Threats of Sky and Sea Page 22

  “Your Highness…where are we even to find red flowers?” Emis, still polite, is growing more exasperated by the unreasonable request.

  Aleta peruses her fingernails. “I’m told there is a bed of roses that grows outside the dungeons. You might try there.”

  “I’ll go.” I lurch to my feet. My mind scrambles to put together the layered meanings behind Aleta’s words. She wants to wear a killer’s colors. To throw away outdated customs. And…if she’s to be queen?

  Perhaps while I’ve been making my plans, Aleta has been busy with schemes of her own.

  “Most kind, Lady Breena, thank you,” Aleta says.

  “It’s nothing,” I say, already heading for the door. “I’m due a visit to Da today anyway. I’ll tell the guards they’re for Lady Kat or something.”

  The less attention this stunt of Aleta’s draws the better. What is she playing at?

  “Such subterfuge. You needn’t do that. Tell them I requested them. By all means.”

  The smile Aleta unfurls is far more cutting than any knife I’ve ever held.

  The guard at the dungeon’s entrance is a new face and refuses me entry, saying that he needs express permission from his superiors.

  As it would only aggravate me to remain there and argue with him until he capitulates, I decide to wait to see Da. Perhaps I’ll get a guard to escort me for a visit after the Bonding banquet.

  Or I can simply wait until tomorrow when I find a way to break him out.

  The guard with me balks at entering the rose garden, telling me that he’ll wait until I rejoin him at the dungeon’s entrance. An unexpected blessing. I’m a little happier to be doing this for Aleta if I get some time to myself.

  The paths in the garden are overrun and the bushes tower above me, but I go deep inside, forgoing the flowers at the entrance. The longer I walk, the more time I have to think. I gather a few roses, slicing them free of the bushes with my knife.

  I carefully shift the ones I’ve cut into my other arm, wary of the thorns. My bouquet is made up of passable blooms, free of aphids and browning, but the red roses are so vibrant that they’ll be striking against Aleta’s dark hair—which, I know, is what the princess wants.

  Aleta knows what red means, I think again. Does she only want to cause a stir? Or does she have other plans? Darker plans. Plans of bloodshed.

  The branches of the rosebushes catch at my skirts as I pick my way through the garden, but for once I’m grateful for the dress. Breeches would be much closer to the skin, much more likely to end with me getting pricked.

  Barring the red that’s so rare in the palace, this garden isn’t particularly special. Their placement is symbolic of blood spilled by the people held inside the dungeon, and the bushes full of thorns act as a deterrent should the criminals find a way to the southern wall. They’ll find no escape that way. Beyond that, the garden is barely tended and mostly ignored. By the look of things, the roses are watered only when it rains and trimmed only to keep them confined within the walls of the garden. But some, inexplicably, blossom widely, opening themselves to the sun. I almost feel bad when I find those rare blooms and snipp them at their stems for Aleta’s hair ornaments.

  A rose near the ground catches my eye, and I crouch to get a better look. Looks about as nice as the rest. I slip my stolen knife out of my sleeve again and press it against the stem.

  “Are you sure that you should be here?”

  The knife slips and slices into my finger. I bite down on the curse that almost escapes, mouth instead opening with explanations, readying my defense. I’m allowed to be here, technically speaking. It just isn’t…often done.

  My words die in my mouth before I can give them voice. There’s no one behind me, no one standing next to me. With a few more looks from side to side to confirm that, I carefully stand, keeping my head below the tops of the greenery.

  A curly blonde head of hair stands several bushes away.

  Fitting that Kat would be here. She must feel so at home surrounded by her favorite color.

  Kat moves her hand, and I follow the shine of her ruby ring as she strokes it down a cheek—the king’s, I register with shock, noticing him for the first time. I duck a bit lower, heart pounding.

  “They can hardly stop me from roaming my own grounds. Even if it is the prison garden.” The king’s voice is a low rumble. “I rather enjoy…tending to my garden when I’ve the time.”

  There’s an undercurrent to what he says as he steals Kat’s hand from his cheek and drops a kiss into her palm.

  Eurgh. Quite of its own volition, my nose wrinkles. I should have guessed that Kat’s unholy devotion to him meant more than it appeared. They’re lovers.

  Kat’s voice is uncharacteristically breathy and pitched lower than normal. “I only meant that I worry of someone overhearing us. Dissenters may use it to try—”

  He straightens, his hand fisting in Kat’s hair. “My reign is absolute. Do you doubt it?”

  Kat’s neck bends at an unnatural angle. “Never, Your Majesty,” she chokes out.

  The king looks reassured as he releases her to pat down his doublet.

  Insistently, Kat presses herself against the king, and my stomach turns. Instead of fearing the king, Kat’s basic sense of self-preservation is off. The forceful handling, the power… It excites the assassin. It’s writ plain across her face.

  Kat’s arms go around the king’s waist. “It won’t be long now.”

  Long until what? I hold my breath. Have they somehow gleaned that I intend to escape tomorrow? I’ve been so careful, haven’t said a word to anyone.

  His hand falls to her shoulder and pushes her back. “Yes. We won’t have time to discuss the timetable after the wedding, so pay attention.”

  I breathe a bit easier—but only a bit. Not about me or my plans then. About theirs.

  Kat nods sharply. All traces of a lover’s softness disappear as she focuses on her orders. She has a soldier’s posture. Her mouth is a slash upon her face.

  The wind sweeps past me, rustling the bushes, and I seize on the noise to cover my movements as I shift my weight to my other foot. It would have been simply uncomfortable for the king and Kat to see me in the garden before they’d acted so intimately with each other. Now that they’ve moved on to discussing secret affairs and plots, their notice would be disastrous.

  I miss something of what the king says, his words lost to the breeze that carries them away, but then he continues. “…That should be enough time to legitimize the marriage. And even Nereid law is clear when it comes to succession.”

  Nereid law? I strain my ears. If it’s Nereid law that they’re discussing, then they’re talking about Aleta. But enough time for what?

  My heart drops as I process the last word.

  Succession. Nereid succession.

  If Aleta was free to actually go to Nereidium, she’d be the reigning monarch. If something were to happen to her now… Her closest relative is her aunt, who governs Nereidium for her. She’d assume the crown.

  Unless Aleta were married, which she will be soon enough. Childless, the crown will pass to Caden. And the king is still arrogant enough to believe that his son is squarely under his thumb.

  He plans to finally have Nereidium for his own. Ether and arrows, they’re going to kill Aleta.

  And only the Makers know when.

  Thirty-Five

  The instant the king and Kat leave the garden, I flee back to my rooms to warn Aleta, tripping in my haste. I burst into the room, slam the door shut, lean heavily against it—and stop.

  My ladies and Aleta stare back at me. I gulp back the panic that threatens to choke me. I know what I must look like to them. My hair is damp with sweat. Leaves cling to my skirt. My hands, slick with blood razed by pointed thorns, clutch the roses to my chest.

  I look like I’ve been through a battle, not off picking flowers.

  Gisela takes in my disheveled state. “You still find gardening a particularly stressful pasti
me, I gather, Lady Breena?” she asks innocently.

  Aleta retorts before I can. “Mind your manners. I’d like to see you return from the dungeons and thorn bushes looking any better. I daresay they’d improve you.”

  Gisela’s mouth closes with an audible click of her teeth.

  “Really, though,” Aleta mutters to me as I bring the lurid bouquet forward with shaking hands. She motions for Emis to take them. “You’re bleeding, you realize. You might have been a bit less careless.” She spares me a mirthless smile. “It is my Bonding night, after all.”

  A strange croak escapes me, and Aleta’s attempt at humor falls from her face. “What in Egria’s green pastures is it?”

  I yank myself from my frenzied line of thoughts. Aleta will marry Caden. The king wants her throne. Kat and the king—and the Mother and Father only know who else—plan to kill Aleta. And there’s no telling when.

  But the eyes of my ladies and the other attendants in the room are heavy on my back. I can’t tell Aleta what I overheard with them watching. Their past reports to the king reveal that none of them give one toss in the coffers for my or Aleta’s well-being; only their own.

  I let my lower lip tremble. I’m not Ardin Perdit’s daughter for nothing. Toeing the carpet beneath my feet, I channel Da’s ability to play a part. If I pull off a lie just once, it has to be now.

  “It’s nothing. It’s just…my da, y’know?” I rub at my dry eyes, feigning the tears that came and went months before.

  If anything, Aleta looks alarmed at this show of emotion. “Yes. Well. Steady on, Lady Breena.” She gives my shoulder two brisk pats. “Things will work out as they must.”

  Dire as the situation is, I have to force myself not to roll my eyes. It’s a good thing I don’t actually require emotional comfort. Aleta would be a poor choice to turn to.

  Aleta redirects her attention to Gisela and Emis, who are now affixing the roses to her hair. “Higher. Higher. By the ether, at least make them even, would you?” Slowly, their focus is drawn away from me and back onto Aleta

  I turn my hands over and sigh at the sight of my filthy palms. There are two hours left to prepare for the banquet, and I can’t tell Aleta of the plot against her with this many witnesses.

  I slip away from the gown preparations. It will be fine, I tell myself as I slide the screen over the bathing chambers and pour the waiting water in. Nothing will happen tonight.

  After all, they still need Aleta alive.

  After preparing for public presentation all afternoon, Aleta is as placid as a lake as we stand outside the ballroom. The Bonding banquet is in a separate ballroom from the one her birthday celebration was held in. They’ve yet to repair the damage I did during my Reveal.

  The princess’s thoughts must be in turmoil. She’s about to make her entrance with red roses wound into her hair. No one watching will mistake it for an innocent error, least of all the king.

  I still don’t know exactly what Aleta means by it. Is she accusing the king? Making a statement about her marriage? Only she knows.

  But not a trace of that shows on her face. She’s utterly calm. In fact, Shaker Alys would have held her up as an example for me—this state of calm is what I should be striving for in our lessons.

  Aleta should be a Thrower instead of a Torcher.

  I look to her. “Are you ready?”

  “This is a state event,” she says quietly. “The heir’s Bonding night? It’s ritual, not simple celebration. They’ll announce us this time. You’ll go in first, and I’ll follow after. I’ll be the last to enter.”

  My pulse pounds as the guards grasp the door handles. Aleta inclines her head to them in a nod. The guards pull the doors open, and I look forward with new resolve.

  Am I a Thrower or aren’t I? If Aleta can be calm, so can I. I look down the tall staircase I stand atop to the crowd below.

  The ivory wall flickers with a multitude of colors, the source of it a candelabra that hangs above. If I squint, I can make out the tiny stained glass panes that sit in front of the individual flames. The effect is dizzying.

  One noble blends into another in a sea of glittery jewels. Some foreigners are easy to spot—Clavish fashion favors the fur touches from the far north. A quartet on the strings is in the corner, finishing an elegant dance.

  I swallow as the music dies to a smattering of polite applause. There’s the king in the center, Kat at his side. Tutor Larsden lurks behind a table, his arms folded in, and Caden is nearby, too, still clapping lightly. Tregle is the first to spot me, hunched in his robe in a far corner, and disappointment fills his features. He must have expected Aleta.

  The steward raps a staff smartly on the ground, and the room of expectant faces turns to me. My hand spasms on the stair railing as I stare back at them, dumbstruck.

  Still waters, Bree, I remind myself.

  “Presenting Her Grace, the Lady Breena, heiress to the Duchy of Secan!”

  Heiress, my foot, I think with disdain. If I have my way, I’ll never clap eyes on Secan lands. I take a gliding step forward, unable to will myself to look down into that mass of people. I choose a focal point where the wall meets the ceiling and school my features into a mask of coolness as I enter the ballroom.

  When I reach the floor to a round of applause, I turn with the rest of the guests to where Aleta stands, bloodthirsty roses wound into her hair.

  The princess looks expectantly at the steward. He falters, cringing away from her as though the roses will stain him as well. “A-and presenting Her Royal Highness Aleta Daphoene Nephele Cyrene, first of her name. The Crown Princess of Nereidium and the betrothed of His Royal Highness, Prince Caden Garrett Langdon Edric Richard the Fourth of the House of Capin,, Crown Prince of Egria—the future king and queen of our lands!”

  A ruby glitters at Aleta’s breast as she descends the stairs. I didn’t notice it before. Wonder if she secreted it beneath her corset until I left her. Only the Makers know where she’s found it. Miners don’t typically waste their time with the near worthless red stone. Kat’s the only one I’ve ever seen wear one before.

  As mine were, Aleta’s eyes are locked on something. I follow the grim promise glinting in her gaze to the king. His steely eyes are faintly amused as he awaits his ward’s approach.

  Kat sees me watching and holds my stare, a slow, predatory smile unfurling across her face. The guests are silent, waiting to hear any words uttered by the royals. Cutting through the crowd, Aleta coolly drops into a curtsy before the king.

  “Your Majesty,” she pronounces.

  Her voice rings out over the tension-filled room. Hands choke their goblets. Jaws are tight and shoulders stiff. It’s instinctual, like animals fleeing from a hunter’s heavy footsteps. They sense the wrongness of this ceremony.

  The king takes an echoing step forward to gently grasp her shoulders and pull her to her feet. “Rise, Aleta. You have been my daughter in all but name as my ward these sixteen years. And now you shall have my name as well.”

  The fact that the king and Da were schooled together is obvious to me now. They can play a part equally well. The king is every inch the benevolent ruler from a child’s tale. Aleta accepts the kiss he presses to her temple and turns as the king makes a formal presentation of his son. Aleta gives a perfunctory kiss to her betrothed in greeting.

  Caden has an air of seriousness about him tonight. My eyes sweep over him. He looks like he’s finally managed to get some sleep, but I doubt the worry over his next step is far from his mind.

  I look back to where Kat still stares and allow a small smile of my own to spread across my face. Let her wonder at that.

  Still waters.

  The music restarts after the king takes his seat in the marbled throne. Situated on a balcony, he has a perfect vantage point to see everyone at once. I dart a look at the bottom of the king’s beard—the only part of him that I can see from my position underneath his balcony.

  I locate Aleta safely, if a bit reservedly, twirling w
ith a minor lord and find Caden performing the same dance with a noblewoman.

  I’m a bundle of nerves, trying to keep an eye on everyone at once. The blade up my sleeve serves only a small amount of comfort. It’s doing me no good to be throwing looks around the room like this, like I’m already on the run.

  I push off from my sturdy wall to steal the attention of a servant. I wouldn’t mind a flute of the fizzy drink that they’re serving. It’s not my stomach I need to calm at this ball, but my mind.

  “Imported from the shores of Nereidium,” the waiter informs me as he hands me a glass.

  Interesting. The king will allow Nereid products in his kingdom, but not a representative. At least not until he has a firmer claim on their government. It hasn’t escaped my notice that even Aleta’s aunt hasn’t made an appearance for the princess’s wedding festivities.

  Thoughtfully, I sip at my drink, and my eyebrows lift in surprise. No wonder the king allows this beverage. The stuff practically sparkles on my tongue. My mouth twitches in amusement. The king does have a penchant for shiny things.

  “That is not fair.”

  Caden slouches in on himself as he steps next to me, trying to appear smaller than he really is. I could have told him that it’s useless. Any tricks for avoiding the audience’s attention are wasted. There isn’t a chance that the gossip-hungry crows of his court will miss one step of his tonight.

  “What’s not fair, Your Highness? That this young man doesn’t have a flute left for you?” I allow myself a brief moment of levity, and my smile becomes genuine.

  The waiter’s eyes widen. It’s obvious he’s cursing himself—and me by extension—wondering how he could have let himself run out of drink right as the crown prince happens over.

  “I can get more from the kitchens, Your Highness,” he blurts. “They’ve got barrels of it. I’ll just—”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Caden dismisses. “I much prefer a hardy Egrian mead.”

  Not seeming to know what else to do, the waiter bows low and mutters an excusal as he backs away, nose practically scraping the floor.