She wanted to meet me.
Shock spiked through my body, but it was quickly replaced by panic. I opened my mouth to tell him that I couldn’t go up there, but Cho clamped his hand on my arm and marched me forward. It would look far more suspicious if I tried to wrench free and run away, so I had no choice but to follow him.
Cho pushed through one of the gates in the wall, and we climbed up to the troupe box. In addition to Serilda and Sullivan, Theroux was now standing along one side of the box, along with several kitchen workers clutching trays of food and drinks. Everyone looked tense, and one man’s hands were shaking so badly that the glasses on his tray rattled together.
Serilda gestured for us to form a receiving line, with her first, followed by Sullivan, then Cho, and finally me at the end.
And then we waited.
Vasilia took her sweet time reaching the box, and my worry grew with each passing moment. The second she looked at me, she would realize that her cousin Everleigh wasn’t nearly as dead as she wanted me to be.
I glanced around, searching for an escape route, but there wasn’t one. Even if I hopped over the stone wall that cordoned off the box, I wouldn’t make it down the bleachers, much less out of the arena, before the guards caught me.
I was well and truly stuck—and about to be well and truly dead.
Finally, Vasilia reached the box, along with her entourage. She, Nox, and Felton stepped inside the box, while the guards ringed it on all sides. My heart sank lower. No escape now.
Serilda executed the perfect Bellonan curtsy. “I am Serilda Swanson. Welcome to my humble arena.”
Vasilia let out a light, trilling laugh. “Oh, Serilda. There’s no need for such formality. I recognize you from your many years of service to my mother.”
Serilda held her curtsy a moment longer, as protocol dictated, before rising to her feet. “It was my great honor to serve Queen Cordelia.”
“Of course it was,” Vasilia murmured.
“This is my resident magier, enforcer, and gladiator trainer, Lucas Sullivan.”
She gestured at Sullivan, who stepped forward. Unlike Serilda, he didn’t curtsy but instead pressed his fist to his heart and gave a traditional Andvarian bow. Given the poor relations between the two kingdoms, everyone tensed at the gesture, even Serilda, and the guards dropped their hands to their weapons, ready to defend their treacherous queen.
Sullivan straightened, the faintest hint of a sneer curving his lips, and I realized that he was actually mocking Vasilia. I didn’t know why he was doing it, but in that moment, I fell a little bit in love with him for simply having the courage and audacity to stand up to her, even if it was in this one small way.
Vasilia recognized the gesture as the insult that it truly was, but she waved her hand, telling the guards to stand down. Everyone relaxed except for me. They thought the danger was over, but Vasilia’s sharp smile told me that she was getting ready to gut Sullivan with her words.
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard quite a bit about you and your Andvarian family in recent weeks, Lucas.” Vasilia stepped forward, reached out, and toyed with one of the silver buttons on his coat. “You actually remind me quite a bit of your younger brother Frederich. Although I hadn’t imagined that you would be so handsome. Or so very polite. Then again, I suppose bastard princes have to mind their manners more than most, don’t they?”
Shock blasted through me, drowning out my worry. Bastard prince? Of Andvari?
I thought about that Cardea mirror that I’d seen in his house. He must have talked to the Andvarians, to his family. That’s how he knew that they had nothing to do with the massacre, and that’s why he was mocking Vasilia now.
Sullivan’s eyes glittered like two chips of ice, and a muscle ticked in his jaw, as though he was grinding his teeth to keep from snapping back at her. Vasilia’s smile widened. She knew that she had scored a direct hit with that insult.
I eyed the magier. No wonder he had been so angry when I had mockingly called him princeling. A bastard royal was one of the worst things to be in any kingdom. At Seven Spire, his position would have been even lower than mine.
Vasilia stared at Sullivan, basking in her verbal triumph, then looked at Cho, who also bowed to her, but in the Ryusaman style, tilting his body forward with his hands by his sides.
“Cho Yamato, another one of my mother’s former guards,” Vasilia murmured. “Still stuck to Serilda’s side, eh? I would have thought that you would have grown tired of servicing her by now.”
Servicing her? Did she mean . . . were Cho and Serilda . . . lovers?
I had never seen them so much as touch, let alone do anything more, but Cho’s nostrils flared at Vasilia’s words. So did the ones of the dragon face on his neck, and a bit of ashy smoke wafted out of the creature’s mouth and floated across his skin before fading away.
Vasilia noticed the smoke too, and she pressed her lips together, biting back her next insult. Even she wouldn’t want to fight a dragon morph.
Serilda cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. “And finally, tonight’s champion.”
I tensed, getting ready for the battle to come. As soon as Vasilia realized who I was, she would blast me with her lightning. I would have to reach for my immunity and hope that it would save me from her magic the same way it had before—
Vasilia stepped in front of me and looked directly into my face.
If this had happened before the massacre, I would have ducked my head and slumped down, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible in hopes of avoiding her wrath, just as I had done hundreds of times before.
Not tonight.
For the first time in years, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and stared right back at the bitch. I would not be cowed by her, and I would not hide from her. Never again. Not even if it meant my death here.
My cousin kept staring at me. The longer she looked, the more confusion and apprehension trickled through my body. Why wasn’t she yelling, screaming, and cursing my name? Why wasn’t she ordering the guards to cut me down?
What was she waiting for?
Her gaze lifted, locking onto the stupid black feathers that were still sticking up out of my hair, then swept down, focusing on the blood that coated my hands, arms, and black fighting leathers. Understanding filled me.
She didn’t recognize me.
I wondered how she could have forgotten me so quickly, but then I remembered the black and silver paint on my face. Combine that with the ridiculous feathers, the fighting leathers, and all the blood, and I didn’t look anything like her cousin Everleigh. Not even close. No, I was just a gladiator who had survived a fight to the death. Nothing more, nothing less, and not worth more than a few seconds of her time and attention.
Vasilia stared at the blood on my hands a moment longer, then turned back to Serilda. “I see that you’re still using the black swan as your crest. Isn’t that what the other guards used to call you? Because of all the death that you brought to my mother’s enemies?”
“Something like that,” Serilda murmured.
“Mmm.” Vasilia smiled, but her expression had that sharp edge again. “I was most disappointed not to get an invitation to tonight’s event. The black-ring matches are my favorites. They have been ever since I was a child. Luckily, my men were able to sneak me inside.”
Serilda bowed her head. “Forgive my oversight. I assumed that you would be far too busy dealing with the recent tensions between Bellona and Andvari to attend our humble little show.”
Vasilia’s gaze flicked to Sullivan. “Tensions. Yes.” She focused on Serilda again. “That’s actually what I wanted to speak to you about. And to see the rest of the show. We arrived late, so I didn’t get to watch the acrobats and wire walkers perform.”
Her lips turned down into a pretty pout that I had seen a hundred times before. The one that signaled that you should give Vasilia exactly what she wanted—or else.
Serilda also heard the underlying order in
Vasilia’s words loud and clear. “Of course. Please make yourself comfortable, and enjoy our hospitality.”
She hadn’t even finished speaking before Vasilia swept forward and settled herself in Serilda’s chair, the largest and most comfortable one in the box. Nox smirked at Lucas, then moved forward and sat down in the magier’s chair next to Vasilia. Felton took a seat beside Nox, his red ledger still clutched in his hand.
Serilda squeezed into a small seat in the corner close to Vasilia, then jerked her head at Cho, who left the box. He didn’t gesture for me to follow him, so I didn’t know what to do. Vasilia noticed me hovering over her, and she looked at me again.
Sullivan saved me. He moved in between us, cutting off her view of me, then put his hand on my arm and steered me around the chairs to the far side of the box.
“Just stand still and stay quiet until this is over,” he whispered.
Once we were out of the way, Theroux stepped forward and bowed low. “My queen, may I offer you some refreshments?”
Vasilia waved her hand, and Theroux and the other workers served the food and drinks. Vasilia daintily nibbled on a few small kiwi cakes, while Felton sipped a glass of sangria. Nox was much more gluttonous. He downed a whole tray of kiwi cakes and other desserts, along with a bottle of champagne.
The three of them were eating and drinking as though they had done nothing wrong, as though they hadn’t orchestrated the brutal murders of Isobel, Cordelia, Madelena, and so many other innocent people. My hands tightened into fists, but there was nothing that I could do. Even if I gave in to my murderous rage and attacked them, Vasilia would incinerate me with her lightning, or Nox would cut me down with his sword. Not to mention the guards still lurking around the box.
As much as I longed to surge forward, wrap my hands around Vasilia’s neck, and choke her to death for all the pain, misery, and heartache she’d caused, all I could do was stand still and stay quiet, as Sullivan had said.
A few minutes later, the lights dimmed, and Cho strode out into the arena and restarted the show. The music began, the acrobats tumbled into view, and the wire walkers resumed their positions on the platforms. The crowd took their seats again and started clapping and cheering, excited that they were getting another show. Nox ignored the performance in favor of guzzling down more champagne, while Felton set his glass aside and started writing in his ledger.
Vasilia smiled and clapped along with the crowd. To the casual observer, she would seem as interested in the performance as everyone else, but getting Serilda to restart the show was simply a way for Vasilia to assert her influence and control. And she didn’t care that she hadn’t been invited to the black-ring match. The event had just been an excuse for her to show up. No, my cousin had some other purpose in mind with this little visit.
Sure enough, less than five minutes into the show, Vasilia quit clapping, dropped her hands to her lap, and turned to Serilda, who was still scrunched up in that chair in the corner.
“Thank you for your hospitality. It’s most welcome, especially during this stressful time, dealing with the aftermath of my mother’s and sister’s assassinations.”
Vasilia’s lips turned down, and her face darkened, as though she was truly saddened by her family’s deaths. Despite all the times that she had stabbed me in the back with her sly words and actions, even I would have thought that she was being genuine if I hadn’t been there that awful day. She should have joined the troupe. The bitch was a terrific actress.
Vasilia cleared her throat, then cleared it again, as though she was having trouble getting her words out through her supposed sadness. Serilda gestured at Theroux, who poured a glass of iced cucumber water and handed it to Vasilia.
But it was just another power play on Vasilia’s part, and she took only one tiny sip of the water before setting it aside. “Tonight has been wonderful. It’s been good for me to get out of the palace. And to show the people that their queen is not afraid of Andvarian assassins.”
Her gaze cut to Sullivan, who was still standing next to me. His lips pressed together, and a bit of magic crackled in his eyes, but he didn’t take the bait and snap back at her. I could smell his anger, though. The strong, peppery scent matched my own silent rage.
“Of course,” Serilda murmured. “I’m so glad to see you out and about, especially given the terrible tragedy at the palace just a few weeks ago.”
Vasilia brought her hand up to the corner of her eye, as though she was dabbing away a tear. My fists tightened even more.
“Although I’m afraid to say that I have been hearing some rather nasty rumors,” Serilda said.
Vasilia raised her head, her fake tear forgotten. “What rumors?”
Serilda shrugged, as though they weren’t important. Vasilia’s lips pressed together, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she debated whether to pursue the matter. She had come here with her own agenda, but Serilda was forcing her away from that. It was a skillful piece of manipulation. My estimation of the troupe leader went up several notches. She had learned the long game well during her time at Seven Spire.
“What rumors?” Vasilia asked again, falling neatly into Serilda’s trap.
“The rumors that some members of the royal family escaped the massacre,” Serilda said. “That some of the Blairs fled from the palace and are in hiding.”
Vasilia blinked in surprise. Nox lowered his champagne flute, and even Felton stopped scribbling in his ledger.
The night of the candlelight vigil, Serilda had told Cho to reach out to his contacts to learn everything he could about the massacre and whether there had been any survivors. Serilda clearly wanted to get her hands on a Blair—any Blair, given her own words—but I still didn’t understand why.
Nox snorted and took another slug of champagne, while Felton started writing again. Vasilia’s worry melted into a smug smile that she didn’t bother to hide. Serilda saw it too, and her fingers clenched around her glass.
“Unfortunately, I’m sad to say that every royal who was at the palace was slaughtered,” Vasilia said. “Believe me, we have searched high and low for survivors, but the plot was much larger than we originally thought.”
“What do you mean?” Serilda asked.
Now it was Vasilia’s turn to shrug. “Some of my cousins were at their estates out in the countryside. I sent guards to check on them as soon as possible, but it was too late. They had all been murdered. I’m the only Blair left.”
My heart sank. I had hoped that at least a few of my cousins had survived, but it sounded as though Vasilia had arranged for them to be killed as well. Of course she had.
Serilda lowered her glass and slumped back in her chair, as though all the strength had left her body. Not what she had wanted to hear. Vasilia’s lips twitched, although this time, she managed to hold back her smug smile.
For a moment, Serilda looked sad, weary, and defeated, but then her gaze lifted, and she stared at the pink diamonds shaped like laurel flowers that adorned the gold crown on Vasilia’s head.
“Summer queens are fine and fair, with pretty ribbons and flowers in their hair,” Serilda murmured. “Winter queens are cold and hard, with frosted crowns made of icy shards.”
Her words were soft, especially compared to the raucous calliope music that drifted up from the arena floor, but they still made me tense. And I wasn’t the only one they affected. Nox jerked in his seat and sloshed champagne down the front of his tunic, turning the fabric more bloodred than bright pink. Felton eyed him a moment, then returned to his writing.
Vasilia frowned at Nox before focusing on Serilda again. “What did you say?”
She didn’t repeat the phrase. “It’s an old Bellonan fairy-tale rhyme. I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”
“Of course I have,” Vasilia snapped.
She clearly had no idea why Serilda had quoted those words. Me neither. Like Serilda herself had said, it was just an old rhyme. So why had she said the phrase now? And why had Cordeli
a said the exact same thing to me before she had died?
Vasilia and Serilda eyed each other, both of them smiling, but neither expression was genuine or particularly friendly, and it was more a pause to give them both time to regroup.
“Is that the only rumor you’ve heard?” Vasilia asked, getting back down to business.
“Oh, no,” Serilda replied. “Some people are saying that the Andvarians weren’t responsible for the attack. That they were framed. That it’s all an elaborate Mortan plot to pit Bellona and Andvari against each other so that Morta can swoop in and conquer both kingdoms.”
Nox and Felton both froze, while Vasilia blinked in surprise again.
It sounded as if Serilda knew exactly what had happened during the massacre. But how could she know that Nox, Felton, and Vasilia had orchestrated it? Who had told her so much of what had been going on inside the palace?
Serilda took a sip of her sangria before speaking again. “Despite all the nasty rumors going around, you need to think about your future. And Bellona’s as well.”
“How so?”
“If you truly are the last Blair, then you need to produce an heir. Immediately. We wouldn’t want you to meet the same unfortunate fate as Cordelia and for some usurper to grab the throne and plunge Bellona into civil war.”
Vasilia’s face hardened. “I will produce an heir when I am ready, and not one second before. In the meantime, you can rest assured that no one will be assassinating me.” She must have realized how harsh her voice was, because she cleared her throat again and reined in her anger. “If any good has come out of this horrible situation, it’s that I’ve learned from my mother’s mistakes. My security is excellent, and there are no traitors in my ranks.”
Serilda glanced at Nox and Felton, then at the guards ringing the box. “Of course. You’ve already proven what a fine, strong queen you are by leading us through this terrible tragedy.”
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