The Beauty of Darkness by Mary E. Pearson
His lips skimmed a burning line from my temple to my mouth and then he kissed me, hard and deep, and I wanted to melt into the feel and taste and scent of him, the wind in his hair, the salt on his brow, but another need—a greater one—flamed brighter, blazing and persistent.
I wedged my hands between us, gently nudging him away.
“Rafe, haven’t you ever felt something deep in your gut? Or heard a whisper you had to listen to against all reason?”
The tenderness receded from his eyes. “I am not going to change my decision, Lia,” he said. “I need you to trust me. You’re not going back for now. Maybe later when it’s safer.”
I stared into his eyes, praying he’d see the urgency in mine. “It will never be safer, Rafe. It’s only going to get worse.”
He stepped back, sighing, everything about his stance conveying impatience. “And you think you know this because of an ancient text?”
“It is true, Rafe. Every word is true.”
“How do you know? You’re not a scholar. You may not have even translated it properly.” His boorish skepticism snapped the last of my patience. There would be no more explaining or groveling.
“We’re done.”
“Lia—”
“Get out!” I yelled, shoving him away.
He stumbled back and stared at me, stunned. “You’re throwing me out?”
“No, I don’t think it’s possible to throw you out. You are after all King Jaxon, and you decide who comes and goes here—or so I’ve been told. But I suggest you leave before I find another way to dispatch you.” I placed my hand at my side over my sheathed dagger.
Pure rage flushed his face.
He turned and stormed off, nearly ripping the curtain from the door.
We’d see which of us came to our senses first.
* * *
Madam Rathbone appeared at my tent early the next morning, along with Vilah and Adeline. Curiously, Madam Hague accompanied them, though she never had before. Inwardly I sighed. Yes, the officers and all their wives had heard our ugly argument, and certainly Madam Hague was hoping for additional juicy details, even if the official purpose of their visit was to deliver the accessories to go with my dress for the party that evening. Adeline held up a silver chain-mail belt encrusted with sapphires. Once again, I marveled at the extravagance, especially here at this remote outpost. Next Vilah laid out a jeweled silver pauldron, embossed with an intricate pattern.
“Tell me, have Dalbretch women ever actually worn these in battle?”
“Oh, yes!” Vilah answered. “That’s why they’re part of our traditional dress. Marabella was a great warrior before she was a queen.”
“But that was hundreds of years ago,” Madam Hague added, raising her brows in distaste. “Our ladies and queens don’t go to battle anymore. It’s unnecessary now.”
Don’t be so sure, I was tempted to say.
Madam Rathbone took a last inventory of everything laid out on the table and said, “We’ll be by early to help you dress.”
“And do your hair,” Adeline said.
“With silver cording,” Vilah added clasping her hands together in anticipation.
I heard a strained eagerness in their voices, as if they were trying to erase the dark pall of last night’s argument. “You’ll all be busy getting ready yourselves,” I answered. “I can manage on my own.”
“Really?” Madam Hague asked doubtfully. “Is that how it’s done back in Morrighan? No one to attend you?” Her lip lifted with patronizing pity.
“Yes,” I sighed. “We’re nothing but savages in Morrighan. It’s a wonder your king would arrange a marriage with one of our kind at all.”
Her lashes fluttered downward and she left with a faint apology that she had much to do that day, but with no apology for her insult. Perhaps now that her king had lashed out at me, she felt free to do the same.
* * *
Six guards arrived at my tent a short time later. Percy, their leader, informed me they were my escorts for the day. So, this was Rafe’s version of being free to go where I wished? Six guards—even within the walls of Marabella. I supposed I should take it as a compliment that Rafe held my skills in higher regard than he would admit. I immediately decided I had many places I would need to go today, not only so the entire outpost could share in the amusement of six guards trotting behind me, but also because, one way or another, I would be leaving and I needed to attend to details.
First I went to the lower paddock, checking on our Vendan horses, now also in the custody of the king. I eyed the lower gate where horses came and went. It was heavily guarded. We’d never get past that, but at least I knew where the horses and tack were. I’d figure out the rest later. Next I went to the cook’s pantry. The cook was not pleased with my intrusion, saying he would gladly bring something to my tent. I pretended I wasn’t sure what I wanted, then perused the shelves and cold cellar. Unfortunately, nearly everything was stored in large bulky bags or containers. I took one of his bowls and filled it with handfuls of pine nuts, hard soda bread, and some dried sweet figs. He eyed my strange assortment of food and glanced at my abdomen. I smiled sheepishly, letting him draw his own conclusions.
Next I trudged over to the physician’s barracks to consult with the surgeon. Kaden and Eben were gone to the showers, but the surgeon was in the middle of examining Griz’s wound. He showed me that it was healing nicely in most places, but one section of flesh was slower to knit. He said he felt confident that it would heal, then shot a stern glance at Griz. “With a little more rest.”
Griz balked, saying he was fine now.
“But you won’t be if you’re lifting heavy saddles on and off a horse twice a day,” I said. “Or, the heavens forbid, if you should have to swing your sword.”
Griz smiled, his eyes twinkling with mayhem. “Anywhere you’d like me to swing it in particular?”
My stomach burned. He had heard our argument too, which meant everyone in the dining room had. Surely Kaden gloated over this development, but when I saw him in the work yard later, there was only concern in his eyes.
He spoke in Vendan so the guards wouldn’t understand us. “You’re all right?” he asked.
I nodded, trying to ignore the knot swelling in my throat again.
He grinned. “And Rafe’s shins?”
I knew he was trying to lighten my mood, and for that I was grateful. “Fine for now, but this isn’t over.”
“I never thought it was.”
His vote of confidence in me was like cool water on a parched throat. I wanted to hug him, but that would only have brought him additional scrutiny.
The guards became nervous with this conversation they couldn’t understand, as if they suspected we were conspiring—which we were. I stepped closer to Kaden and whispered to really give them something to worry over. “When we leave, Eben will have to stay behind with Griz. It will just be the two of us—with Malich out there somewhere. Are the odds against us?”
“He’d have been there with the others in the Valley of Giants if he was sent to kill you. I think he’s on his way to Civica with a message.”
“That I’m dead?”
“That you’ve escaped. They won’t count you as dead until they have a body—and they’ll know exactly where you’re headed.”
Which meant the Chancellor and his coconspirators would be waiting for me. Probably watching every road leading into the city. The element of surprise was no longer mine. I didn’t need anything to be harder than it already was.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tavish and Orrin sauntering up to us shoulder to shoulder. They circled, stopping on either side of me. “We’re here to relieve the guards, Your Highness,” Tavish said, casting a withering state at Kaden.
“Off you go, Percy,” Orrin added, with a shooing motion. “Colonel wants you all back at his office. Go.”
Tavish gave a respectful nod toward me. “We’ll be your escorts for the rest of the day.”
??
Tavish smiled. “Ours.”
Neither Tavish nor Orrin spoke Vendan, so I quickly spoke a few last Vendan words to Kaden. “We’ll talk more later. We need to gather supplies.”
Tavish cleared his throat. “And Jeb will be joining us shortly.”
His message was clear. Jeb spoke Vendan. I sighed. This was more than loyalty to a king—it was loyalty to their friend.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Morrighese army came into being centuries before any of the others had so much as set a cornerstone to the foundation of their realms. It was yet another thing the Holy Text emphasized—that the Holy Guardians, the fierce warriors who accompanied Morrighan on her trek through the wilderness had unmatched strength and wills of steel bequeathed by the heavens themselves, to ensure the survival of the chosen Remnant.
Aldrid, who was to become her husband and the revered father of the kingdom, was one of those guardians. His warrior blood ran through all of us. The citadelle even had some of the Holy Guardians’ swords displayed in the throne room—reminders of our greatness and the anointing of the gods.
Throughout history, the Morrighese army had remained great, and its soldiers were courageous and honorable. But as I watched the Dalbretch troops going through their exercises and training from my vantage point on the outpost wall, I was struck by their daunting precision. Their halberds were braced with formidable timing, their shields were interlocked with the ease of a perfected dance. Confidence emanated from every meticulously orchestrated move. They practically glowed with intimidation. Their strength and discipline were like none I had ever seen. I understood why they believed in their power. But they couldn’t see what I did—their numbers.
Even with an army forty thousand strong, they were no match for the terrible greatness of Venda. After Morrighan fell, Dalbreck would be next.
My gaze rose to the wide expanse above the troops where a crescent moon shared the sky with the departing sun. Another day was gone, fewer still remaining. Time moved forward, circling, repeating, another devastation coiling like a poisonous serpent that had awakened, ready to strike. It was coming, and hidden forces in Morrighan were helping it in the most insidious way—from within—feeding it with power that would destroy us all.
There had to be a way.
Jezelia, whose life will be sacrificed for the hope of saving yours.
A different way.
I wrestled with Venda’s words. Sacrifice my life for mere hope? I would have preferred more than that—like certainty. But hope was at least something, and as unsure as it was, it was all I had to offer Natiya and so many more. Not even Rafe could take that away. Like the stories that Gaudrel had fed Morrighan, hope was nourishment for an empty belly.
Jeb interrupted my thoughts, saying it was time to get ready for the party. Tavish and Orrin stood several paces behind him, staring at me curiously. I looked out at the practice fields, and all the soldiers were gone. A handful of stars were already lighting the sky. Orrin shifted, sniffing the air, but they all waited for me to make the first move to leave. The three of them had maintained a respectful distance all day, vanishing with skill, just as they had at the Sanctum, but still always there, still always watching.
It wasn’t by their own volition they had taken on the task of escorts, as they claimed. I was certain it was by Rafe’s orders. He was trying to shed his own embarrassment about having a parade of anonymous guards follow me. He knew I cared about these three—we had a history together—even if it was short. Nearly losing your lives together had a way of deepening bonds and lengthening time. I studied their faces. No, not guards. Their eyes were filled with the concern of friends, but no doubt if I saddled a horse to leave, they would become something else. They would stop me. Even under the guise of friendship, I was still a prisoner.
I gathered my skirts and got down from the wall. For the first time, I sniffed the scent of roasted meat in the air, and then remembered the lanterns being strung in the lower field earlier today, the canopy set for the head table, silk streamers draped between poles in anticipation of a party eagerly awaited by almost everyone. Jeb fell in by my side, and Tavish and Orrin walked just behind us.
Jeb picked at his shirt. Smoothed the sleeve. Pulled at his collar.
“Say it Jeb,” I told him. “Before you worry holes into your shirt.”
“His throne is being challenged,” he blurted out, voiced like a plea for his friend.
I heard Tavish and Orrin groan behind us, obviously not pleased with Jeb’s loose tongue.
I rolled my eyes, unmoved. “Because of cabinet bickering? What else is new?”
“It’s not the cabinet. One of his generals has begun proceedings to claim the throne.”
A coup d’état? My steps slowed. “So the Dalbreck court has traitors too?”
“The general isn’t a traitor. It’s within his rights. He’s charging Prince Jaxon with abdicating, which everyone knows is a false claim.”
I stopped and faced Jeb. “His mere absence is interpreted as abdication?”
“Not by most, but it could be construed that way, especially with the general bandying even stronger terms around, like desertion. The prince has been gone for months.”
I bristled. “Why didn’t Rafe tell me?”
“Both colonels advised him not to tell anyone. Dissent breeds doubt.”
I wasn’t just anyone, but maybe Rafe didn’t want me to doubt him most of all.
“Now that the general knows Rafe is alive, surely he’ll stop those proceedings.”
Jeb shook his head. “A general tasting power? He probably has an appetite now for the full-course meal. But Rafe has the overwhelming support of the troops. Their respect for him has only grown. It shouldn’t take long to quell the challenge once he arrives back at the palace—but it’s one more worry on his shoulders.”
“And that’s suppose to excuse his behavior of last night?”
“Not excuse,” Tavish said from behind me. “Just to explain it and give you a fuller picture.”
I spun around to face him. “Like the full picture you gave to Rafe when you caught Kaden holding my hand? Maybe everyone in Dalbreck needs to be sure of their information before they run off feeding it to others.”
Tavish nodded, accepting his culpability. “I made a mistake, and I apologize. I only reported what I thought I saw, but news of the challenge comes directly from the cabinet. This is not a mistake.”
“So Dalbreck has a usurper. Is that supposed to sway me? Why are Dalbreck’s worries so much more important than Morrighan’s? The Komizar rages with enough venom to make your general look like a whimpering kitten.”
My patience unraveled. The urgency, the long miles to Morrighan, the temptation to say yes when no still blared in my head, the needs of so many compared to the enormous lack within me—it all picked at every last shred of confidence I had until I felt like a frayed rope ready to snap—the last pull of weight coming from Rafe himself. If the person I loved the most in this world didn’t believe in me, how would anyone else? My eyes stung, and I blinked back any show of weakness. “If anything, you’d think Rafe’s situation would give him empathy and help him understand why I have to get back to Morrighan—but it doesn’t seem he’s given that a passing thought.”
“It’s not his head he’s thinking with,” Tavish said. “It’s his heart. He fears for your safety.”
His words stabbed into my tender underside. “I am not a thing to be protected, Tavish, any more than he is. My choices—and my risks—are my own.”
There was nothing he could say. I was right.
They dropped me off at my tent. Percy and the other soldiers were already stationed there to take over.
“See you soon,” Jeb said, offering a hesitant smile. “First dance.”
“That will be reserved for the king,” Tavish reminded him.
Maybe not. Maybe there would be no dancing at all. At least not between Rafe and me.
* * *
I lay across my bed, stripped down to the soft comfort of my chemise, writing down the verses from the Song of Venda that had been ripped from the book. After so many years, I was finally returning her original words where they were meant to be. They squeezed onto the back side of the torn page.
Betrayed by her own,
Beaten and scorned,
She will expose the wicked,
For the Dragon of many faces
Knows no boundaries.
And though the wait may be long,
The promise is great,
For the one named Jezelia,
Whose life will be sacrificed
For the hope of saving yours.
I remembered every word she had spoken that day on the terrace, though at first I had only been preoccupied with the phrase whose life will be sacrificed. Now another phrase caught my attention: She will expose the wicked.
I fingered the burned edges of the book, and then the furious jagged tear of the last page that attempted to rip the words from existence.
I smiled.
Someone hated me very much or, maybe better, feared me, believing I would expose him—or her.
Fear. Anger. Desperation. That was what I saw in these burned edges and torn page. I would find a way to fuel that fear, because even though I knew desperation could make people dangerous—it also made them stupid. Exposing the highest players in this conspiracy was essential. If I fanned their fears, maybe they would choke and show their hands.
With Malich on his way to tell them about me, I had already lost the advantage of surprise. They would be fortified and waiting—now I’d have to turn that knowledge, at least in some small way, to my favor.
I set the book aside and fluffed some pillows, leaning back against them, contemplating how I would go about this without exposing myself. I had to stay alive at least long enough to find out who might be conspiring with the Chancellor and Royal Scholar. Maybe one of the county lords? Their influence was limited, but if I was lucky, I might be there in time for when the winter conclave assembled. Or maybe it was others in the cabinet? The Watch Captain? The Trademaster? The Field Marshal? The Timekeeper had always eyed me suspiciously, and he jealously guarded my father’s schedule. Was it to keep him out of the way? I avoided the obvious—my father, who had posted the bounty for my arrest. He was many things, but he wasn’t a traitor to his own people. He would have nothing to gain by conspiring with the Komizar—but was he an unwitting puppet? The solution seemed to be getting past the minions who surrounded his movements to speak directly to him—but that was a thorny problem too. Would it be safe?