Chapter 28 Seraphina
Chapter twenty-eight
Seraphina
Silence blanketed the throne room in the wake of Lord Tiberius’s news. For a moment, the sight of the baron kneeling before her wavered. It blurred. For a moment, she could hear nothing but the rush of her own blood through her ears.
But then the moment passed. The room shifted back into focus.
She was aware of the weight of all their eyes resting upon her. All of them watching. All of them waiting for her to react. To see what move she might play next.
Her Crow. Her godparents. Sir Easome. Olivia. Sir Tristan.
Tiberius.
But there was just one problem.
She had no more moves left to play.
Clearing her throat, Seraphina shifted within her seat. Around her throat, Alyx rumbled with an usuru purr, as if to remind her that she was there. That she was not alone.
For once, the winged serpent’s presence brought her no comfort.
“I beg your pardon?” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
The baron’s grim expression softened, revealing a glimpse of his true feelings, which obviously lurked beneath: pity.
Tiberius Beaumont pitied her.
“I said that the Duke of Coreto is planning to overthrow you, Your Majesty,” he repeated, carefully enunciating each word, “and that he already has half of the midlands pledged to his cause.”
“A coup,” Duchess Edith exhaled from where she stood just behind the baron, as if hardly daring to believe it herself.
Swallowing visibly, Sir Tristan stepped forward, finally departing Olivia’s side.
“It’s true, Your Majesty,” he rasped, his voice thick.
“My own father…” The knight’s words drifted into silence, as if he could not even bear to complete his sentence.
But he did not have to. Seraphina understood well enough.
Even House Dacre had abandoned her in her hour of need.
Aldric leaned forward from atop his own throne. “And yet Coreto allowed you both to leave,” he observed on a low growl, his one eye narrowing. Suspicion crackled off her Crow like the crimson bolts of lightning that haunted her dreams every night. “Why?”
Tiberius jolted to his feet and flung his arms wide, as if inviting her husband to challenge him directly, with his glaive rather than his words. “It is generally considered bad form to hold the message against the messenger, Your Majesty.”
A quiet boom echoed through the cavernous chamber as her godfather slammed his walking cane once against the floor. “The king is right,” Duke Percival said. His mouth worked, as if uttering those four words had left a bad taste in his mouth.
Through the fur-lined leather of her gloves, Seraphina worried at the arms of her throne, hunting for the familiar grooves there. “You will answer His Majesty’s questions, my lord. And any questions His Grace might have as well.”
She hated the way her voice cracked around those commands. She sounded so soft. So weak. As if Coreto had broken her already.
What am I going to do now?
Hardening his jaw, Lord Tiberius obeyed.
But he addressed his words to her rather than to her Crow.
“Sir Dacre and I departed from Threston Keep in the middle of the night, and we rode hard straight for Goldreach, Your Majesty. We told no one we were leaving.” Again, he flung his arms wide and glanced about him, as if to illustrate his point.
“I did not even bring my guards or my valet, as you can see with your own eyes.”
Duke Percival squinted at the baron. “And did you and Sir Dacre make any pledges of allegiance to the duke before you left?”
“No,” Tiberius and Tristan answered in unison.
The room erupted into conversation, all of her advisors trying to speak to her at once.
Sir Easome called out, “We must have the Duke of Coreto arrested and tried for treason, Your Majesty.”
Duchess Edith sighed. “Arrested? With what men? We have none to spare.”
“Cyneric,” Duke Percival growled. “Our son can arrest him on his march to Goldreach.”
Aldric leaned closer to her and whispered loud enough for all to hear, “You must have Crestley Truth-Read, Sera. To confirm his story.”
“Truth-Read?” Tiberius balked, his voice swelling to drown out all others.
“Like a criminal? I am a member of the peerage, and I will not stand for such insult. Your Majesty, I have spent my life devoted to you and your family. I have given you everything I have to give! Why would I betray you now?”
Seraphina shoved herself to her feet. “Silence!” she shouted. Alyx lifted her scaled head and let loose with a sharp screech as if to punctuate the command.
Again, all eyes turned her way. Again, they all waited for her to speak. To direct. To delegate. To say something profound. To turn this latest tide that was so very against them back in their favor.
Arath was on their shores. Arlund was surely soon to fall. Mysai no doubt had fallen already. And now a coup.
A coup with half the nobles of Elmoria’s midlands already pledged to its cause.
She breathed in deep but could no longer catch her breath.
The floor seemed to tilt, threatening to pitch her straight off the dais and into Tiberius’s arms. She staggered a single step to the right and caught herself on her throne.
A strong hand wrapped around her wrist as well. Steadying her further.
She did not have to look to know it was Aldric.
“Sera,” he rumbled, his deep voice shuddering into her chest, restarting her faltering heartbeat.
Without glancing his way, she pulled herself from his grasp. “I need a moment,” she whispered, the words so soft she feared she had not even spoken.
As if from far away, she heard her godmother implore, “Your Majesty—”
“I said I need a moment!”
Alyx took to the air with another screech as Seraphina stepped off the dais and hurried toward one of the side doors subtly positioned behind the thrones.
“Your Majesty!” Sir Easome called after her, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t slow.
She burst into that small room used by the servants for storing refreshments during petition days and then shoved aside a wooden cabinet, ducking into the entrance to the secret passageway the furniture had been hiding.
For once, she was without her Queensguard. For once, she was blissfully alone.
Free to cry. Free to fret without fear of being seen as weak.
Free to scream.
Her frustration ripped from her throat and echoed off the stone walls, bouncing through the familiar tunnels before being swallowed by the impenetrable darkness just up ahead.
How many times had she crept through these walls as a girl with Olivia, guided only by a candle’s flame and a thirst for adventure?
Now, she raced through them blind, not caring when she misjudged a turn and slammed into a wall full-force, surely bruising her shoulder. At least the pain gave her something to focus on. Something to distract her mind with besides the spiraling whirlpool of her thoughts.
What now? A coup. Coreto. Her godfather had warned her about Coreto.
Perhaps if she had given him a more favorable position on her Privy Council.
Perhaps if she had named him Steward when she departed for Nerina Reef rather than the Count of Wellane.
Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.
Is this all part of your plan, Lord?
But how could it be? Only good came from the Lord, and this wasn’t good.
Perhaps it was another trial. A test.
Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.
Hot tears poured down her cheeks. Salt pooled on her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually been able to just…cry. Someone was always watching her these days. Olivia. Her godparents. Her guards.
Aldric.
The strength in her legs threatened to give out as the image of her husband flashed through her mind. He would surely abandon her now, too. What reason had he to stay? She was now a queen caught between her own people and her enemies.
A burden, not a boon.
Knees finally buckling, she slammed into the next wall, biting her cheek from the impact.
Her forehead pressed against the rough, cold stone.
Her shoulders shook as she choked on a fresh sob.
It was no less than she deserved, biting her cheek.
What else had she expected, running around in the dark, crying like a little girl?
What good would crying do, anyway? Nothing. Crying would do nothing.
But she couldn’t deny that it did make her feel a little bit better. More numb, at least.
Empty.
In the distance, limping footsteps scuffed against stone. Someone was coming. Someone had followed her. But, of course, someone would be following her.
Heaven forbid she had a moment alone.
“Go away!” she shouted, turning to face the intruder. It had to be Olivia. Who else would have plunged into this cold labyrinth after her?
Torchlight flickered further down the corridor—a blur of orange and gold within her tear-streaked vision. But the bearer did not speak. Nor did they retreat.
They merely kept walking toward her.
A burst of irritation snarled to life inside her heart, colliding with her sorrow, her utter exhaustion, her…
stress. Hands curling into fists, she called out to her best friend, “I said I wanted to be alone! I already know what you want me to do. You want me to grant you permission to assassinate Coreto, but you surely already know my answer—no.”
“Actually, I prefer the word ‘execute’ to ‘assassinate,’ but I suppose it’s all the same at the end of the day,” a deep voice rasped from the darkness, sending a shiver coursing down her spine.
Aldric. He had followed her.
He was here.
“But yes, kirei,” her Crow continued, drawing steadily closer until she could finally discern the shape of him within the shadows. “That is exactly what I want from you—permission to bring you the Duke of Coreto’s head on a platter.”