by M. J. Scott
“Your Imperial Majesty! The rules of diplomacy state that—”
“The rules of diplomacy, my lord, are precisely what I wish them to be. In this case, I choose not to let them be a shield for a criminal to hide behind. If indeed a criminal is to be found amongst your party.” Aristides beckoned to Imogene. “Major du Laq, did your mages find anything of interest?”
Imogene came forward. “Yes, Eleivé, we did.” She unfastened a leather pouch hanging from the belt of her jacket and withdrew a handful of round white objects. Each one was marked with a black symbol that Sophie shouldn’t have recognized—she had never seen such marks before—but part of her mind whispered “scriptii.” The knowledge Elarus had imparted was there after all, even if she couldn’t use any of it yet. “These were found in Sevan Allowood’s room. Well-hidden.”
“Liar!” Sevan shrieked. “Witch liar. You and your demon-loving kind are the only ones who could produce such things.”
Sophie felt the chill rising off the scriptii. Much like the chill she had felt every time she had been near Sevan, she realized suddenly. She had thought it the effect of the obvious dislike he held for her. The fact that he might have a scriptii had never entered her head. “Your Imperial Majesty,” she said. “I have seen a scriptii, or the remnants of one, in Anglion.”
Aristides arched an eyebrow, as though inquiring what this had to do with Sevan.
Sophie plunged on. “I can feel them. Scriptii. Water magic, I guess. They feel cold to me. Sanctii, too. Those are worse, of course. At the ball, I felt cold near Sevan. I didn’t think anything of it then. I wasn’t looking for scriptii. Not on an Anglion. But it could have been. It felt like one.”
“Is this possible, Maistre?” Aristides asked.
Henri, who had been staring at Sophie as she spoke, turned back to the emperor. He nodded. “Mages can have different sensitivities to the different arts, Your Imperial Majesty. I was unaware of Lady Scardale’s, but there is no reason to doubt what she says.”
Imogene nodded agreement.
“I have seen my wife do this, Your Imperial Majesty,” Cameron said. “In the palace at Kingswell. The mages there said the same thing about what she was feeling.”
“Leaving aside the matter of why a scriptii might be in your queen’s palace, which we will return to, Lord Scardale, I am satisfied that your wife is telling the truth. Imogene, a scriptii could have summoned the sanctii in the ballroom?”
Imogene nodded. “Yes, Eleivé. And if it was on the Anglion, then we would not have been looking for it.”
Sevan lunged forward suddenly, face twisted. He didn’t make it very far before Ikarus appeared and tackled him to the ground. Sevan writhed and screamed, the sweat on his face pronounced.
“He looks sick,” Sophie said to Imogene. “He’s sweating. Could he have taken something? Poison? If he thought he might be found out?”
Imogene looked at her sharply, then turned back toward the guards. “Fetch a healer. Quickly.” She ran across to where Ikarus held Sevan, muttered a string of low words, and placed a hand on Sevan’s head. He stopped struggling and went still.
“Major?” Aristides said, staring at Sevan with distaste.
“Poison, Eleivé. I believe I have stayed its course.”
Aristides gaze sharpened. “Good. Do not let him die, Imogene.”
“No, Eleivé,” she muttered, looking exasperated.
“And while you’re there, perhaps you would be so good as to examine his thigh. The right one, was it, Lady Scardale?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Imogene produced a small knife and neatly slit Sevan’s trousers open. There was a gash on his upper thigh that looked fresh to Sophie’s eyes.
“So,” Aristides said. “It seems we have found at least one of the conspirators.”
“Your Imperial Majesty, I swear I knew nothing of this. After all, I was the one attacked at the ballroom,” Barron Deepholt said, his face ashen. Beside him, James was staring at Sevan with something akin to disgust. Sir Harold merely looked ill.
The barron had a point, of course. He had been attacked. Though, if Sevan had been behind the attack in the ballroom, it seemed likely it had been designed to cast suspicion on her, she realized. Give the Illvyans a reason to send her home, perhaps? The barron could have been part of such a ploy.
“As to that, my mages will determine the truth. You will be questioned. You have my word that you will not be harmed if you are innocent, and that you will be returned to your ship and free to leave. If you are not, then you will be subject to the laws of this land. As will your secretary and the others on your ships.”
The barron bowed acceptance. Sophie couldn’t see that he had any other choice.
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. I do not understand why Sevan would—” He broke off. Whether because he didn’t know what more to say or whether he thought it would be pointless to offer any defense of Sevan’s actions, Sophie couldn’t have said.
“Ah.” Aristides expression eased a little. “Louis?”
The major domo approached, bearing a letter. “Eleivé.” He deposited the letter in the emperor’s outstretched hands.
“Perhaps I can shed some light. The document I hold is one of the messages that arrived on your second ship. It has taken me some time to confirm its contents, but it was addressed to your secretary. I will assume he did not share its contents with you, my lord. A pity. It seems not all has been peaceful in Anglion during your time here. There has been a breakout of some illness in the district of your Barron Nester. Quite virulent. It seems the barron and his younger brother sadly did not survive it. Nor did most of their household. Your secretary was kin to the barron, I believe?”
Barron Deepholt nodded slowly.
Sophie stood frozen. Kiaran Allowood dead? And his brother? But that meant that she . . . . She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to maintain some calm. Cameron had stiffened beside her when Aristides had made his announcement.
Something was very wrong in Anglion. Though her more immediate concern was when Aristides had obtained the letter. How long was the “some time” it had taken him to confirm the news?
“Perhaps he was afflicted by his grief,” Barron Deepholt ventured. “Not in his right mind.”
“Perhaps,” Aristides said judiciously. “That remains to be seen. But I believe you will accompany Colonel Perrine now and submit to our questions. If you satisfy him, then you will be returned to your ship. You will return to Anglion. You will take my condolences to Queen Eloisa on the loss of two of her heirs. And convey Lady Scardale’s regrets that she will not be returning to Anglion. Another blow, I’m sure. And Barron Deepholt?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty?” The barron seemed to have shrunk half a foot.
“You will also reiterate to Her Majesty that the Scardales stand under my protection. And that I take that very seriously. Perhaps you will be able to use your experience to convince her of that.”
The barron bowed so deeply that he risked knocking his head on the floor. “Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Sophie had to grant him some points for maintaining a semblance of grace under pressure. She wasn’t sure she would be able to remain calm if she was about to be dragged off to be interrogated by the Imperial Guard. She devoutly wished she never had cause to find out.
The room seemed very quiet as the Anglions were escorted out, only the sound of booted heels on marble breaking the silence.
When they were out of earshot, all attention turned back to the emperor.
Aristides shifted on his throne. “So, Lady Scardale, let me be the first to offer my felicitations.”
“Felicitations, Your Imperial Majesty?”
“Barron Nester was above you in the line of succession, was he not? He and his brother. You have moved up in the world.”
Sophie gestured at her robes. “That hardly seems relevant anymore, Your Imperial Majesty. The Anglions are not going to accept an Illvyan-trained
mage as their queen even if something should happen to Queen Eloisa. Besides, there are others still above me.”
“Your crown princess? Who has shown no power and no ability to bear heirs? Or the cousin? What is her name?”
“Penelope Fairley, Your Imperial Majesty,” Cameron supplied in a voice that sounded half-strangled. Was he only just now starting to do the math in his head?
“Yes. Her. Past childbearing, as I understand it. Also with little power. And though I understand that by some reckonings your crown princess’ husband could inherit, I do not think that is a move the Anglion court would accept if others of the royal line live. No, Lady Scardale, I believe that, until your queen remarries and has children, you are the next most likely candidate to hold the throne of Anglion should it stand vacant.”
“Then I wish that the goddess may grant Her Majesty the gift of children,” Sophie blurted. As soon as possible, she refrained from adding.
“It may not be that simple,” Aristides said, and Sophie’s blood chilled.
“Your Imperial Majesty?”
“Someone is playing dangerous games in Anglion, Lady Scardale. They tried to kill you. They seem to have succeeded in killing Barron Nester. Not to mention eliminating King Stefan and half your nobility in the attack on the palace at Kingswell.”
Aristides, it seemed, was far better informed about Anglion than she had thought. It was a realization that was not comforting. Though she should not forget that one of the prime candidates for pulling the strings and sowing discord in Anglion was Aristides himself.
“Someone is manipulating your succession. Your very throne, perhaps. And that is a situation I find displeasing. Your country and mine have ignored each other fairly well for some time now. Anglion is of little strategic significance to us, after all. Though, granted, it is a country rich in resources. But whoever is behind these goings-on seems to have access to a water mage. And an Anglion with its own water mages may be a different proposition for the empire. It would not do for someone with such power to have the mind to start a rebellion against me. Or to try and claim territories on the mainland.”
“I doubt such a thing has crossed Queen Eloisa’s mind,” Sophie said truthfully, grateful that she managed to speak without her voice trembling. Eloisa had never spoken of conquest. It was a rumble that had moved through the court a time or two under King Stefan, but anyone with half a brain dismissed such a scheme as absurd. Anglion was safest in isolation. The empire would respond to any encroachment with force Anglion couldn’t hope to match. Nothing good could come of that confrontation.
“Your queen seems to be failing to protect her subjects,” Aristides said. “Whether through a lack of ability or whether she is being manipulated, that fact seems unarguable. If she cannot keep her own heirs alive, then her reign is doomed.”
“She is new to the throne, Your Imperial Majesty. And come to power in difficult times,” Sophie said.
“Still, she should be able to prevent assassins making their way onto her diplomatic parties. Either she is being manipulated or her own attempts to play politics with her delegation fell short.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“I believe Sevan Allowood was sent as a fallback, Lady Scardale. To kill you, if you could not be persuaded to return. Perhaps he will reveal the reason why when he is interrogated or perhaps he will not. But the fact remains that someone in Anglion seems to want you dead and your country unstable. I find myself in disagreement with both those choices. Your country needs a strong queen, Lady Scardale. One who can settle these matters. One who can perhaps bring a final peace between our countries and undo some of the less desirable aspects that have developed in yours.”
Her mouth had turned dry as dust. Surely he didn’t mean . . . . “You cannot be serious.”
“I rarely joke, Lady Scardale.”
She was going to faint. She was sure of it. She definitely couldn’t speak.
“I will make myself plain. Lady Scardale. It seems that Anglion may be in need of a new queen. I am of a mind to give her one should the situation continue to deteriorate. Which leaves you with one question to answer, my lady. Will you take the crown if I offer it?”
She tried to form the words “absolutely not” but the muscles of her throat were locked with shock and the denial would not come. All she could do was stand there, frozen, beside Cameron, eyes locked with Aristides’. And, as the uproar the emperor’s invitation caused faded to mere background, she knew only that, once again, her world had shifted beneath her, sending her tumbling once more into chaos. And that she had no idea whatsoever what to do next.
Want more Four Arts books?
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The next book will be The Unbound Queen
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About the Author
M.J Scott is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who are understanding of her story addiction. When not wrestling one of her own stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. To keep in touch, find out about new releases and other news (and receive an exclusive freebie) sign up to her newsletter. She also writes contemporary romance as Melanie Scott and Emma Douglas.
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Also by M.J. Scott
Urban fantasy
The Wild Side series
The Day You Went Away*
The Wolf Within
The Dark Side
*A free short story that’s a prequel to The Wolf Within
* * *
Dark romantic fantasy
The Four Arts series
The Shattered Court
The Half-Light City series
Shadow Kin
Blood Kin
Iron Kin
Fire Kin
Excerpt from Shadow Kin
Chapter One
The wards sparked in front of me, faint violet against the dark wooden door with its heavy brass locks, proclaiming the house’s protection. They wouldn’t stop me. No one has yet made the lock or ward to keep me out. Magic cannot detect me, and brick and stone and metal are no barrier.
It’s why I’m good at what I do.
A grandfather clock in the hall chimed two as I stepped into the shadow, entering the place only my kind can walk and passing through the door as though it wasn’t there. Outside came the echoing toll of the cathedral bell, much louder here in Greenglass than in the Night World boroughs I usually frequent.
I’d been told that the one I was to visit lived alone. But I prefer not to believe everything I’m told. After all, I grew up among the Blood and the powers of the Night World, where taking things on faith is a quick way to die.
Besides, bystanders only make things complicated.
But tonight, I sensed I was alone as I moved carefully through the darkened rooms. The house had an elegant simplicity. The floors were polished wood, softened by fine wool rugs, and paintings hung on the unpapered walls. Plants flourished on any spare flat surface, tingeing the air with the scent of growth and life. I hoped someone would save them after my task here was completed. The Fae might deny me the Veiled World, but the part of me that comes from them shares their affinity for green growing things.
Apart from the damp greenness of the plants, there was only one other dominant scent in the air. Human. Male. Warm and spicy.
Alive. Live around the Blood for long enough and you become very aware of the differences between living and dead. No other fresh sm
ell mingled with his. No cats or dogs. Just fading hints of an older female gone for several hours. Likely a cook or housekeeper who didn’t live in.
I paused at the top of the staircase, counting doors carefully. Third on the left. A few more strides. I cocked my head, listening.
There.
Ever so faint, the thump of a human heartbeat. Slow. Even.
Asleep.
Good. Asleep is easier.
I drifted through the bedroom door and paused again. The room was large, walled on one side with floor-to-ceiling windows unblocked by any blind. Expensive, that much glass. Moonlight streamed through the panes, making it easy to see the man lying in the big bed.
I didn’t know what he’d done. I never ask. The blade doesn’t question the direction of the cut. Particularly when the blade belongs to Lucius. Lucius doesn’t like questions.
I let go of the shadow somewhat. I was not yet truly solid, but enough that, if he were to wake, he would see my shape by the bed like the reflection of a dream. Or a nightmare.
The moonlight washed over his face, silvering skin and fading hair to shades of gray, making it hard to tell what he might look like in daylight. Tall, yes. Well formed if the arm and chest bared by the sheet he’d pushed away in sleep matched the rest of him.
Not that it mattered. He’d be beyond caring about his looks in a few minutes. Beyond caring about anything.
The moon made things easier even though, in the shadow, I see well in very little light. Under the silvered glow I saw the details of the room as clearly as if the gas lamps on the walls were alight.
The windows posed little risk. The town house stood separated from its neighbors by narrow strips of garden on each side and a much larger garden at the rear. There was a small chance someone in a neighboring house might see something, but I’d be long gone before they could raise an alarm.