards, all the nooks and crannies and shrubs where one could hide and play, all the secret passages and corners, all the trees that could be easily climbed and those few too dangerous. But she was never afforded such freedom. She wished she knew the palace grounds better now.
The voices were coming from near the castle and moat, so she headed in that general direction. As she slunk through the hedgerows and bushes, the voices became clearer. One was King Aevrett, the other female. Krista inched forward and peered around the last bit of green brush and flowers. Not thirty feet away, King Aevrett Raijael and Solvia Klingande were clutched in a tight embrace under the boughs of a large weeping willow tree, kissing with a passion Krista had never before seen in two people, the king’s hand fervently kneading the woman’s exposed bosom, her gown hanging low off her shoulder. Gray puddles of muted dawn shadow stained the ground under them.
Krista’s own heart froze as she felt a hand grasp her shoulder. She spun around, dagger in hand, ready. But she pulled her blow.
“What a juicy scene you’ve discovered.” Hans Rake’s whispering voice was as cold as his red-veined eyes. He was dressed in full Bloodwood black leathers, blood dripping into the grass from the tip of the black dagger in one hand. Sweat pearled over the tattoos on the side of his head.
She glared at him, stunned, her mind awhirl. “What are you doing here?”
He pressed one leather-gloved finger to her lips. “Shhhh, we’ve work to do, my love.” Then he grabbed her roughly by the back of her tan smock and hauled her out into plain view of King Aevrett and Solvia. The woman gasped and pulled her dress up over her breast, confusion scrawled on her face at the sight of the two intruders. Krista twisted away from Hans’ grip, ready to dash into the shrubbery.
But the timbre of Aevrett’s voice commanded her attention. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “My guard is on his way to kill you both now!”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Hans said coolly, holding up the bloody black dagger. “Your nearest Knight Chivalric died as silent as you please.”
Aevrett’s black-pupiled eyes widened. “The other four are also nearby. They will hear me shout for them soon enough.”
“Perhaps,” Hans drawled. “But they are of scant concern, seeing how the first one died so easily.”
“Dugal goes too far this time,” Aevrett hissed, eyes now boring into Krista’s. Confusion, then recognition, registered on his pale face. “Is that you, Krista?”
“Aye, ’tis our beloved Krista Aulbrek,” Hans announced. “Come to murder her king.”
Krista’s eyes flew to Hans Rake, the black dagger gripped in her own hand suddenly angled toward him, fury building as she moved his way.
“I wouldn’t,” Hans said sharply, his own dagger pointed at her.
“Is it truly you, Krista?” Aevrett asked again.
Solvia gaped. “This is Avril’s kid?”
How could she know my mother’s name? Things were unraveling. Control was lost. And she needed to regain it.
“This is the bastard child of my husband?” Solvia continued. “This ugly handmaid is the little lost girl my husband has wept for every day? This ugly little whelp is the bastard child of Avril and Aulmut?”
“Natalia thought Krista was my child,” Aevrett said. “It’s why the queen treated the girl so horribly.”
Solvia’s eyes narrowed in anger. “This ugly little girl is the foul get of Avril and Aulmut,” she repeated the accusation with a hiss.
Both confusion and dread twisted Krista’s gut into a tight knot. She spat the hurion tac paste out of her mouth and strode toward Solvia. “What do you mean ‘the foul get of Avril and Aulmut’?” The point of her dagger was now aimed straight between the woman’s eyes. “What lie is this? Speak the truth or I will gut you where you stand, m’lady.”
“Have a care, Krista,” Aevrett said calmly. It looked as if he wanted to reach out and take the blade from her, but then hesitated, the realization of what she truly was—a Bloodwood, the deadliest creation in the Five Isles—sinking in. “Solvia is innocent in this.”
“Innocent?” Krista pointed the dagger at him, terror building in her heart. “She was kissing you. I see nothing innocent in that. What about your wife, my king? What would the brooding Natalia say to that?”
“That is none of your concern,” the king answered.
“What about the lie she just told of my mother?” Krista followed. Hans snickered. She glanced over at him. It looked as if he’d been devouring every word of the conversation in sheer amusement. Truth was, it was him she wanted to gut most.
“Put the knife down,” Aevrett urged, eyes roaming the gardens. “Let’s talk of this calmly for a moment.” His gaze fell on Hans. “Else I can yell for my guards and the both of you can go to the dungeons.”
“Do it.” Hans’ laughter rang out through the yard loud and sharp. He looked at Krista with cold amusement. “Dugal told you a Bloodwood must become fatherless, no?”
“Speak plainly,” she snarled.
“Don’t you get it yet?” Hans asked. “I already killed your father.”
“My father fights with our Lord Aeros in Gul Kana.” Fear and uncertainty clutched at her mind. “And you could not slay Gault with a million Bloodwood dagge
rs.”
“You have been deceived.” Hans shrugged. “Ser Aulmut Klingande was your father.”
“You’re mad,” she shot back, looking to Aevrett. But what she saw there in the king’s dark orbs gave her pause. Especially when he dropped his own gaze. It was as if in his very silence he was acknowledging Hans’ absurd proclamation.
She felt a moment of doubt. Then it happened. A reaction she could not stop. A reaction immediate and swift. She lunged toward the king, her dagger finding Aevrett’s heart, plunging to the hilt. And as she withdrew the blade, the king looked upon her with a face that registered neither surprise or pain. Slick and warm, blood poured from the wound as he fell to his knees. Then Aevrett Raijael toppled face-forward into the dew-covered grass, dead. Krista stared at her bloody dagger. What have I done?
Angry at the foolish lie Hans had foisted upon her, she turned toward him. This is not how it was supposed to be!
Solvia Klingande screamed; a cry so shrill and high and loud it was sure to fill every corner of the palace yard. Hans seized Solvia from behind instantly, arms around her neck, his dagger gripped in one tight fist angled toward her heart. “Shut it,” he hissed.
Krista could hear the shouts of men and the clanking of armor headed their way. She quickly shed her smock, bloody dagger at the ready. Hans backed away, dragging Solvia under the weeping willow tree toward the castle to the east. “Let me go!” the woman screamed, struggling in his arms. “You foul scum!”
“Don’t fight him,” Krista called out, her own dagger ready for Hans.
“Dirty urchin!” Still Solvia struggled against him. “Get your foul hands off me!”
The Blackest Heart Page 40