The Beauty of Darkness

by Mary E. Pearson

  “The king doesn’t seem to be recovering,” I said. “Can you tell me why?”

  “The news of your betrayal struck him to the core,” the Chancellor growled. “There is no instant cure for a heart ripped from a man’s chest.”

  A few of the lords mumbled agreement. I heard the gentle cries of Aunt Bernette.

  “Hmm. So I’m told.” My eyes landed on the court physician. “Come join me here on the step,” I said, “so everyone can hear you report on my father’s health.” He didn’t move, glancing at the other cabinet members as if they could save him. “It is not a request, Lord Fently.” I held up my bandaged hand. “As you can see, I have a grave injury. Don’t make me drag you over here.” I sheathed my sword, and he reluctantly stood and walked over.

  “Arabella,” the Royal Scholar interceded, “don’t—”

  I turned sharply. “I have no qualms about cutting out your tongue, Your Eminence. In fact, after all the years I had to endure your condemning lectures, it would give me the greatest pleasure, so I would advise that you hold your tongue while you still possess one.”

  Hold it. Just like all the times you made me hold mine. His eyes narrowed, familiar. Afraid. Worried. But not for his tongue. For the truth?

  My anger burned brighter, and when the physician stopped in front of me, I grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. “What is wrong with my father?” I asked.

  “His heart, Your Highness! As the Chancellor said!” he answered quickly, his tone high and earnest. “But his other ailments are many! It is a tricky thing, treating so many conditions. It will take time, but I have the highest hopes for his recovery.”

  I smiled. “Really. That is reassuring, Lord Fently.” I nodded to Pauline, and she opened the box. “And these are some of the medicines you’re treating him with?”

  “Yes!” he said, his tone thick with pleading. “These are only simple remedies to make him more comfortable!”

  I reached in and pulled out a small bottle of dark amber elixir. “This?”

  “Only to ease aches and pains.”

  My fingers fumbled, stiff and tingling, to remove the cork with my injured hand. The effort of twisting it free made blood gush warm again beneath the bandage. I sniffed the bottle. “For pain? I could use some of this.” I took a hearty swig and shrugged. “There, now. I think I’m feeling better already.”

  He smiled, his face a strained smear of anguish and fear. I put the elixir back and drew another bottle, this one filled with creamy white liquid. “And just how does this one help my father?”

  “His stomach, Your Highness! It helps settle it.”

  I held the bottle up, swishing it in the light, then took a drink. I smiled. “Yes, I remember this from my childhood.” I leveled a glare at the Royal Scholar. “I often suffered from stomachaches.”

  I put it back and shuffled through the box, then drew out the small vial filled with golden powder. “And this one?”

  He swallowed. His skin was pasty, and a bead of sweat trickled near his ear. A half smile rippled across his lips. “It is for agitation. Just to calm jittery nerves.”

  “Jittery nerves,” I repeated. “Well, I guess you can all see, I certainly have those.” I pulled the cork, began to lift it to my mouth, and hesitated. “Does it matter how much I take?”

  “No,” he said, a measure of relief finally reaching his eyes. “You may take as much as you like.”

  I lifted it to my lips again. He watched me, his mouth hanging open, waiting for me to take a hefty dose, as I had with the others. I paused and returned his earnest attention. “It seems, Lord Fently, that you’re in need of this far more than I am. Here, take some.”

  I moved it toward his lips, and he quickly turned his head away. “No, I don’t need any.”

  “But I insist.”

  “No!”

  He jerked away, but I drew the knife from my boot and held it to his neck. “See how jittery you are, my lord?” I lowered my voice to a growl. “I insist you take some. Now.” My knife pressed harder against his throat, and lords gasped as a thin line of blood sprang up beneath the blade. I brought the golden vial slowly to his lips. “Remember,” I whispered, “you may take as much as you like.”

  The glass brushed his lower lip. “No!” he cried, his eyes glazed with terror. “It’s him! He’s the one who gave it to me! It was by his order!”

  He pointed at the Viceregent.

  I lowered the knife, pushing the physician free. Silence crushed in as all eyes turned to the favored cabinet member. I smiled at the Viceregent. “Thannis,” I said. “Good for the soul. Good for the heart. A unique token found only in Venda. Something an ambassador such as yourself probably discovered years ago on one of your clandestine visits.” I walked toward him. “Perfectly deadly, but a few tiny grains? They might be just enough to keep a king out of the way while you finalized your plans—because if he died, there were so many of those troublesome princes in line for the throne who might appoint a new cabinet.”

  The Viceregent stood. “The man’s a liar. I’ve never laid eyes on the substance before.”

  A voice called from the back of the hall. “Then how do you explain this?” Footsteps echoed, boots on stone, a slow beat that demanded attention.

  Heads turned. Breaths were held for only a moment, then hushed whispers erupted into the air like a startled flock of birds. There was something about him. Something familiar—but foreign too. Something that didn’t belong. They quieted again as Kaden walked down the center aisle toward us, another golden vial in his hand. “I found this in your apartment, tucked in a locked drawer.” He moved forward in a slow, deliberate line, soldiers stepping aside. “Probably the same vial you used to keep Andrés—your legitimate son—out of harm’s way.” I saw the strain in Kaden’s face, his effort at control. The impact of seeing his father shook him like a storm. His eyes glistened, the calm destroyed, a thousand cracks in his voice. The boy who wanted only to be loved. Kept. Watching him struggle to hold back made his agony even more evident, and the depth of his pain swelled in me.

  The Viceregent stared as if seeing a ghost. “Kaden.”

  “That’s right, Father,” he answered. “Your son, back from the grave. Seems the Komizar was playing both of us. I was his Assassin.” Kaden stopped, the cracks in his composure deepening, a quiver in his lip that tore through me as he spoke again. “He trained me up for years, and for every one of them, I waited for the day I would kill you. Seems now there are a few in line ahead of me to do the job.”

  “This is madness! It is—” The Viceregent turned, seeing the eyes fixed on him, his lies closing in, inescapable. He lunged, pulling a knife from beneath the table, and held it to the Timekeeper’s throat, dragging him to his feet and using him as a shield. They both stumbled backward toward the wood panel on the rear wall of the chamber, and the Viceregent’s hand groped behind him. A little to the right, I thought as his fingers fumbled over the carved wood. There. He pressed, and a passage appeared, one known to every king—and the children who spied on him. He shoved the Timekeeper away and disappeared into the passage.

  The Chancellor glanced nervously to the side as if to make a break to follow.

  “I wouldn’t,” I told him, and only seconds later, the Viceregent reappeared, stepping backward, a sword at his chest. Andrés held it and emerged with more soldiers behind him. His expression was as shattered as Kaden’s.

  “You killed my comrades,” Andrés said. “You should have let me die with them.” He lowered the sword and swung his fist, sending his father stumbling toward me.

  A line of blood ran from the corner of the Viceregent’s mouth. I kicked the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees, and yanked on his hair so his eyes jerked up to meet mine.

  “You killed my brother,” I said, my face drawing close to his. “He and every good man with him were massacred. They had no chance.” There was no mistaking the dangerous strain in my voice and I saw fear flash through his eyes. “
They were outnumbered five to one because you sent word ahead. I buried them all, Viceregent. I dug graves until my hands bled while you were here sipping wine and conspiring to kill more.”

  I whipped back to face the lords. “This is the man who sent my brother and thirty-two soldiers to their deaths! He is the one who poisoned my father! He is the one who led his rat’s nest of conspirators to plot against us all!” I looked back at him, my knife pressing against his neck. “You’re going to die, Lord Viceregent, for your crimes against Morrighan, and if we don’t get to my brothers and their squads in time, you will die slowly. That is my promise to you.”

  He looked at me, his eyes defiant again. He whispered low so no one else would hear, “I have an agreement with the Komizar. I may spare whichever lives I choose.”

  I smiled. “An agreement? The Komizar chose his fools well.”

  “It’s too late,” he said, still denying the reversal of our fortunes. “You can’t stop us. But I could—”

  “You’re right about only one thing, Lord Viceregent. It is too late. For you. I have done exactly what you always feared. I have exposed the wicked.”

  I stared at him, my breath seething, and I let go of his head. My blood-soaked bandage left a bright red stain against his white-blond hair. “Lock him up,” I said, and Rafe’s soldiers dragged him away. The room grew hot, my head light.

  “Lock them all up,” I ordered, waving at the rest of the cabinet. “And the Citadelle Guard. I’ll parse out later which of them is innocent and fit to serve.”

  A lord stood. “You have no authority to order high-level—”

  Rafe cut him short. “Princess Lia is ruling Morrighan for the time being. She can order anything she wants.”

  A flurry of objections erupted, Lord Gowan’s rising above them all. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, this is not your kingdom, nor is it your decision to make. You are suggesting anarchy. Protocol and Morrighese law dictate that—”

  “Until my husband recovers, my daughter assumes the position of king’s regent and will appoint her own cabinet.”

  The room snapped silent, every head turning toward the queen on the balcony. She looked at me and nodded, guilt shimmering in her eyes. “Jezelia is now carrying out the king’s judgments. She is a soldier in his army and will be true to his wishes.” She looked pointedly at Lord Gowan. “Does anyone object to this?”

  Before he could answer, Andrés called out “Jezelia” and fell to one knee. One by one, the soldiers with him did the same—a vote, a public count and long-ago tradition I had heard of but never witnessed. The soldiers in the north hall did the same, and the rumble of my name rolled through the room. Jezelia. The sister of their fallen comrade. My mother, and those on the balcony around her did the same, repeating the name I had never heard publicly on their lips. Half a dozen lords followed suit.

  “It’s decided, then,” my mother said, rising again, and Lord Gowan and the rest of the lords reluctantly nodded. In a matter of minutes, their world had been turned upside down. The upheaval was only beginning.

  I stepped forward, their faces blurring in and out of focus, the floor shifting unevenly. “Exposing the traitors is only the beginning of the work ahead of us,” I said. I heard my words, echoing in a strange, remote way, and then the sound of my knife clattering to the floor. “The conclave is not adjourned. You need to know exactly what we’re facing—and what we need to do to survive. We’ll reconvene again tomorrow, but for now, I—”

  I wasn’t sure if I finished my last sentence. The last thing I remembered was Rafe’s arm slipping around my waist and my feet lifting from the floor.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  I heard weeping.

  Felt the sweep of soft hands across my forehead.

  The scent of roses.

  Weeping.

  The trickle of water.

  The whisper of doors opening.

  Hushed voices.

  A cool wet cloth on my brow.

  Numb tugging on my arm.

  Will she lose it?

  Something sweet on my tongue. Warmth.

  I’ll keep the next watch. Go.

  A heavy throb in my chest.

  Guarded footsteps.

  Weeping. Husky and strained.

  The slithering of a beast, the flick of its tail.

  I’m coming for you. It is not over.

  I opened my eyes. The room was dark. My room. A log glowed in the hearth. Heavy drapes were drawn across windows, and I wasn’t sure what time it was or how long I’d been out.

  I turned my head. Kaden was slumped in a chair next to me, his feet propped on a stool, his head leaning back like he’d been asleep, but his eyes focused on me now as if the mere opening of my lids had wakened him. My hand was elevated on a pillow, heavy, a numb throb pulsing beneath the fresh bandages. I wore a soft nightgown.

  “Dear gods,” I groaned, remembering my last moments in the hall, “please don’t tell me I fainted in front of everyone.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Passed out. There’s a difference. It happens when you lose enough blood to fill a bucket. You’re not immortal, you know? I don’t know how you stayed on your feet as long as you did. If it’s any comfort, I think a few of the lords fainted just watching you carried out of the room.”

  Carried. Rafe carried me. I wondered where he was now. I glanced toward the outer chamber.

  “He’s taking care of a few things with his soldiers,” Kaden offered, reading my mind.

  “Oh,” I said simply. For someone who had traveled thousands of miles with a highly trained squad to help me, he seemed to be keeping his distance from me. Even back at the armory, he had sent someone else to break down our door.

  “Who did this?” I asked, lifting my bandaged hand.

  “Your mother and aunts and a physician—one called from the village. The court physician is locked up. So are the others.”

  I heard the catch in his tone.

  Others. And one in particular.

  I reached out with my good hand and held his. “How are you doing?” I asked gingerly.

  He looked at me, hesitating, the pained expression in his eyes returning. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Just before I walked into that hall, I thought I was going to be sick. Sick like a little schoolboy.”

  I heard the disgust in his voice. “There is no shame in that, Kaden.”

  “I’m not ashamed. Just angry that he could still do that to me. I couldn’t even recognize myself. I didn’t realize what seeing him after all this time would do to me.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how one person can be so afraid and so full of rage at the same time.”

  I understood completely. I was still afraid, still angry, but mostly right now I was aching for everything I saw in Kaden’s face.

  He paused, a deep breath filling his chest, his nostrils flaring. “He hadn’t changed. Even then, when he looked at me, all he saw was a liability. In that moment, if he could have sold me off for another coin, he would have. I felt like an eight-year-old boy again.”

  I squeezed his hand. “You’re not a boy, Kaden. You’re a man. He can’t harm you anymore.”

  “I know.” His brows pulled together. “But look at how many others he’s hurt. Andrés … he’s worse off than me. Maybe I was lucky to be tossed out when I was. He can’t get his mind to grasp what happened, that men in his company that he trusted with his life were betrayed by his own father.” He looked up at me. “He was half crazed when he rode out with scouts to find your brothers and their squads.”

  “Did you—”

  “Yes, Rafe and Sven interrogated the prisoners. They got nothing. And we sent four different units riding the fastest Ravians. You were still issuing orders when Rafe laid you on the bed, and those were just two of them.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Most of your words were mumbled, and Rafe finally told you to shut up and listen to the physician.”

  “Di
d I?”

  “You passed out again. I guess that’s listening.”

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Past midnight.”

  He told me what had transpired after I passed out, most of which he had learned from my aunt Bernette. The entire citadelle had been bustling awake through most of the night. After leaving me, my mother had seen to my father. She had him moved back to their marriage chamber and threw out all medicines the court physician had ordered for him. He was bathed and given herbal drinks to flush his system. Kaden didn’t know enough about the poisoning effects of golden thannis to know if it would help. Vendans knew not to touch it. Just a nibble could bring down a horse. Andrés had recovered, but he was young and healthy and hadn’t been poisoned over a long period of time the way my father had. I worried that it might be too late to reverse the effects of the poison and my father would be trapped in a foggy stupor for the rest of his life. I worried that it might be too late for everything.

  “Will all this be enough, Kaden?”

  “To stop the Komizar? I don’t know. I think the rule Rafe threw your way is shaky—even with your mother’s nod of support.”

  I saw it too. Parading a First Daughter out for ceremony was one thing, having her rule the kingdom was another. The troops Andrés marched into the hall with had supported me, but the majority of the lords weren’t convinced.

  “I think your lords are still dubious about the threat,” he added.

  I didn’t expect anything else. They had a lifetime of believing that Morrighan was the chosen Remnant and nothing could bring it down. “I’ll convince them,” I said, “and prepare them to oppose Venda.”

  “Then what? As much as we both want to stop the Komizar, I can’t forget I’m still Vendan.”

  His eyes searched mine, worried. “I know, Kaden.” His fears renewed my own. “But we both need to remember that there are two Vendas. The Komizar’s Venda that’s on its way here to destroy us, and the one that we both love. Somehow, together, we have to make this work.”

  But I wasn’t sure how. We both knew the Komizar and Council would never back down. The prize was in their sight, and they intended to have it. It’s my turn now to dine on sweet grapes in winter. I lay there, Kaden’s hand still in mine, the coals of the hearth dimming, my lids growing heavy, the future swirling behind them, and I heard the soft moans again. This time, I knew it wasn’t my mother or my aunts I heard weeping. These cries came from far away, past a savanna, beyond a great river, past rocky hills and barren glens. These cries came from the clans of Venda. He had slaughtered more for whispering the name Jezelia.