Kennedy (Council Assassins #19)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ariella

We dress—well, he dresses while I simply pull on a pair of shorts under his shirt. The walk to the queen’s chambers is silent, both of us lost in our thoughts. The wary eyes of sentries glare at us as we pass, though none dare comment on my attire or presence. I assume the visible blades on my thighs are deterrent enough.

The queen’s personal guard announces us before we enter her sitting room—who the fuck needs a sitting room attached to their bedroom? Royalty have such fatuous tastes.

She stands at a window, hands clasped behind her back as she stares out at the courtyard below. When she turns, her severe eyes home in on my state of undress.

“I asked to speak with my son alone.”

Her tone could freeze fire.

“You did,”

I agree as I direct a malicious smile toward her. “Yet here I am.”

Caspian stiffens beside me as his mother’s face hardens further. The queen moves with a practiced elegance that’s sharp enough to cut flesh. Her gown, a deep indigo that shifts like water when she walks, is pressed and flawless—much like her demeanor. A streak of gray at her temple softens the severity of her dark waves, though it does nothing to dampen the animosity in her gaze. The full weight of her attention swallows me whole as she assesses whatever the fuck she seems to find interesting.

“I see,”

she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear. “Well, I suppose there’s no point in requesting privacy now.”

She drifts from the window to sit in an ornate chair, gesturing for us to do the same on the couch across from her. “Though I must say, it’s rather bold of you to parade around the castle half-dressed after killing my husband.”

“Mother—”

Caspian starts, but I cut him off with a laugh. I seem to do that a lot.

“Would you prefer I parade around fully undressed? I can slip your son’s shirt off if it would make you more comfortable.”

I lean back, crossing my legs, not bothered in the slightest at the way she glares. Her ire fuels me—it’s euphoric. “Though I doubt my attire is what truly bothers you, Your Majesty.”

Her perfectly painted lips curve into a cold smile. “You’re right. What bothers me is how easily you’ve manipulated my son into betraying his family.”

“Manipulated?”

Caspian stands abruptly. “As if she could coerce me into anything. Father was sick.”

“Drunk on power, yes,”

she continues in a silky tone. “But the entire realm just watched you both murder him.”

My chest tightens at Seraphina’s words, but her features soften as she takes in Caspian’s pained expression. “I don’t blame you, my son. That man…he was not the one I married. The king I loved would never have harmed children or hurt his own son.”

In one graceful move, she rises to cup Caspian’s face. “I feared for you and Vespera. His obsession with power consumed him entirely, and try as I might, I could not stop him.”

I sit straighter, the weight of her words pressing on my chest. “And yet you don’t seem surprised.”

She turns her sharp gaze on me, her mouth twitching in what might be amusement—or warning. “I loved my husband once, wraith. But I stopped being surprised when his choices began tearing our family apart. If anything, you’ve spared us further destruction.”

Her voice softens, though her expression remains unreadable. “But don’t mistake my relief for trust. You may have saved my son’s life, but that doesn’t mean I will allow you to destroy him in other ways.”

Caspian’s shoulders tense as he leans forward on his elbows. “Do not speak to her like that. I am sorry about father; I never wished for it to come to this, but you will not take those emotions out on Ariella.”

She considers his words before stroking his cheek once, stepping back. Why does that bother me so much? “What’s done is done. For now, I will remain queen until you are ready to take the throne.”

Her eyes slide to me for a mere heartbeat, and though there’s still wariness in them, the open hostility has faded. “We must hold a ceremony for your father tomorrow to maintain appearances. Though I suspect no one in this room particularly cares for such formalities.”

I bite back a smirk at her pointed look. At least she’s honest about it.

Her attention flicks between the two of us, her gaze lingering on Caspian. “You may have stopped him, but the nobles will not forgive easily. They’ll demand answers, and some will see you as weak for letting her”—she nods toward me—“influence your actions.”

Caspian’s jaw tightens, but I speak before he can entertain this argument his mother seems devoted to having. “If the court has any questions, they can bring them to me. I’d be happy to explain just how close they came to dying under their king's rule.”

My tone is saccharine, but the meaning is sharp. Seraphina’s lips thin, though her eyes glimmer with approval.

“After the ceremony, Ariella and I have some matters to attend to,”

Caspian states, his tone carefully neutral.

Seraphina’s smile drops, eyes narrowing. “What matters?”

“Just some loose ends that need tying up after Father.”

He shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

I find it curious that he doesn’t mention the Accord to his mother. Perhaps he shares my instinct that the fewer people who know about it, the better. I wouldn’t stop him if he chose to tell her, but I am pleased with his decision.

Seraphina hums and turns to leave, dismissing us. I can’t resist asking, “Your Majesty, are you fond of Varrick?”

She pauses at the door, a knowing smirk curving her lips. “No.”

With that, she’s gone, leaving me to wonder just how much the queen knows about what happens in her castle. And what a strange reaction to a threat on her chief advisor.

Almost makes me like her.

As she leaves, I glance at Caspian, my curiosity getting the better of me. “What’s her deal with him?”

“Varrick?”

He shrugs, expression hardening. “She tolerates him because she has to, but if she could replace him, she’d do it without hesitation. He was the king’s choice, not hers.”

“Interesting.”

My mind races with possibilities. “Well, perhaps I should replace him for her.”

Caspian’s smirk is faint but wicked. “Perhaps.”

I jump up, suddenly full of energy, ready to change and deal with the late king’s snake before he has a chance to flee. My eyes find Caspian, who remains seated, his face twisted in discomfort.

“What’s wrong?”

I ask, pausing in my rush to leave for our rooms.

He shakes his head, blinking several times. “I’m not sure. Something just feels…off under my skin. Heavy. I’m sure it’s just lasting effects of whatever Thalion did.”

That answer makes my skin crawl, especially after healing him, but I push the feeling aside for now. “I’ll be back. I need to have a chat with Varrick.”

Caspian springs up, a sudden hardness falling over his features. “We need to speak with Varrick.”

I don’t even bother arguing this time—I’m learning to pick my battles with this insufferable prince.

He grins as if I’d just spoken out loud. “Look at that. I’m finally winning you over.”

“Keep teasing and I’ll change my mind.”

But there’s no heat in my words, and his answering laugh shoots warmth through my abdomen.

After I change, we venture to Varrick’s office, and when Caspian raises a fist to knock, I roll my eyes and push right past him. Varrick flies out of his chair at our dramatic entrance, outrage clear on his features until he registers who has invaded his space. He attempts to compose himself, but I can practically smell his fear. It's delicious.

“Your Highness, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Cut the shit,”

I snap, unsheathing a blade. “You know exactly why we're here. You were Thalion’s right hand—there isn’t a single chance in this realm that you weren’t helping him.”

His eyes dart between Caspian and me before hardening. “I was only following orders.”

“Orders to help torture? To assist in essence manipulation experiments? To have your own prince controlled and nearly killed by his own father?”

I advance as I point my blade toward him in silent accusation, enjoying how he backs away. Unlucky for him, there’s nowhere to escape. “Tell me, did you get off on watching them suffer, or was that just a bonus to your cruelty?”

“Wait!”

He holds up trembling hands, trying to placate a fucking assassin. As if I'll spare him if he gives me a good reason to. Idiot. I step around the desk, and he doesn’t attempt to evade my looming presence as Caspian remains on the other side, blocking the door. “I know things—things you’ll need to know about the Accord!”

My blade halts an inch from his throat. “What could you possibly know about the Accord?”

“Don’t kill me, and I’ll tell you everything.”

I growl—I don’t have time for petty games. My arm draws back to strike, not wishing to listen to his sputtering any longer, but Varrick shouts, “Things about your mother!”

“What about my mother?”

The hollow words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I haven’t told Caspian of my meeting with her—or dream of her? I’m still unsure.

He shakes his head. “Not yours.”

His answer is so soft I barely hear it as his gaze slides to the prince.

Could he get any more pathetic? His foolish attempts to stay alive are just pissing me off more and I move to strike, but my blade hits an invisible wall. What the fuck? Looking down, my jaw slackens when I see shadows writhing around us—but they’re not mine. I didn’t even call to my umbral strand.

The bastard possesses the ethereal strand? Are you kidding me?

I’m proven mistaken a moment later as I study the advisor, who is just as shocked as I feel. I stiffen just as my stomach drops.

No fucking way.

Turning my head, a strange noise escapes me as I watch essence seep from the prince’s skin.

These shadows belong to Caspian.

He doesn’t seem to notice as he glares at Varrick. “What about my mother?”

“The queen, Your Highness…she knows more than she lets on. About everything.”

Varrick’s eyes dart around like a cornered animal. “She has secrets that could aid your cause.”

I’ve heard enough of his vague bullshit. My essence writhes under my skin, begging and pleading to be let out with Caspian’s, but I ignore it. The knowledge that his shadows will not hurt me is an innate feeling, so I push through them and drive my blade into Varrick’s heart, twisting it for good measure. His jaw drops as blood leaks from around the weapon, body crumpling to the floor unceremoniously.

I whirl on Caspian. “Care to explain what the fuck that was?”

I sound far more angry than I have any right to be.

“What?”

His brows furrow as if he has no idea that he’s currently weaving the ethereal affinity.

I point to the shadows retreating into his skin. He jumps, eyes widening as he tries to shake them off and mutters a string of curses. Interesting.

“How are you doing that, Ariella?”

He’s less panicked, but still wary.

“I’ve not woven any essence in here. Those are not mine.”

The prince’s head snaps up—he doesn’t believe me, but as the shadows sink further into him, his head tilts in a way that suggests he’s listening to something internal.

I know because I have the same essence. It generates from within and feels different from the others.

“I—I don’t understand. I don’t have the ethereal affinity. You’re the only person I know who has it.”

He shoves both hands through his hair, breathing hard. “It must be remnants of whatever my father did—”

But I’m no longer listening. My attention is caught by the painting behind Varrick’s desk—it’s eerily familiar. The blueish-purple clouds that stretch endlessly, supporting trees with crimson branches and pale pink leaves.

“I’ve always been fascinated by that one,”

Caspian confesses, following my gaze. “Not sure who painted it, but they had quite the imagination. It’s beautiful though, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been there before,”

I whisper, my voice strange to my own ears. After Thalion had me beat, when I saw my mother.

My eyes widen as realization hits. “The Aether.”

That’s where she was, where we were. It must be…there is no other explanation for this painting. This is no coincidence.

“The Aether?”

Caspian questions, crossing his arms. “That’s not possible. Texts say that no one alive can enter the Aether realm.”

“Tell that to whoever painted this then,”

I gesture to the artwork. “Because this is exactly what I saw when—”

I clear my throat, pivoting from the art. “In a dream I had the other night.” I’m not ready to discuss that encounter—with his father or my mother—as I have yet to process it myself. “I think we have to go there to fix the Accord, Caspian.”

He studies the painting more carefully now as his lips lean against a thumb. “Even if you’re right, how would we get there? The Aether realm is supposed to be sealed off from the living. And you are not killing yourself for this.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “I don’t know.”

The admittance hurts, frustration building in my chest. “But I know it’s the truth.”

For once, I am not lying—not about this.

“Okay. I trust you.”

I didn’t hear him step closer, but his hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “Maybe that’s why Varrick was so desperate to tell us about my mother. Perhaps they’re connected somehow. Thanks for killing him before we could get those answers, by the way.”

I peer down at Varrick’s body, now wishing I hadn’t killed him quite so impulsively. It was irrational and unlike my usual calculating self. Whatever. “We need to find the artifacts and take them into the Aether realm ourselves.”

The rightness of that statement flows through me like it’s the Angel approving my thoughts.

“We should start in the library,”

Caspian suggests. “I do not recall anything of the sort, but there might be something about crossing between realms in the texts.”

I nod, already walking toward the door, but pause when I do not hear Caspian following. He’s staring at the shadows still flickering across his skin. I am not keen to believe these are the product of his father’s interference—my thoughts remain silent, though. He doesn’t need to hear them right now.

I saunter back to him and run my hands along his arms, showing him there’s nothing to be afraid of. His eyes drag up to mine. “We’ll figure that out, too. But they protected you and I do not surmise they mean any harm, so for now they can wait. We need to focus on one impossible thing at a time.”

He chuckles, and something flutters down my spine as his skin pebbles under my touch. “When did you become the voice of reason?”

I blink. “I cannot decide whether to be offended or not.”

His smile is boyish as we leave Varrick’s office. I peruse Caspian as we walk, his new essence occasionally reaching for mine like they recognize each other. Another mystery to add to our growing list. Although watching him try to process having the ethereal affinity is admittedly entertaining.

“Stop smirking at me,”

he grumbles.

“I’m not smirking.” I am.

“You are. I can feel it.”

I laugh, the weight of the past weeks lifting from me. “Feel it? What else can you feel, my prince?”

He pauses, whirling on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch—one I didn’t expect. “Everything. Since my father did whatever he did, it’s like my senses are heightened. Especially around you.”

His nose scrunches. "Even before yesterday, if I'm honest."

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I can feel you sometimes. Earlier, when the—my—shadows appeared? It was because I felt your intent to kill Varrick, but I needed to hear what he was going to say. And they were the result of that impulse.”

I hum as my mind processes this information, remembering how my own shadows have been acting strange around him for a while now. “That’s not normal,”

I blurt, shifting on my feet. There’s a mist in my chest that I can't seem to grasp. Something I’m missing, and it’s right there, but it doesn’t wish to be discovered yet. My thoughts shift to Rael's cryptic fucking words, and I sigh—why can't someone else do this?

“Nothing about you is normal, angel.”

He smirks, running a finger along my jaw. “Now come on, wraith, we have a library to raid.”

I want to be annoyed at the name, but instead a wave of heat drifts up the back of my neck.

As we continue toward the library, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re on the verge of discovering something massive. Something that will explain the million questions I desperately need an answer to.

I chuckle to myself—that thought was bizarre and overly dramatic.

Though, I can accept how much I like the sound of it.

“You’re smirking again,”

Caspian teases, bumping my shoulder with his.

This time, I don’t deny it.