“Besides, we have no proof of Vasilia’s treachery,” Serilda muttered. “For all intents and purposes, she is the lawful, rightful queen of Bellona, and there is nothing we can do to change that.”
I shifted on my feet. The memory stone tied to my belt loop suddenly felt as heavy as a gargoyle. It was proof of what Vasilia had done, along with the Andvarians’ innocence.
Cho shrugged, not quite agreeing with her, but not dismissing her words either. “Well, if the Mortans have their way, Vasilia won’t be queen for long. As soon as she takes Andvari for them, they’ll turn their sights to Bellona. Once it falls, the Mortans will kill her and put one of their own royals on the throne. And they won’t stop there. Andvari, Bellona, Unger, Ryusama, Vacuna. They’ll conquer all the kingdoms.”
He fell silent, and the two of them sipped their sangria, contemplating that horrible possibility.
Finally, Serilda shook her head again, as if clearing away the troubling thoughts. “Well, it’s not our problem anymore.” Her mouth twisted. “We’re going on tour, remember?”
“You know that Vasilia will come after us, come after you,” Cho said.
“Which is why we’re leaving Bellona as soon as possible. Lucas says that the Andvarians will take us in. If we can’t save Bellona from Vasilia, we might as well try to save Andvari from her and the Mortans.”
Why would Vasilia come after Serilda? Why would she care about her mother’s old guard? Especially if Serilda was leaving? Something else was going on here, something that I wasn’t seeing.
“Well, then it looks like it’s you and me against the world again.” Cho held out his glass. “To the end?”
Serilda smiled, as though it were an old joke between them. She clinked her glass against his, completing the somber toast. “To the end.”
They each took another sip of sangria, staring at each other. Cho hesitated, then reached out and gently touched Serilda’s cheek. He stroked his thumb over the sunburst scar at the corner of her eye, his emotions clear on his face. Vasilia had been right. I didn’t know what this thing was between them, or if they had ever acted on it, but it was obvious that Cho loved Serilda. And she loved him too, given the way that her face softened and the longing in her eyes.
But she didn’t reach out to him, and she didn’t encourage him to lean forward and kiss her. After several more seconds, Cho dropped his hand from her face, looked away, and set his glass on the desk.
“I should go make sure that the gate guards are on high alert. Just in case Vasilia sends someone to kill us in our sleep tonight.” His tone was light, but he wasn’t really joking.
“Good idea,” Serilda murmured.
Cho stood up and turned toward the doors. I stepped forward and knocked on the wood, as though I had just arrived.
“Ah, there you are.” Serilda got to her feet and went around behind her desk.
Cho smiled at me. “Congratulations, Evie.”
It felt wrong to thank him when I had killed someone, so I nodded back. Cho winked at me, then left the library, shutting the doors behind him.
Serilda waved me over to her desk. She unlocked the center drawer, pulled out a small black ledger, and handed it to me. “Your earnings from tonight’s match, as promised. Already deposited in a Bellonan bank. You can access the funds any time you like.”
I opened the ledger and read the amount recorded on the first page. My eyes widened as I counted the zeroes. “Thirty thousand gold crowns? You’re giving me thirty thousand gold crowns for winning?”
It was a not-so-small fortune. Despite all my scrimping, saving, and working for Alvis, I hadn’t had this much money in all my accounts at the palace bank, not even close. Thirty thousand gold crowns . . . With this kind of money, I could go anywhere and do almost anything. I could even return to Winterwind, my family’s estate in the northern mountains, and buy the property. Under an alias, of course.
If this had happened when I’d first come to the troupe, I would have already been packing my things to leave, to get as far away from Vasilia as possible. But now . . . now I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
Oh, I wasn’t planning to spill my guts and tell Serilda who I really was, much less let her use me in her palace games, but I wasn’t going to slink away quietly into the night either. Paloma was my friend, my true friend, and I didn’t want to leave her behind, any more than I had wanted to leave Isobel and Alvis behind at Seven Spire.
Cho, Aisha, Theroux, even Serilda. I cared about them all. And Sullivan . . . well, I felt more for Sullivan than I should have, something that went far beyond just fighting and fucking.
And if what Serilda and Cho had said was true, then the entire troupe was in danger. I couldn’t just ignore that threat and walk away. Vasilia had already taken too much from me. She wasn’t going to take anything else. I wanted to stay and help, in whatever small way I could. Besides, I’d promised myself that I would protect the people I cared about, instead of abandoning them to die.
I couldn’t live with myself if I did anything less.
“Well, if I had known that a little bit of gold could shock you into silence, I would have tossed you a couple of crowns long ago,” Serilda drawled, breaking the silence.
I couldn’t tell her my thoughts, so I shook my head, as though I was still stunned by the figure. “I can’t believe you’re giving me this much money.”
“Well, the winner usually only gets ten thousand, but you negotiated for triple that, remember?” Serilda arched an eyebrow. “Besides, you earned every single crown.”
“What do you mean?”
She picked up the bottle and poured more sangria into her glass. “The odds against you were terrible. Emilie was a fifty-to-one favorite to win. Your thirty thousand crowns is only a small part of the even bigger fortune that I made when you defeated her.”
“You actually bet on me to win? Why would you do that?”
“Let’s just say that I could see beyond the odds.” She smirked and took another sip of sangria.
See beyond the odds? What did that mean? My gaze focused on the black swan on the white pennant on the wall behind her. Anger surged through me. I was tired of Serilda Swanson and all her damn riddles. I reached into my pocket, drew out one of the black feathers from my costume, and tossed it down onto her desk.
“Why did you really bet on me?” I growled. “And why did you dress me up as a black swan?”
“Come with me.”
She topped off her glass with more sangria, then opened one of the glass doors in the back wall and stepped outside. More anger surged through me that she hadn’t answered my questions, but my curiosity won out, and I followed her.
Serilda ambled along a path that ran beside the stream that flowed through the gardens. I had wondered where the stream led to, and tonight, I got my answer. We walked over a stone bridge, and I realized that the stream fed into a large pond in the very back of the gardens.
Two streetlamps stood at the end of the bridge, their glows stretching out across the pond and making the water gleam as brightly as all those gold crowns that I had won. Tall brown cattails ringed the area like soldiers standing guard, while blue and white water lilies bobbed up and down on the pond, twirling this way and that, as if they were dancing on top of the rippling current, just like the two creatures in the center of the water.
Black swans.
Midnight-black feathers; long, curved necks; sharp blue beaks; bright blue eyes. The two swans were exquisite, the epitome of beauty and grace, as they slowly drifted back and forth. For the first time, I understood why Serilda had chosen the creature as her own personal crest.
Serilda leaned against the whitewashed wooden fence that separated the pond from the rest of the gardens. I took up a position a few feet away. We stared at the swans, watching the creatures snatch bugs and bits of plants off the surface of the water.
“Have you ever seen a black swan before?” Serilda asked.
“My mother took me to a menagerie o
nce. They had a pair of black swans. We got there at feeding time, and she let me toss flowers into the water for them to eat.”
I had almost forgotten about that long-ago outing. My mother and I had spent the whole day at the menagerie, walking around; feeding the gargoyles, strixes, and caladriuses; and eating cornucopia and other treats ourselves. For a moment, the faint echoes of our happy laughter filled my ears, but the wind whistling over the pond quickly drowned out the sounds.
“When I was at Seven Spire, I would often go down to the river, to this hidden cove with water lilies and cattails growing up out of the rocks. The water was much calmer there, and I would sit on the shore and watch the black swans.” A wistful note crept into Serilda’s voice.
I knew the exact spot she was talking about. It was a good place to hide from palace plots and politics, although I had never seen any black swans there. “It sounds lovely.”
“It was lovely.” Her face darkened. “Until someone killed the swans.”
“Why would someone kill the swans?”
“Because she could,” Serilda spat out the words.
A vague memory rose up in my mind, from the first time I had been to the cove. It hadn’t been lovely then. The cattails and water lilies had been scorched to ash, and the smell of death had filled the air, so strong that I had only stayed for a few minutes. I remembered another scent from that day, one that I would recognize anywhere—the stench of Vasilia’s lightning.
Vasilia had killed the swans. That had to be who Serilda was talking about. Even as a child, Vasilia would have had the power to do that, and slaughtering innocent creatures wouldn’t have fazed her at all. But of course, I couldn’t tell Serilda any of that, so I went with a simple commiseration instead.
“I’m sorry.” And I truly was. I knew what it was like to lose something you loved to Vasilia.
Serilda shrugged as though it didn’t bother her, although I could see how much it did. She didn’t speak again for the better part of a minute. “Black swans are quite ugly when they first hatch. Everything about them is a dull, mottled gray, from their eyes to their beaks to their feathers.”
“So?”
“So, as the swans grow, their eyes and beaks brighten, and their feathers darken until they look like these.” She gestured at the two graceful creatures floating around the pond. “Just like you were ugly when you first got here. Well, not ugly in a physical sense. Unskilled would be a better word. But tonight, in the arena, you transformed yourself into something else, something greater than you had been before. Just like the swans change as they grow.”
I snorted. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Why is it ridiculous? I saw your potential that very first day when you faced Sullivan in the training ring.”
“Because I used a sword instead of a shield?” I snorted again. “Paloma told me about your little test. It doesn’t mean anything. The sword was lighter than the shield. That’s why I used it.”
“And tonight you used both weapons,” Serilda countered. “If that’s not progress, then I don’t know what is.”
“A woman is dead. I would hardly call that progress.”
“Sure it is,” she replied. “Especially since you’re not the one who’s dead.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Serilda took another sip of her sangria, a speculative look in her eyes. “I’ve trained a lot of people over the years. Palace guards and gladiators alike. You could be one of the best. You’re quicker than Paloma, more determined than Cho, more ruthless than Lucas. One day, you might even be better than me, Evie.”
It was the first time that she had called me anything other than girl, but I still laughed. “You’ve drunk too much sangria.”
“Oh, I haven’t drunk nearly enough. I’m not maudlin and rambling about the good ole days yet, but I will be soon enough.” She drained the rest of the sangria, then toasted me with the empty glass.
“And what gives me so much potential?”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “Your rage.”
“Rage? I don’t have any rage.”
As soon as I said the words, I could smell the smoky lie of them in the air. I did have rage. I had always had rage, ever since my parents had been murdered, and everything that had happened to me since then had only fed it—growing up at the palace, being the royal stand-in, Vasilia’s cruelty, losing Isobel, Cordelia, and everyone else in the massacre.
Serilda laughed. “Oh, you have plenty of rage. I don’t know what happened to you, or who fucked you over, but they did a royal job of it. You’ve been oozing rage since the moment you got here.”
I grimaced. If only she knew how true the royal part was.
“Some people pretty it up, call it drive or determination or ambition. But I like to call it what it is—rage.” She shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing. You actually have the best kind of rage.”
I couldn’t help but ask the inevitable question. “And what kind is that?”
“Most rage is hot, reckless, stupid.” She tilted her head to the side, studying me. “But yours is cold, controlled, calculated. You think everything through before you say a word, take a step, make a move. Just like you did tonight in the arena when you dropped your sword. You had a plan, and you knew that the next time you picked up that sword you were going to kill Emilie with it. Cold rage is always the best rage.”
“And what kind of rage do you have?”
“Right now? The sloppy drunk kind.” Serilda toasted me with her empty glass again. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright, but I didn’t believe that she was drunk. Not for one second.
I shook my head. “You’re wrong about me. I’m not a gladiator, I’m not a warrior, and I am certainly not a black swan.”
“What are you then?” Her voice was soft but challenging.
My gaze moved past her, and I focused on the palace in the distance. Lights blazed on every level of Seven Spire. Before the massacre, I would have thought that the golden glows softened the rocky walls and made the palace seem warm and inviting. Tonight, they reminded me of the eyes of some monster, lurking in the dark and waiting to leap out of the shadows and gobble up everything and everyone in its path. I shivered and looked at Serilda again.
“I don’t know what I am,” I muttered. “Other than tired of this conversation. I’m going to bed. You should do the same.”
I stared at the black swans again, but the creatures were still gliding across the pond, nibbling on tender shoots of water lilies and cattails. I envied their simple life of serenity. I sighed and turned to leave.
“Cold rage, Evie,” Serilda called out behind me. “That’s what saved your life in the arena tonight, and that’s what will save it again someday. Mark my words. So you might as well embrace it!”
Her voice rang with a truth that I couldn’t deny. Not tonight. Not after killing Emilie. But I didn’t want to listen to any more of her riddles, so I ducked my head, crossed my arms over my chest, and hurried away.
Serilda’s laughter chased me out of the gardens.
Part Three
The Queen’s Coronation
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning, I went to the dining hall like usual, even though I didn’t know what might greet me. After all, Emilie had been with the troupe a long time, and I had killed her.
The second that I stepped into the kitchen, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned toward me. Theroux, the other cook masters, the servers. Everyone stared at me.
And then they all started clapping.
“Congratulations!”
“We knew that you could do it!”
“Way to go, Evie!”
Everyone smiled, clapped, and called out greetings. I tried to smile, although I could feel my face twisting into a disgusted grimace. I dropped my head and hurried over to my prep station.
Two hours later, I was passing out raspberry-crème danishes when Serilda strolled i
nto the dining hall, followed by Cho and Sullivan. All conversation stopped, and everyone focused on the troupe boss.
“First of all, I want to thank you all for putting on not one great show but two of them last night. Vasilia was pleased with your performances.” Her lips puckered, as though saying Vasilia’s name left a bad taste in her mouth. “And, of course, I want to congratulate our Black Swan for giving the crowd such a thrilling match.”
She started clapping. Everyone looked at me and joined in. Once again, I tried to smile, although my face twisted into another grimace.
Serilda could see how uncomfortable the attention was making me, but she was rubbing my face in it anyway. Smug, arrogant bitch. No matter what she thought, I wasn’t a black swan, and I certainly wasn’t going to become her black swan.
Finally, the applause died down, and everyone looked at her again.
“I have one final announcement, which I think you will all enjoy,” Serilda said. “We’re going on tour.”
Excited whispers rippled through the crowd, along with more applause and even a few whistles. Apparently, going on tour was a much bigger deal than I’d realized.
“I want to capitalize on the success of last night’s black-ring match and show everyone that the Black Swan is the best troupe not only in Bellona, but in all the kingdoms,” Serilda said. “We leave as soon as possible. Cho and Sullivan have your assignments. So eat up, my lovelies. You’re going to need your strength.”
My job was to help Theroux and the others pack up pots, pans, and food for the trip. But packing wasn’t more important than training, because Theroux eventually shooed me out of the kitchen.
So I went to the barracks, changed into my fighting leathers, and headed over to the training ring with Paloma. I stopped at one of the gates and stared at the other gladiators already gathered inside, stretching, warming up, and sharpening their weapons.
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