Pulling her shoulders back, she stepped out from behind the tent canvas, into the entryway.
No less than two dozen men ringed the tent, weapons drawn, all of them abandoning further searching, by the looks of it.
At the center, Tarquin Belmonte’s amused eyes settled on her, his thumb tucked into the belt binding his long white officer’s coat. He grinned. “The pride welcomes you home, Your Highness.”
Chapter 24
A softness tickled against Veron’s bare skin, and his eyes still closed, he reached down. They hadn’t been able to find pillows, and Aless had fallen asleep with her head on his stomach, but—
The weight of her head wasn’t there. Perhaps it was her hair tickling him.
But when he grasped a handful, it was fabric. A blanket.
He opened his eyes, reached next to him.
The bed was empty.
Aless was gone.
“Aless?” He sat up, looking around the bedchamber, blinking. His clothes were still on the floor, his boots in the corner, but hers—
Hers were gone.
He sprang from the bed, raked his hair back. She’d only gone to relieve herself, or perhaps for another bite to eat. Supper had ended abruptly, after all. He sank back down, his head in his hands.
It was just all of these problems with the Brotherhood. When Nozva Rozkveta had last gone to war, Ata had left. And now that war circled them anew, it dredged up old insecurities. That was all.
But as the minutes ticked by, Aless didn’t return.
He swept the room with frantic eyes, and there, on the table, lay one of her books, open. He darted to it, set aside her quill, and read…
I love you.
She… Was this a—
No, she wouldn’t—
But as he brushed his fingertips across the ink, across one line written in her mother’s book, there was no other reason Aless would have done this.
Except to say goodbye.
She’d—she’d left. Without a word, she’d left him.
To do what? The trade? Surrender herself to the Brotherhood, who would do who-knew-what to her? The Brotherhood despised the Immortals, and the dark-elves among them, so what would they do to a human married to one?
They won’t kill me, she’d said. I’m certain of it.
She’d staked her life on it, on Tarquin, a man who’d unleashed harpies on her, ordered a witch to collapse tunnels in a queendom she’d been in. A man who might rather make an example of her than protect her.
He grabbed his clothes off the floor and hastily threw them on, dragged on his leathers and his boots, strapped his vjernost blades onto his belt.
She’d gone to that man, turned herself over, trusted Tarquin Belmonte.
Tonight, she’d been all smiles, affectionate, seductive. They’d spent the past couple of hours loving each other, together, one, no more fears or restraints between them. He’d fallen asleep wrapped up with her, tangled with the woman he loved, and despite the war at the gates, despite everything, he’d never felt so whole. He would have trusted her with anything, with his life, with his family, with his homeland.
And she hadn’t even trusted him with her plan. Had shoved aside the trust they’d built together, their bond, and had left without a word. She wanted to trade herself to the Brotherhood, which might not even release Gavri or Valka, if they were even still alive. And then Tarquin Belmonte would shackle her, take her away, use her to achieve his hateful ends.
Holy Ulsinael, he’d been the one to tell her she didn’t truly see people, see the consequences of her actions. Ever since he’d mentioned it in Stroppiata, she’d made genuine efforts to look beyond herself and what she cared to see, and to look at how she affected those around her and the larger consequences. She’d worked time and again to change that, sometimes to the point of recklessness, like in the ring in Dun Mozg.
Had she thought of the impending war tonight and decided she couldn’t bear the consequences of inaction?
Mati had told her she’d had no say, to remain in their quarters, but… when someone told Aless there was no way out, she made her own.
And she’d expected him to agree with Mati and obey instead of helping her with her plan… And if that’s what she’d thought, she hadn’t been wrong.
Disobedient, reckless, rebellious, selfless, brave, heartrending Aless.
Please be safe. Please.
On his way out, he grabbed his bow and quiver, then burst into the hallway.
Mati would—
No, Mati would order him to stay here. As much as she liked Aless, she wouldn’t allow him to interfere with negotiations or risk being captured for leverage.
But once the Brotherhood had Aless, there might not be any more negotiations. Tarquin could launch the assault, or—or take Aless and leave. Or Aless could be killed, sacrificed to spark the war irretrievably.
Mati had ordered him to stay in his quarters, but orders or no orders, the Brotherhood would not be taking Aless anywhere. Not while he drew breath. He’d let Ata leave once and he hadn’t followed—as a child, wouldn’t have been able to follow—but he would not let Aless go. Mati could rearrange his face later and he’d accept it, as long as he could bring back Aless.
He strode down the hall, headed for Heraza Gate. Already some of the palace’s residents were emerging from their quarters, and there wouldn’t be much time before all of Nozva Rozkveta awoke to the whitening glow of the Bloom.
Passersby greeted him as he traversed Central Cavern, and he offered pleasant replies—perhaps he’d seem less suspicious, even jogging down the walkways.
Near the entrance to Heraza’s tunnel, a group of people huddled tightly, Yelena and—and—
“Gavri,” he called out, and she raised her head, her face marred with bruises, blood, and a black eye.
“Veron!” She ran to him, with Yelena and Valka following. “Aless is still out there—”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Is she safe?”
She blinked, shaking her head. “I-I don’t know. Last we saw, the Brotherhood was coming after us, and she went in the opposite direction—”
He released her and passed—
“Veron,” she said from behind him, “when Valka and I were scouting, when we got caught… two other armies were en route. Human armies.”
Looking over his shoulder, he stopped. Two human armies? “Whose? Brotherhood reinforcements?”
“We were apprehended before we could investigate further, Your Highness,” Valka answered.
Had Aless’s father arrived after all? But what about the second army?
A loud series of thuds echoed through Central Cavern from the earthmover tunnels—a hammer knock. Dun Mozg’s.
Yelena grinned. “My mother has arrived.”
“Your mother?”
That grin widened. “If it is a fight the humans want, then Dun Mozg stands with Nozva Rozkveta, to the Darkness and beyond.”
Then Nendra had come with troops and weapons. And the entire queendom would soon be awake and bustling with battle preparations—all while the Brotherhood held Aless. Even if her assessment of Tarquin was correct, would his army refrain from harming her if their backs were pressed to the wall?
Armies had arrived, with some hungry for war. If nothing changed, there would be unthinkable loss of life.
“We have to stop this,” he bit out. “Someone has to find out the identity of these two armies. Open negotiations with them.” Someone like him. If it was indeed King Macario, then perhaps he could sway the Brotherhood to release Aless and to surrender, before any of this came to battle and deaths.
He strode through the tunnel to Heraza Gate.
“Veron,” Yelena shouted, “you have orders. You can’t just—”
But he did anyway.
Chapter 25
In the lavish officer’s tent, Aless sat still in the chair, following Tarquin’s every movement as he poured tea service for two next to the massive map of the area sprawling over
the table. A marker sat below Nozva Rozkveta—the Brotherhood, surely—and two others, one far to the south and one to the west. What did they represent?
A tall, lanky young man with long, straight black hair stood at attention at the tent entrance in a white officer’s coat, watching her with a hard, hazel gaze.
“Don’t mind Siriano, Your Highness. Neither he, nor anyone here, will hurt you.” Tarquin put a spoonful of honey in one of the cups and stirred it without a sound. “He’s a mage captain from the Belmonte Company and loyal to a fault.”
Loyal to whom? To Tarquin? To the Brotherhood? Certainly not to the Crown, if he was allowing anyone to keep a princess of Silen captive.
Also, Tarquin had said mage captain. Was this the geomancer who’d attacked Dun Mozg?
Tarquin slid the cup toward her before bringing his own up to his nose and inhaling deeply.
“The best Kamerish black tea comes from just outside of Ren,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
The only quality of this tea that interested her right now was how badly it would scald Tarquin Belmonte if she threw it in his face.
Beneath Siriano’s watchful eyes, her fingers curled around the cup, but—scalding the only person keeping her alive was ill advised, even for the Beast Princess. “You didn’t bring me here to talk about tea.”
Tarquin laughed under his breath. “I didn’t bring you here.”
Mincing words?
“Fine.” She grimaced. “You aren’t keeping me here to talk about tea.”
He took a sip and then sighed lengthily through his nose. “Your Highness, I am the only person in this kingdom who has cared enough to save you from this forced arrangement. His Majesty manipulated you into this against your will, and that is a wrong that must be righted.”
Pretty words. But if he thought she’d believe he’d mobilized an army and come all the way here just out of care for her, then he was about to wake from his little daydream. “And how would you right it?”
“First, by exchanging those two beasts for you. Then, by pretending to threaten your life if His Majesty doesn’t annul your marriage—”
Only an unconsummated marriage could be annulled in Silen, but she’d keep that tidbit to herself.
“—and once he does, encouraging you to wed the man of your choice.”
Veron. Veron. Forever and always Veron.
“And I assume by that you mean yourself?”
His mouth curled in a seductive smile. “The notion didn’t seem to displease you the evening of the masquerade.”
“I assure you, I was contemplating a far cruder notion.”
“And found me to be a pleasing option.”
Until he’d opened his mouth. A single word of hatred spoken could turn even a handsome face ugly. And Tarquin had spoken many.
Despite the idiocy of his assertion, she didn’t dare laugh at him. Not while he held her captive here, thinking he’d win his path to princedom if only he just persevered. Shredding his daydream to tatters could mean he’d be holding a captive he didn’t need anymore.
And imagining the outcomes flowing from that was an exercise in terror.
“Well, here I am,” she said, holding his dark-brown gaze steadily. “If this is between you and me, you don’t need an army. Or maybe we should be marching on Bellanzole.” If she could get him moving the Brotherhood away from Nozva Rozkveta toward the capital, Papà would be forced to intervene.
“The people adore you. I have both the Belmonte Company and the Brotherhood at my command. Together, we could turn this nation on the right path, eliminate the Immortali that prey on us.” Across the table from her, he lazily crossed one leg over the other. “You are a large portion of this puzzle, Your Highness, but other pieces remain.”
“What other pieces?”
“Restoring the kingdom to its former glory. Before the Immortali invaded and ruined it.”
“The Immortali are not some monolithic entity. They vary from person to person just like we do.” Stating a belief to the contrary was just smoke. “You’re a smart man, Tarquin, so I know you understand this.”
His brow furrowed. “And in their shadow, danger follows. Life has never been more violent, more dangerous, than now.”
“We’re working to change that. The dark-elves can help us keep the dangerous among the Immortali at bay. Those who attack us first, who do nothing but murder and harm. Those are only a small fraction, but by working together, we can stand against them.”
That furrow deepened. “We don’t need to work together. We have mages.” He nodded toward Siriano, whose hard expression didn’t waver.
“But the dark-elves are just like us, Tarquin. They have marriages and families and babies. They want peace. They want love. They just want to survive.”
“Spoken like a tender-hearted woman.” He scoffed. “Do they need to be stockpiling weapons to survive? Our intelligence tells us that is exactly what the queendom of Dunmarrow is doing.”
“Can you blame them? Humans have been attacking their people since they awoke. Wouldn’t you prepare to defend yourself? Yet they want peace. They haven’t taken a single human life.”
He knocked the table with his knuckles. “Oh, but they did. Three of my scouts went missing near Dunmarrow.”
“They attacked me,” she blurted. That wasn’t the dark-elves’ fault. “I had to defend myself and killed one of them, and the other two were killed to protect me.”
He shook his head vehemently. “Those men were sent to find you, and rescue you if the opportunity arose.”
“They tried to drag me away kicking and screaming!” Her hands trembled, so she folded them in her lap. “Would you call that a rescue?”
He tilted his head, scrutinizing her. “You didn’t want to be saved?”
This conversation was taking a wrong turn. “My father wanted to build a peace. That peace falls apart without me.”
He stood from the chair, pacing the tent. “He built that peace on your sacrifice. You were a victim, just like Arabella. It wasn’t right to begin with.”
He wanted to talk about right?
“Tarquin, I saw what’s been done to that unicorn. That wasn’t right either.”
“Unicorn? You mean that Immortali horse-beast?”
“It’s not a beast. They are peaceful beings—”
He turned on her, his face contorted. “My sister, Arabella, was fond of your so-called ‘peaceful being.’ She was an innocent—she loved singing and picking wildflowers and admiring beauty of all kinds. She saw one of those Immortali horses and couldn’t stop looking at it, searching it out. One day, she disappeared, and not three days later, that beast trespassed onto our lands and started attacking our doors, breaking windows, terrifying everyone, destroying everything.”
“So you tortured it?”
He leaned in. “It kept coming back, wreaking havoc, so my men caught it. Due to its size and strength, they’ve been trying to tame it, but it’s been a waste of time. They’re of half a mind to just kill it.”
“So you’ll just let them kill anything that won’t obey?” That was what all the unicorn’s injuries were from? “Tarquin, that is an intelligent being. It has thoughts and feelings and may be vastly older and wiser than you and me. You can’t just lock it up and abuse it like that.”
“It is the reason Arabella is gone. If not for that… thing, she would have been safe at home.”
“It’s not a thing! It’s a—”
A shapeshifter.
She paused.
Tarquin’s frown faded slightly. “It’s a what?”
Veron had told her all about them. She sat up. “Tarquin, unicorns have a territory they stay in. They abhor all violence. They’re pacifistic by nature.”
“Not this one.”
She nodded. That was the problem. Something didn’t fit. “You said it showed up three days after Arabella disappeared?”
A line formed between his eyebrows as he lifted a shoulder. “What of
it?”
Holy Mother’s mercy, if she was wrong about this—
“You said Arabella loved unicorns, that she’d go off in search of them, just to look at them.” When he nodded, she continued, “Unicorns are shapeshifters, like werewolves. They can turn people, Tarquin. And you said this unicorn showed up a couple days after Arabella disappeared? And unlike their peaceful reputation, it was destroying things? If she wanted to become a unicorn—”
“You’re saying that thing is Arabella?” he shouted at her, his eyes wide and blazing.
She flinched. Perhaps not her greatest move ever.
“If that’s true—and it’s too ridiculous to be—then why hasn’t she changed back? If she’s a shapeshifter?”
She swallowed. “You kept her bound in arcanir chains. It can interfere with the Immortali.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “If this is true… If that thing was Arabella…”
“Then you’ve been torturing the very person you set out to defend.”
He froze, standing still in the dim lamplight of the tent. So many evil deeds he’d done in the name of his sister, and there was a chance she was not only alive but had been in his custody all this time, harmed by his very own men, desperate to show her brother in any way she could who she was… to no avail.
“General,” someone called from outside the tent, and at Tarquin’s permission, Siriano pulled the tent flap aside and let in a young officer, who eyed her, gawking at her clothes—her disguise.
With a glower, Tarquin motioned the officer to continue.
“Sir, scouts say King Macario’s forces have made camp south of us, on the hills abutting the river to the east. The duchessa’s army has taken up position to the west and is building makeshift fortifications.”
Her heart pounded.
Papà had come for her.
And the duchessa had joined him.
Tarquin moved the two map markers accordingly, his face a veneer of calm. “Send a message to King Macario. Tell him he shall annul the princess’s marriage to the beast—”
How dare he call Veron a beast?
No Man Can Tame Page 25