* * *
By the time I’d eaten my midday meal, the silence and waiting had me pacing around my bed. I studied the jars on the shelf but didn’t touch any—the guards watched my every move. I peeked behind the partially drawn curtains, but all I caught a glimpse of before a guard cleared his throat was a rose garden with blooms beginning to unfurl.
When Yesilia finally returned, her mouth was pulled into a frown. She came right over to me, patted my hand gently, then left through the small door at the back—her personal chambers, I assumed—and clicked the door shut.
My sigh rang through the hall, and I sat on my neatly made bed. But only a few minutes later, a young boy stepped inside and approached me hesitantly.
“Miss Aleinn is invited to speak to His Majesty, King Marko. Does she accept this invitation?”
My heart jumped. The guards didn’t acknowledge me. Yesilia hadn’t said not to leave, so I replied, “Yes, that is agreeable. Thank you.”
I eased off the bed and started to follow the boy, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in my filthy skirt as I went, but Yesilia bustled out of the smaller room with a bundle in her arms. “Wait, child.”
The boy continued through the door, and the two guards left with him, though I was sure they weren’t far outside. She set her load on a bed near the fire and waved me over. “You can’t see the king with blood on you.”
The clothes she’d set on the bed weren’t mine. “If I could wear my—”
She flicked her fingers, brushing my words away.
“But—”
“There’s no time for a bath, so this will have to do.” She shook out a yellow blouse and a long blue skirt. I shimmied into the blouse and belted the skirt around my waist. The soft fabric flowed almost to my ankles and was beautiful, but I couldn’t get used to the bright colors that were common here. I insisted on my boots instead of the Turians’ more traditional sheepskin shoes. Yesilia’s eyebrows drew together, but she relented, bringing my boots—and my ring, sword, and knife.
“And my book?” I asked a little desperately.
She tapped her finger against the side of her head, went back into her room, and brought it to me. I breathed a sigh as I wrapped my fingers around it, and it went straight into my pocket. “Thank you,” I whispered.
She tilted her head—she had to have looked in it, seen it was blank. Ren’s name was too faded to be noticed by someone who didn’t know it was there. I didn’t care if she wondered why I carried around a blank book.
Yesilia tapped my shoulder. “Letting you carry your weapons is a courtesy,” she said as I laced my boots and tucked the knife in. “It took some convincing to get Marko to treat you as a guest. Don’t waste my efforts.”
She gathered my clothes and took them into her room. I snapped my jaw shut. She’d been gone…negotiating on my behalf? I ran my fingers through my hair, twisting the braid back and tucking it under Irena’s scarf. A quick check in a small mirror by the fireplace, and I was as ready as I could be.
The door wasn’t locked, and when I left, the same boy waited for me, and all four guards escorted me through the corridors of the palace. Everything here shone like it had spent a lovely day in the sun. Beautiful mosaics of colorful tiles lined the polished floor, with pots growing plants inside. High ceilings and delicate stonework arched overhead. I was so focused on the stunning details of the palace I tripped down a small step.
Luc waited at the doors of the throne room. “I’ll need your weapons, please.”
I slowly unbuckled my sword, brow furrowed. They gave me my weapons, only to take them away again? That didn’t seem like courtesy to me. I handed it over.
Luc grunted at my ring. I rolled my eyes and handed it over as well. “Don’t lose that,” I whispered.
He raised an eyebrow and waited. I let out a huff and took the knife from my boot and laid it in his hands. In Hálendi, you could be presented to the king with your weapons—it was expected, even. Then again, every courtier in the room would have been armed. My father most of all—with his magic.
“That’s all I have, I swear.” I thought I saw his lip twitch, but his face was stony as I passed through a large set of doors. He followed me in, carrying my weapons, and my four guards took up position around me.
The room was grand but nearly empty. Archers watched from the upper balcony, and on the main level, next to gold banners hanging all the way from the high ceiling to the polished stone floor, guards stood with swords drawn. A raised dais at the far end held two figures—the king, seated, and his son, standing tall next to him, his hands clasped behind. I couldn’t help but notice his confident stance, the fine fabric of his crisp shirt, the gold embroidered vest, and the gold cuff just above his elbow that signified his status as prince heir. He’d definitely grown into the family nose.
A small group of advisors sat on gilded chairs at the base of the dais, all wearing what looked like long robes that were open at the front, revealing their shirts and trousers or skirts underneath.
I marched toward the king, keeping to the middle of the four guards. In a pinch, they’d serve as protection against any nervous bowmen.
As I approached the dais, I slowed and bowed with my hand fisted at my shoulder, then dropped to one knee. I probably should have curtsied, since I was in a skirt, but it was too late now. My mind flew through different scenarios, each one worse than the last.
“You may rise.” The king’s voice was deeper than I expected. He wasn’t thin, but he didn’t have the bulk or harsh lines of my father. He seemed almost soft. But then I noticed his eyes—sharp and clear, as if they saw everything.
“My son has told me that you claimed to be traveling from Hálendi into our kingdom to visit a friend. Is that correct?”
I spoke carefully. “That is what I told your son, yes.”
Murmurs rippled through the advisors, and their haughty stares burned into me. That, at least, I was familiar with.
King Marko’s lips twitched, and he tilted his head. “My son has also told me he thinks you weren’t being entirely truthful with him.”
“Your son has good judgment.” The king’s lips twitched again with a glance at Teren—Enzo. My palms began to sweat. Had I given something away?
“Would you care to enlighten us as to what actually happened?”
I nodded. He asked for what had happened, not who I was. “I was part of Princess Jennesara’s caravan on the way to meet her betrothed, Your Majesty.” Truth. I needed to keep it simple. “We had been traveling in the Wild for almost two days when we were attacked.” I tucked my hands into the folds of my full skirt to hide their trembling.
“Filthy men wearing tattered brown uniforms came out of the Wild and surrounded us, along with a magic wielder in a gray cloak on a gray horse.” I took a deep breath and forced myself to continue. To remember what I’d tucked away. “The mage immobilized everyone in the clearing, told us the Hálendian rulers were dead, and then he…he slit her throat.” I felt my grief slipping out before I could pull it back in. “Before I could get to her. Before I could do anything,” I whispered.
The mage had said something to her. His lips moved in my memory, almost clear enough that I could make it out.
An advisor in a garish purple robe coughed, drawing me out of the memory.
“General Leland, who was leading the party, saw a chance for me to escape and pushed me into the forest.” I paused and felt my eyes slipping toward the prince’s, but forced myself to focus on the king. “The mage did not seem like one who would leave any survivors.”
King Marko leaned to one side, his elbow on the arm of his throne, and rested his chin in his hand. This was the moment Yesilia had spoken of. Don’t waste it, I told myself.
“I failed to protect her, Your Majesty. I would like your permission to stay so I can find a way to defeat the mage.”
He stood, drawing every eye. Every eye except Enzo’s. His gaze hadn’t left me since I’d entered the room.
“I agree that you should stay,” was all he said before turning and passing through a door behind the dais, his golden robe billowing behind him. Enzo followed him.
My stomach turned into a ball of writhing snakes. Had I failed? He hadn’t said where I’d stay. Would it be in the dungeon? Luc came to me and took me by the elbow. But instead of leading me back the way we came, he took me to a side door and through a small, dark hall that widened, not to the entrance of the dungeon, but to another room. The king’s study.
Marko already sat behind his desk, his gilded robe hanging from a hook by the door.
Enzo sat in one chair facing his father’s desk, and the king gestured for me to take the other. Luc stood between us. He had my weapons, but didn’t return them. Marko’s guard was stationed just outside the door, and I was glad we would keep this conversation as private as possible.
“The mage attacked two days into the Wild?” Marko started the interrogation.
“Yes.” I clasped my hands in my lap. “It was on our second day in the Wild.”
Marko studied what looked like a map spread over his desk. “Still within Hálendi’s borders, then.”
Enzo shifted in his chair to face me. “Your general pushed you into the Wild? That’s not an escape. That’s a death writ.”
I stared at my hands, rubbing the strip of white on my finger where my ring had been. “I wish I had stayed and fought,” I whispered.
King Marko pursed his lips as he weighed my words. “I have heard of your skill with a sword, but would that be enough to stop a magic wielder?”
“I have weapons suited to fighting magic, Your Majesty. They were given to me to better protect the princess.” The king leaned forward, so I continued. “The ring absorbs magic, and the sword expels it. I do not know much more, only how to use them.”
“My son also says you were attacked by shadowmen.”
Enzo stretched his leg in front of him, and I struggled to keep my thoughts focused on our conversation and not on him—my betrothed. He didn’t look upset at all that I’d held back from him, just curious. And maybe a little hopeful that I’d be his proof of Turia’s innocence.
But Hálendi couldn’t know I’d survived. Not yet.
“One of them chased me in the Wild, but the Wild…protected me.” I shuddered.
“Protected you?” Luc said from behind me. “The Wild?”
I folded my arms and rocked back in my chair. “It…I don’t think I can explain it,” I said. Would Marko prod for more information? Would he believe me if I told him?
After a long pause, the king said, “Tell me about the shadowmen.”
I released my pent-up breath. “I only know that they can wield magic, their black blades are poisoned”—Luc shifted behind me but didn’t interrupt—“and I’ve killed four. I don’t know how many there are, or where they come from, but I imagine they are a creation of the mage.”
There was a long pause after I finished my narrative. I sat stiffly in the chair and didn’t fidget.
Marko leaned forward, piercing me with his sharp eyes. “The Hálendians claim we are responsible for the princess’s death, as well as the deaths of Shraeus and the prince heir. Do you know why they say that?”
“The mage said you had sent him, Your Majesty.”
And if the Hálendian council knew that, it meant someone else had survived.
He tilted his head. “And do you believe that?”
I paused and considered my next words carefully. “Everything I’ve learned since entering your kingdom, the people I’ve spoken with, the long history of peace with Hálendi, and your personal friendship with King Shraeus, gives you little motivation to initiate a betrothal just to start a war.”
Marko raised an eyebrow.
“If you had wanted to get out of the betrothal, you would have bargained your way out of it, and probably come off a lot richer.” I shrugged.
Marko smiled. “You are correct to assume I did not order the assassinations. But if you had come here and found out I was responsible?”
Luc and Enzo both tensed.
I blinked. “I would have avenged my king.” I said it looking straight at Marko, but he didn’t flinch.
“And now?”
“Now I want to figure out how to destroy the mage.” I leaned against the armrest, my stitches itching in my side.
“But why do you want to stay in Turiana?” Marko asked.
“I’ve heard your library has the most extensive collection on magic.”
“Yes, but even so, you think you can defeat him?”
I nodded once. “I’ve seen the mage, seen his face. I’ve fought his shadowmen twice and won. I know how they fight, how they attack. If I could find something to give me an edge, I believe I could win.”
“You barely lived through your last encounter with a shadowman,” Enzo interjected.
I met his gaze. “I watched the mage kill those around me. I have nothing to lose. And besides, who else stands a chance against him?”
Enzo stared at me, searching my eyes, assessing.
Marko spoke again. “How do I know you aren’t an assassin sent by Hálendi to end the war before it begins?”
Enzo didn’t speak up to defend me, and neither did Luc. I started to sweat. I hadn’t killed them on the way to Turiana, but I hadn’t known who they were, either. And my weapons would suggest I was more than just a guard.
The king didn’t speak, waiting for my defense.
I scoured my brain for something I could tell him that was the truth but wouldn’t reveal my identity. My gaze snapped to his, and I hoped he really did have magic to discern the truth, because otherwise I had no proof.
“I’ve never killed anyone before.”
A slow smile grew on Marko’s face, and he leaned back in his chair. “Even with such fine weapons?”
Ice and snow, I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not. Was he testing me? Or teasing me? I smoothed out my skirt as my mind raced. “Hálendi’s ambassador, Lord Ernir, could vouch for me.” He would reveal my identity, but that would be better than being locked in the dungeon.
Unless it brought the mage to Marko’s door.
“The ambassador was called home over a month ago and is no longer here,” Marko responded with narrowed eyes. “Which is unfortunate, considering we could have used him to communicate with Hálendi.”
My brows pulled down. “He never returned. And as far as I know, he wasn’t called back. He couldn’t have been, with the snows still pounding the Fjalls.”
Unless it had been in the first message sent with my father’s acceptance of the betrothal visit. But that didn’t make sense, either. Having an ambassador within Turia’s palace would only help the wedding negotiations go faster. Where would the ambassador have gone?
I rubbed the fabric of my skirt, waiting for the king’s decision. Would he believe what I’d said even though I’d concealed much of the truth?
Marko steepled his fingers under his chin and pondered my statement for what seemed like ages. “Yesilia vouched for you.”
Next to me, Enzo sucked in a breath. But what did that mean, she vouched for me? “The…the healer, Your Majesty?” I asked.
He started rolling up the map on his desk. “She claimed we would be wise to keep you close, not only as a defense if the mage ever attacks here, but also because we are at war with your people.” He tied the map and scooted it to the edge, then leaned his elbows on the clean surface. “And as I couldn’t talk her out of it, and as Yesilia is my mother, I rarely deny her r
equests.”
My breath hitched. His mother? Marko was spinning his web around me, one gossamer strand at a time, tossing and turning me until I didn’t know which way was up and was too trapped to ever escape.
“So, Miss Aleinn, you will stay with her, you will do as she says, and if you step out of line even once, you will be locked away in chains until we find a better use for you. Are we in agreement?”
I scrambled to catch up. I believed that Marko hadn’t sent the mage. But then who was the mage working with, and why had the blame been tossed on Turia? I couldn’t go back to Hálendi with a mage and a traitor loose, and, as a Hálendian here, I’d never be accepted outside the palace. I had no other options, so if staying with Yesilia meant I could find a way to stop the mage, I’d do whatever the king asked of me.
“We are in agreement, Your Majesty,” I hurried to say, with a fist to my shoulder. Best of all, I wasn’t going to the dungeon—as long as I did what Yesilia said.
I wasn’t exactly sure what the king had in mind when he’d said I’d be under Yesilia’s care, but scrubbing pots was not it. She had me cleaning every bowl, spoon, and pot in the healer’s chambers, and I’d been sent from his study just yesterday. She’d made no mention of allowing me into the library, and I hadn’t found a way to bring it up yet. But I’d need to find a way there soon, even if I had to sneak out at night.
“Did you know you have a visitor, Your Majesty?” I asked Yesilia as I rinsed the scrubbing brush in a pail of filthy black water.
She set the bowl she’d been drying on a stack on the table next to us.
“I am just Yesilia now, child. My father’s reign was long, and the throne passed from him to my firstborn,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. “Now, what’s this you say about a visitor?”
I pointed with the brush to an empty bed near the fireplace. “Underneath.”
Yesilia’s hands went to her hips, and a girl, maybe eight or nine years old, popped out from under the frame.
“Mari!” Yesilia chided, though she laughed when she said it. “Did you escape your nurse again?”
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