The Prince’s Heart

20. Chapter 20

Chapter twenty

E ven though I’ve only been king for a short time, it’s already clear that attending council meetings is my least favorite royal duty. One of the contenders jockeying for position as my second-least-favorite duty is the audiences I hold in the Throne Hall. Everyone in the kingdom is allowed to petition the monarch with their grievances, and a few of them are deemed important enough to warrant my personal attention. For those, the petitioner is called to the palace to present their petition to me in person. I have these audiences twice each week, but they can last anywhere from ten minutes to ten hours, based on how many petitions there are to hear and how complex they are. I dislike them because they’re boring—to say the least—but also because whoever designed this part of the palace didn’t seem to care for things like ‘comfort’ and ‘airflow.’ Even though it’s barely summer, it doesn’t take long for the room to get stuffy and oppressively hot.

For this particular audience—a few days after my discussion with Arbois—there are only four petitions, which are not terrible, but not ideal either. I try my best to pay attention, but it’s not exactly riveting stuff, and the midday heat that’s already built up, even though it’s before noon, makes it even harder to concentrate. Halfway through the third petition, my mind starts to wander, and my eyes scan the assembled crowd, looking for something, anything , interesting. But no, it’s just the usual pack of well-dressed people who apparently have nothing better to do than stand around and listen to other people talk for hours on end.

Except, just as I’m about to resign myself to the fact that there really is nothing more interesting in this room than Count Maelke’s soliloquy about how some of his best horses were supposedly stolen by a pack of marauding bandits, my eyes land on a woman standing against the wall off to one side of the room. I’m not sure what it is about her that draws my attention—she is nondescript, with shoulder-length blond hair, gray breeches, and a matching jacket. I don’t recognize her, but that’s not entirely unexpected, given the sheer size of the court and my tendency to avoid meeting new people. At first, she’s staring at the crowd intently, but she must have noticed me looking at her, because her eyes flick to me and she nods slightly before turning her attention away again.

I stare at her for a few seconds longer, still not sure exactly why she’s captured my attention, until Count Maelke apparently notices I’m not listening to him, and politely clears his throat. I turn my attention—or what’s left of it by this point—back to him and try to keep it there while he continues to drone on about his stolen horses, “As I was saying, Your Majesty, I would not be surprised if these bandits were actually Raktosi agents. I have been targeted by the Raktosi before, and …”

Whatever dregs of energy I had left evaporate as he continues to drone on. I tune him out, paying just enough attention to give the appearance of being engaged, and let my mind wander again. Hopefully the last petition isn’t too bad .

“You’re early,” Tag says as I approach him. He stands by one of the fountains in the palace garden, a more-than-welcome sight for sore eyes. “That must have been a quick one. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least.”

“It was shorter than usual,” I say. “But it still felt like I was there forever.”

He smiles; just seeing it makes love for him swell deep in my heart. “I’m sure you have it bad, but it could be worse. You could, say, have your sister drag you to a vineyard before the crack of dawn so you can get tips on how to maximize wine production on your estate.”

“Well, that explains why you were up so early this morning.”

He nods, still grinning.

“At least you got to get out of the palace,” I continue. I’ve spent so much time indoors recently that I think I’ve forgotten what sunshine feels like.”

He laughs. “In that case, shall we start walking?”

I nod, and we do as he suggested, following one of the paths that leads away from the palace and deeper into the verdant oasis. Walking together in the garden after audiences has quickly become a tradition for the two of us—although we still don’t want anyone to know about our courtship just yet, I don’t think I could make it through the petitions if I didn’t have this to look forward to, and it’s not like it’s a secret that we’re friends.

We walk slowly, chatting about everything and nothing. The flowers are an explosion of color against the forest green of the sculpted hedges, and the marble statues and fountains sparkle and gleam in the sun. Even though we’re not really doing anything special, it’s difficult for me to explain just how much I enjoy this, especially coming after two hours of sheer boredom. Although, in truth, I’d probably enjoy doing anything, including sitting through a ten-hour-long audience, as long as Tag was there. I look at him and smile, catching his eye, and he winks back at me.

Other people pass by us, each of them nodding or bowing slightly depending on their station. Occasionally, a guard walks by on patrol, but most of the people here are like me and Tag, nobility and commoners alike strolling in the sun and enjoying the weather. I do my best to politely acknowledge them while keeping my attention on Tag. At one point, it strikes me how different this feels from my walk in the garden with Arbois a few days ago. Granted, I had quite a bit on my mind at the time, and it could certainly have been worse. But being here with Tag just feels so much better, so … right . I definitely needed this.

After we’ve been walking for maybe fifteen minutes, a woman approaches us. At first, I’m not really paying that much attention, and I assume she’s just another person enjoying the fine weather. But instead of walking past us, she stops about ten feet away and bows to me deeply, grabbing my attention. “Your Majesty,” she says, a touch of professional respect in her tone. When she straightens up, I see that she’s the woman who caught my eye at the audience earlier. “May I have a moment of your time?”

I stop walking, intrigued, and Tag stops beside me. “I suppose so, as long as it’s quick. What is it?”

She looks around us; there doesn’t seem to be anybody within earshot, but she lowers her voice anyway. “I’ve just arrived from Zeteyon, and I have something for Your Majesty. King Zeikas instructed me to give it to you personally.” Her voice has an accent that I can’t quite place. “He said to tell you that it has to do with a message you sent him.”

Now I’m definitely intrigued, not least because this could be the first step towards making my courtship with Tag official. “Well? What is it?”

She smiles and steps forward, raising her right arm up as if to hand me something. As she does, the sun flashes off something metallic hidden in her hand—a dagger, barely longer than my own middle finger, but presumably no less deadly for it. Time slows to a crawl as she launches herself toward me and Tag, aiming for my heart, eight feet away, then seven, then six, closing the distance at a worm’s crawl, slowly but surely coming ever closer. I want to move, to do something, anything , but my body won’t respond to any of my commands, like I’m stuck in quicksand. All I can do is watch her get closer, her smile now a leering grimace, four feet away, three, two—

Something silver flickers in the corner of my eye, and a knife blossoms in the would-be assassin’s right eye like a steel-gray flower. She stumbles and collapses to the ground, her dagger missing Tag’s leg by a few inches. Adrenaline courses through my veins, my senses heightened, as though I can hear every single plant in the garden rustling in the wind.

“Darien!” a voice cries out behind me. “Are you alright?”

I turn toward the newcomer, feeling like the world is moving through molasses, almost afraid of who I’ll see.

But it’s only Ivy, standing on the path behind me, a stricken expression on her face, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. She runs to us and stops a few feet away, looking deathly pale. “Are you hurt?” she asks. “Did she get you?”

My heart gallops with residual panic. “I’m fine,” I assure her. Tag echoes me, almost as pale as Ivy, looking like he’s about to either faint or vomit.

Apparently satisfied, some color returns to Ivy’s cheeks, and she exhales deeply. “Good. I’m glad you’re both okay.” She steps forward, looking at the body lying on the path before us with a hard expression. “You’re lucky I was here. Another few seconds, and I think it would have been too late.”

“I think you’re right.” The shock of what just happened hits me, almost like a physical blow, and I can barely get the words out. “Thank you, Ivy. You saved my life.”

“It was nothing.” Her eyes flicker to the paths around us, the corners of her mouth drawing down. “We might want to continue this conversation somewhere else.”

For a bare moment, I’m not sure what she’s talking about, until I tear my gaze away from the sight before me and notice a crowd of onlookers has gathered around us. Despite the number of people around, the garden is almost completely silent, the only sounds I hear that of birds singing in the trees and water splashing in one of the fountains a few feet away from us.

“That sounds like a good idea,” I agree. “Come on, Tag. Let’s all go to my study.”

Tag just nods, still looking like he’s about to be sick, but he lets me guide him back the way we came with little resistance, Ivy pausing only to alert one of the patrolling guards before returning to us. As we hurry away, I can’t stop myself from looking back at the dead woman who tried to kill me, a deep sense of dread and foreboding washing over me at the sight of her body on the gravel.

Not five minutes later, I’m sitting in my study with Tag and Ivy when I hear a voice at the entrance.

“Darien! Are you hurt?” Mother rushes up to me, the concern in her eyes tempered by anger. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” I reply, in what I hope is a reassuring tone. “Not even a scratch.”

I motion to a couch and Mother takes a seat, perching on the edge of it, ready to jump up at the first sign that I’m lying about my lack of injuries. She’s the last to arrive—Ivy, Tag, and I are all seated already, as are Emma and Kenessa. I sent messengers for the three of them as soon as I got here, and they all came as quickly as I could have hoped. No doubt the news that the king was attacked is already spreading like wildfire throughout the court.

I recount what happened, and when I finish, everyone sits silently, with expressions ranging from shock to fear to anger.

Eventually, Mother turns to her right, facing Ivy. “Thank you for saving my son.” The warmth in her voice is a contrast to her dark expression. “We’re all in your debt. If Darien had been hurt, after what’s already happened…”

Ivy shrugs uncomfortably. “Of course, Your Majesty. But I only did what anyone else would do in that situation. I’m sure Darien would have done the same for me.”

“For your sake, I hope we don’t get the chance to test that,” I say dryly. “If I threw a knife, I’d be more likely to hit you than whoever I was aiming for.”

“Fair enough. I doubt anyone will be trying to kill me anytime soon, though.” She leans forward, her expression grim. “But then, I would have said the same thing about you up until half an hour ago. Why would anyone want you dead so badly that they’d try to assassinate you in broad daylight?”

Mother adds, “I suppose it’s possible that she was acting alone, but I doubt it. It’s far more likely that someone paid her. I mean no offense to you, Ivy, but I think we should be asking a different question—namely, who would want Darien dead so badly that they’d be willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money to assassinate a king?”

Everyone’s silent again as we chew on this question. “You know,” I say hesitantly, “she did say Uncle Zeikas sent her. I suppose that could have been a lie, but she must have known about the message we sent him. Do you think …?”

Mother shakes her head vigorously. “I understand your concern, Darien, but I think I can safely assure you that my own brother didn’t try to have you killed. She probably just said that so she could get close enough to hurt you without raising your hackles.” She frowns. “Although, if she did actually know about the message we sent him, that could indicate that there’s a spy in our midst, in addition to a would-be assassin. It’s far more likely that it was someone here, in Cedelia, perhaps in the palace itself.”

I can’t help but shudder. Now there’s a scary thought . If I’m not safe here, in my own home, then where? Or is this going to be the rest of my life, wondering if there’s an assassin around every corner, if all the smiling faces I see around me are waiting to plunge a knife in my back? I wonder if Arbois has to deal with this sort of thing too, or if it’s just me.

Thinking about him brings back a memory, one from a time that feels long ago but was, in reality, only a few weeks. “Maybe she wasn’t paid to kill me,” I say, more to myself than to everyone else. “Maybe she really was the one who wanted me dead.”

I look up to see just about everyone staring at me with eyebrows raised.

“What makes you think that, exactly?” Mother asks, tapping a finger lightly against the arm of her chair.

I pause to gather my thoughts. “Back before Samis and Father got sick, I overheard Arbois talking to his steward about a woman who would try to stop him if she found out what he’s doing. Maybe the woman he was talking about was the assassin, and she decided to stop me instead of him. After all, he can’t marry me if I’m dead, right?”

Mother’s finger tapping intensifies. “Believe me, Darien, there are many, many easier ways to stop a marriage than assassinating one of the betrothed, especially when one of them is a king. And while it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that Arbois has an ulterior motive in coming here, I can’t imagine that it would be so inimical as to warrant murdering you—or him—in broad daylight to prevent it. Although, I suppose it’s possible she was Arbois’s lover at some point and he spurned her, and she took it badly enough that killing you seemed like a good option. She certainly wouldn’t be the first person to take extreme measures to try to win back an ex-lover. In any event, we need to investigate this. But who can we trust?”

She said that last part like it was a rhetorical question, but I answer her anyway. “Why not have Ivy investigate it? She’s already saved my life once, so I think we can trust her. If any of the rest of us start asking questions, people will notice. Ivy can do some snooping without raising half the court’s hackles. Besides I think she can handle herself in a fight should it come to that.” I turn to Ivy. “Assuming you’re willing, of course.”

She nods slowly. “I can do that. I can’t guarantee that I’ll find anything, but I can certainly try.”

Mother thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “That sounds like a good idea. In the meantime, I’ll start a rumor that the woman in the garden held a grudge against you for some reason. Maybe you denied her petition, or she was a supporter of that Verreenese fool who’s declared herself the new empress. Whoever really sent her knows the truth, obviously, but perhaps it will stop the rest of the court from asking questions we can’t answer.” She claps her hands together once. “Now, unless there’s anything else?”

To my surprise, Emma clears her throat. “I may have something to add,” she says. “I didn’t want to bring this up until I was certain, but I suppose I don’t have much of a choice now. Back when we first started hearing about wasting fever cases in the area, I wanted to help, so I did quite a bit of research—not just on how to treat it, but how to recognize the symptoms and prevent others from catching it. After Father and Samis died, I did even more research, just in case someone else in this room got sick too. I’m not an expert by any means, but by now I have a pretty good idea of the disease and how it runs its course. The more I learned, the more I came to realize that Father’s and Samis’s symptoms didn’t quite match up with what we would expect.” Her eyes flicker to each of us in turn, as though she’s making sure we’re listening. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think Father and Samis ever had wasting fever, much less died from it.”

When she stops talking, there’s silence for a few heartbeats. “So, if it wasn’t wasting fever,” I ask, “then what was it?”

Emma looks directly at me, her gaze hard, and, somehow, I know what she’s going to say before she says it. “I think they were poisoned.”