by K. A. Tucker
I’ve learned that Zander is naturally distrustful of everyone, but he’s also not wrong. “You don’t think Wendeline is on the side of Neilina, do you?” Just the thought brings a pang to my chest.
“If you are asking whether I think she was conspiring with you, no, I do not believe so. She is the one who encouraged my parents to take their repast before the ceremony rather than after. It is because they did that Ybaris’s plans fell apart and we are sitting here now. I am quite certain she does not support your mother’s ways, but that does not mean she is not working with those in Mordain who have a specific agenda. Someone taught Margrethe how to summon Malachi.”
“She taught her everything she knew,” I echo. But was it Wendeline who taught Margrethe that skill, or someone else? This mysterious G? Can I begrudge any of them? If Margrethe hadn’t broken the rules, I have a feeling I’d be dead in both this world and my own. “I think you can trust Wendeline to do what’s right, though.”
“I would like to think so, but I no longer trust my judgment when it comes to what I want to be true. For now, I must trust her to a certain degree. Her knowledge is invaluable to us.” His hazel eyes dart to me before turning away. He hesitates. “I did not like seeing what Tyree did to you.” He frowns, as if it bothers him that he would care.
Is that concern tied to this idea of being bewitched by me? I bite back the urge to ask. It’s clearly a sore spot. “I wasn’t a big fan of it either.” I touch the tip of my nose, marveling at how perfectly it has healed.
“And you didn’t like seeing what I did to him.”
“Setting fire to him? You’re surprised?”
“You were terrified. It was as if you’ve seen something like that before.”
I swallow. “I don’t know. Maybe I have?”
He studies me. “Are you afraid I would do something like that to you?”
“You’ve certainly threatened it enough times.” He literally could have ignited that heavy brocade dress as it clung to my sweaty limbs.
“But I wouldn’t.”
I want to steer the conversation away from talk of setting anyone on fire. “What are you going to do about the vials of poison?”
“Send men to watch the area around Lyndel. If we can keep the Ybarisans in the mountains, they can’t cause too much trouble. But we do not know how many there are and informing keepers that their tributaries may be plotting to murder them will have immortals all over Islor taking matters into their own hands.”
“Maybe if you gave them a reason to not want to murder their keepers, they wouldn’t try.”
“Abolish the entire tributary system?” He smirks. “So simple, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” I agree. I’ve lain in bed thinking about how, and the only thing I’ve figured out is that I don’t know the first thing about governing anyone. “Maybe start small. Start somewhere. But start now.”
“It’s probably best I focus on the more imminent problem at hand.”
“Which is what exactly? Quill’s murder, Adley’s political aspirations, or my mysterious coconspirator?”
“Or what this elemental wants with you.” He heaves his body from the settee, stretching when he stands. “What you learned today and what we’ve discussed, it is not idle chatter. It should not be repeated to anyone. Not Annika, not Corrin. And definitely not Saoirse.”
I roll my eyes, though I suppose I deserve that after my stunt by the nymphaeum.
“I should go and …” His voice drifts as he regards my face again, as he did when he entered.
I can’t tell if he’s still admiring Wendeline’s repairs or if there’s something more, but it makes me blush. I clear my throat. “Be a king?”
He scowls, as if catching himself. “Right.”
I don’t know when I’ll see him again. It may be days. I decide to take my chance. “Dagny asked me to go down to the market with her in the morning to look at some fabrics.”
“The clothiers down by the port?” His eyebrows arch. “Do you have any idea the thieves and other unsavory folk who linger there?”
“Sounds like my kind of people.” There’s more truth to that than he realizes.
“They’ll give you nothing but a lighter purse for your troubles.”
“I have no money, so I’ll be safe.”
“You have an answer for everything.”
I shrug. “It’d be nice to get away from my prison walls for a bit.”
His lips twist with thought. “Should I parade you through town again? Empty a bag of gold in the rookery while we’re at it?”
“Two bags,” I quip, though my brain instantly stirs an image of another ride through Cirilea with Zander pressed against my back, and the flutter in my stomach says I wouldn’t mind it at all.
He offers a wry smile but then pushes, “Why do you really want to go to the market, Romeria?”
He’s too smart or too suspicious, I can’t decide. “If Ianca came in on a ship, someone will have seen her. And maybe if she hears I’m around, she’ll try to make contact. There’s bound to be more information among the commoners than here.”
“So the future queen wants to wander around town, asking if anyone has seen an elemental caster lately.”
“I don’t need to announce who I am, do I?” I found a plain navy gown stuffed into the back of my closet that would suffice.
“Any immortal in the crowd will know it’s you.”
Right. Orange blossoms. “I’ll keep my distance.”
He snorts, amusement flickering across his face. “I can’t wait to hear from Corrin about this.”
“She already knows, and she doesn’t approve.”
“For good reason.” His gaze wanders to one of my mammoth windows. “With all the outsiders flocking to the city for the market fair this week, I do not believe it wise.”
My frustration swells. I foolishly thought I might be getting somewhere with him.
“Until then”—his eyes flip to my bedchamber—“stay out of trouble.”
“Always,” I mutter bitterly, reaching for my graphite pencil. “By the way, why did you take my sketch?”
“So the royal guard could be on the lookout for that woman,” he calls over his shoulder.
Good luck with that. “Tell me if you find her.” I guess that’s my answer to who carried me to bed, though I already suspected. I should be bothered by the idea that Zander was in my room while I was sleeping.
I’m bothered by the fact that I’m not.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I hold my breath as I turn the finial on the bedpost one hundred and eighty degrees.
A click sounds, and one corner of my bed slides out from the wall, stone scraping against stone enthralling even as it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Outside, the bell tolls marking the midnight hour.
My grin of satisfaction strains my cheeks as I take in the dark and narrow corridor behind it. I had nearly given up. Grabbing a lantern from my side table, its flickering light casting tall shadows around my bedchamber, I gingerly step into the schism.
And yelp at the two familiar faces staring back at me, arms folded over their chests like twin towers of intimidation.
“I believe you owe me ten gold coins,” Zander murmurs.
“Surely it’s the other way around,” Atticus counters. “You didn’t think she would figure it out before the clock struck midnight. I had far more faith in her. Besides, the bed moved before the twelfth gong.”
“Splitting hairs, are we?”
“Shall we call it even, then?”
Zander smirks. “I suppose.”
Atticus cocks his head. “She looks guilty.”
Now that my initial shock has worn off, my annoyance flares. “You two have been hiding in here all night, betting on how long it would take me to open this?”
They share a glance and then answer in unison, “Yes.”
“Well, not all night. We assumed you’d wait until well after Corrin’s last visit. It’s been
a tedious hour, though.” Zander is in an oddly good mood. “Where are you off to dressed like that?”
Their gazes drag over my long, silky black nightgown—another favorite from Princess Romeria’s collection.
“Nowhere. Obviously. I was just curious how this worked.” I curl my arms across my chest, the cool air within the corridor chilling. “Doesn’t the king of Islor and the commander of the king’s army have better things to do than lurk in the wall behind my bed?”
“We do, and we’re late. Perhaps you can change into something more appropriate.”
My attention drifts to their outfits. I hadn’t noticed the plain, nondescript black garb, too shocked by their presence. “Appropriate for what?”
Even in the muted lantern light, Zander’s eyes dazzle with a mischievous sparkle. “For getting answers.”
“You’re faster than I gave you credit for,” Zander murmurs, peering around the corner of an unassuming door.
“You mean, when I can see where I’m going? Or when I’m not in one of those ridiculous dresses?” I counter, blowing out the lantern and setting it on the ground inside before emerging behind him. The tunic and breeches I found in my closet are fitted but comfortable, the navy cloak perfect to hide beneath. “And let’s see how fast you are in twenty pounds of chiffon and tulle, and wobbly heels.”
“As long as I can keep my sword.”
Zander led the way through the dark corridors and tunnels with the blind ease of someone who has spent years traversing them. I did my best to commit the turns to memory, but I’m not confident that I wouldn’t end up lost behind the walls of the castle if I attempted navigating through on my own.
Atticus pulls the door shut soundlessly behind him. The smell of hay and horse dung permeates the air. We’ve emerged in a courtyard, but it is not the same one as the day Zander paraded me around the market.
Excitement courses through my veins. “Where are we?”
“The eastern stables, outside the curtain wall.” Zander is swift on his feet as he moves toward the nearest stall, his cowl drawn up to hide his recognizable golden-brown hair.
A scrawny boy of no more than twelve is talking softly to a saddled horse.
“Silmar.”
The boy bows deeply, giving me a glimpse of the gold cuff on his ear. “Your Highness.”
Zander glances this way and that, I assume to check for bystanders.
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinkin’, Your Highness.” His juvenile voice cracks over his nervousness.
“Are the horses ready?”
“Just like your guard asked. They’re good and strong, but nothin’ fancy. This one’s my favorite.” He pats its haunches. “His name’s Tripsy, but I promise he doesn’t trip. Don’t know where he earned that name. He’ll be good for yourself and the lady.” His innocent eyes dart to me, and I see curiosity there but nothing more. He doesn’t seem to recognize me. It’s a nice change. “The one to the left is Spirit.”
“She’s perfect.” Atticus smooths a hand over her chocolate-brown snout before leading her out of the stall by her reins.
Silmar clicks his tongue, and Tripsy steps forward with a soft whinny.
Zander drops several gold coins into the boy’s hand.
The boy makes to bow and then catches himself. “Thank you kindly.” He lowers his voice to a whisper to add “Your Highness.” He hesitates when he looks at me. “Will milady need a stool?” By the way his face scrunches, I’m guessing he doesn’t have one handy.
“No, I’m good.” This horse isn’t as looming as the black stallion we rode, and I’m not in a ball gown tonight, though it will be the first time I’ve climbed onto one on my own.
“You put your foot in there.” Zander points to the stirrup, smirking. He’s finding my lack of skill amusing.
I make a point of rolling my eyes before following the instruction, gripping the saddle as Atticus did. I hoist myself up, smiling with satisfaction as I lift my leg. Only Tripsy decides to take two sudden steps forward, throwing off my balance. Zander is behind me before I tumble, his hands clutching my hips in place.
“You weren’t kidding about the riding situation.” Atticus snorts as he leads his horse toward the wooden gate.
“Shall we try again, or do you have more insolence you’d like to share first?” Zander’s voice hints of stifled laughter.
I throw my leg over and settle in my spot, lifting my chin with indignation, even as my cheeks burn.
He climbs into the saddle behind me. Without the ball gown between us, I’m keenly aware of his thighs pressed against mine. He doesn’t make an effort to keep his distance this time as he reaches forward for the reins. “We’ll be back in a few hours, Silmar.”
The boy scurries to open the gate and allow us to pass through. The click of the horse hooves echo in the silence of the surrounding street.
“He’s a bit young to be out here all alone, isn’t he?” I ask.
“It’s safe enough. Silmar prefers being outdoors with the horses. He sleeps in one of the stalls most nights. If we can stable them without waking him, we will.”
“Do you call everyone by their name?”
“That’s what names are for, are they not?”
“But you actually know all their names.”
“I try to, yes.” He pauses. “Should I not?”
“No, you should. I just didn’t think a king would keep track of his servants. That’s … nice.” Korsakov had nicknames for all of us because they were easier for him to remember.
“It breeds loyalty. Also, when the king knows a servant’s name, that servant is less likely to do something they shouldn’t.”
“So, it’s more a subtle fear tactic than being considerate?”
“It’s both, but I don’t have the luxury of being nice simply for the sake of it.”
We descend through town at a steady pace. Atticus leads, his head swiveling this way and that, as if constantly on the lookout for threats. We’re taking a different route than the one we took with the cavalry, this one leading us farther to the left of the castle.
“You do this often? Take secret passages and ride horses like Tripsy?”
“You have a problem with Tripsy?”
I steal a glance over my shoulder to find him grinning beneath his cowl. If I didn’t know better, I’d say sneaking out has invigorated him as much as it has me. “No, but I wouldn’t call him pedigreed, compared to the last one we rode together.” He looks more like a workhorse skilled at pulling wagons of stone.
“We can’t ride one of the royal thoroughbreds through Cirilea without attracting notice. And it’s best that Boaz believes us in our chambers, fast asleep.”
“The captain of the royal guard doesn’t approve of the king sneaking out like a misbehaving boy?” I tease. Elisaf said Zander was known for lurking among the commoners.
He scowls. “I do as I wish.”
Ahead of us, Atticus barks with laughter. “Boaz will send the royal guard to shadow Zander while he’s doing as he wishes.”
“And any fool half drowned in a vat of mead would be able to spot them. They are not trained to be inconspicuous.”
“And tonight, we need discretion?”
“We need information that I won’t get within the castle walls or from my royal sources.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Port Street, to see if anyone there has heard about any casters arriving on a ship. Someone must know something.”
“Huh. With all those thieves and unsavory folk? I recall someone suggesting a similar plan. Who was it, though? Someone intelligent beyond her years, but why can’t I remember …”
Zander’s deep chuckle vibrates within my chest, and an unexpected flutter stirs inside me. The stone-faced king laughing seemed an impossibility a month ago, and now it is me who has sparked this genuine reaction. “Are you quite finished?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see. Aren’t you worried people will recognize me?”
“
There will be as many mortals as immortals. And besides, I will keep you close.”
We cross a street and descend along a much steeper slope, and I sense the mood of the city shifting. We’ve left the quiet residential neighborhood of brick buildings and pitched roofs that surrounds the castle and are venturing into a more industrial area where wooden and metal signs dangle from posts marking various professions. I strain my eyes to read them as we pass—blacksmiths, butchers, wheelwrights, rope makers, glassblowers. Through the windows, I see nothing but darkness, but now and again, I catch the faint glow of light from someone within toiling late into the night.
A briny scent hangs in the air, and I find myself inhaling deeply, as if my lungs crave it.
“It calls to you, even with the cuffs,” Zander murmurs, and I detect a hint of awe in his voice.
“I don’t know.” It could just be the lure of the ocean.
“I’m telling you, it does. Just as that flame calls to me.” He points to a lantern that glows beside a sign that reads Currier. In the small display window below is a stretched cowhide. My nostrils catch the pungent smell of rich earth and oils, not altogether pleasant but vaguely familiar of tanned leather.
Ahead of us, torches and lanterns burn like tiny beacons down the hill. “What about all those?”
“Yes.” As if to prove his point, every flame within my line of sight flares. It’s only for a split second before they return to normal, a blink of an eye, but it steals my breath.
“Quit showing off,” Atticus mutters, earning Zander’s chuckle.