Chapter 48
Chapter forty-eight
Seraphina
Her fingers trembled around the letter clasped in her hands. Again, she read the words there, though the ink soon blurred from the tears threatening to mist her vision.
Lord Tiberius craned his head, cheekily trying to read the missive over her shoulder. “Good news? Bad news?”
She swatted him away and folded the letter once more. “Good news.” At last. News from Dawnspire—that the first of the refugees from Mysai had arrived. Safe and whole. They would be safe there in her family’s old stronghold. Warm. Fed.
At least something was going right.
Though one would never know it from how Alyx had been acting all morning. Hissing at the slightest provocation. Batting her wings at every shadow. Now, the usuru fluttered overhead in tight circles as she wandered the corridors with only Lord Tiberius and her Queensguard for company.
It seemed like everyone else was busy today—her godfather overseeing preparations just in case Goldreach was besieged, Olivia decoding letters from Arlund, her godmother distributing alms to the poor alongside Father Perero.
Perhaps her winged serpent was just as restless as she was.
“Very well, keep your secrets.” Lord Tiberius smiled, seemingly unbothered by the lack of details she offered. “Shall we go play another round of cards, then? Or we can visit the library, and you can tell me all about your latest book while I pretend to care?”
A half-hearted smile pulled at the corner of her lips. Delicately, she turned the letter over in her hands. “Perhaps later,” she finally decided, her voice soft. “I think I should go and speak with His Grace. My godfather,” she clarified. “No doubt he will want to hear this news.”
Things between her and Duke Percival were still a little…uncertain. As if there were now a wall between them, holding him at bay. Her heart ached every time she thought about it.
Worst of all was that she didn’t know if it was a wall of her own making.
Or his.
The baron sighed. “How dull—”
Seraphina stopped mid-stride and laid a hand on his arm to silence him. Overhead, Alyx hissed again. But still, she heard it. In the distance—bells.
The cathedral bells were ringing.
Confusion drew her to the nearest window, though she could not see much from her current vantage point. Only the palace grounds. The walls in the distance. “What do you think is happening?”
Her guards exchanged glances, frowning.
But Lord Tiberius merely shrugged, as unbothered as he liked to pretend to be about every little thing. Unless it was his reputation on the line. “Perhaps someone has just been married?”
“Nonsense,” Seraphina whispered. “Father Perero would never ring the bells for something so trivial.”
“Your Majesty!” a man called out to her, his voice echoing down the hall.
When she turned her head and found the Count of Wellane hurrying toward her, a flicker of relief eased the knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. “My lord! Is something the matter?”
Her Lord Exchequer drew to a pause before her.
Pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve, he mopped at his brow.
“I do not know, Your Majesty,” he whispered, his tone urgent.
“But the Lord Chancellor has just received word from the harbor. There is some new development. He wishes to see you in the council chamber.”
Seraphina nodded and started that way. “Good. I had wished to speak with him, at any rate—”
The count stepped in front of her, his expression apologetic as he blocked her path. “Alone, Your Majesty. His Grace specified we come alone.” Wellane’s gaze ticked toward Lord Tiberius and her Queensguard in turn. “It is…a matter of State, he said.”
Alone? She frowned. Some days, Duke Percival was as paranoid as Olivia was. And was it not he who had ordered her guard to be quadrupled in the first place?
Her instinct was to say no. To keep at least one Queensguard at her side. But if her godfather insisted on “alone,” it must have been serious.
Before she could answer, before she could take another step, Alyx suddenly swooped in between her and the count, hissing madly and buffeting the poor man with her iridescent wings.
Wellane shouted and jumped back, his hands raising to protect his face.
“Alyx!” Seraphina chided, mortification burning her cheeks. “I am so terribly sorry, my lord. I do not know what has come over her today…” Desperately, she tried to capture the usuru, but she was too quick. Too slippery.
Unclasping his cloak, Lord Tiberius stepped forward and flung the velvet over the winged serpent.
Seraphina’s heart leapt into her throat. “Do not hurt her! Please!”
The baron made a face, expertly wrapping her usuru up in a hissing, writhing bundle.
“I am not going to hurt her. I am just going to take her to the Roost and put her in a cage—where she belongs, Your Majesty.” He arched an eyebrow at her in clear challenge as Alyx tried to fight her way free from his cloak.
“Or would you rather she assault someone first?”
She bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head. “No. Please, take her to the Roost. But be careful with her.”
“Yes, yes,” Lord Tiberius sighed, already setting off in that direction.
A shaky exhale escaped from Wellane, reminding her that he was there. Waiting to escort her to the council chamber. To meet with her godfather.
Slowly, she turned back to the Lord Exchequer and offered him a look that she hoped was appropriately apologetic. “Forgive me, my lord.”
“No,” he whispered, his own smile wavering. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”
Her eyebrows knit together in open confusion as she hesitated…then finally waved off her Queensguard, silently ordering them to stay. Drawing in a deep breath, she followed the count. “Forgive you? What ever for?”
The man did not answer her. Instead, he hurried down the corridor, nearly jogging, forcing her to lengthen her own stride merely to keep up. Her stomach roiled.
Was her godfather’s news truly that urgent?
Courtiers swept out of her way as she strode past, bowing, curtsying. She barely saw them. Far away, she still heard the bells ringing. Distant. Muffled.
Her mind whirred with all the possibilities of what it might mean.
News from the harbor? Had the blockade on Arath broken? Had Edmund sent ships to assault their shores? No. Drakmor’s navy was pitiful. Was it Lothmeer, then? Had Lothmeer sent reinforcements at last?
Around the next corner, the double doors to the council chambers loomed. Closed but unattended. Not even her godfather’s personal guards lingered outside. Strange. Had he not yet arrived?
Seraphina’s steps slowed. They dragged. She paused before the doors.
It was too quiet in this particular corridor. Too late, she realized why—it was completely abandoned. No servants. No courtiers. No guards.
In front of her, Wellane trembled as he reached for the doorknobs.
A trickle of dread slid down her spine.
Her heart seized. “Wait—!”
But he didn’t wait. The doors swung inward, revealing the council chamber’s single occupant. Not her godfather.
But Coreto.
A scream welled up in her throat. She turned to run.
Strong hands seized her from behind—one around her upper arm, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and one over her mouth and nose. Trapping her scream. Cutting off her air.
“Forgive me,” the count sobbed against her ear, holding her in a vice. “He has my wife—”
“Hold your tongue, Wellane,” the Duke of Coreto’s cold voice sliced through the air as her Lord Exchequer wrenched her backward into the council chamber, kicking the doors shut behind them. “Or I will cut it out.”
As wild as Alyx, Seraphina thrashed against Wellane’s hold, trying to fight her way free. All in vain. She caught sight of Lord Bennett leaning against the wall near the door, observing her from beneath half-hooded eyelids. Alongside a handful of her own guards who avoided her gaze.
Especially when Coreto commanded, “Bind her,” and one man stepped forward with a length of rope he used to lash her wrists together. The rope bit into her skin. Rough. Unyielding.
Slowly, the count loosened his grip on her arm.
But that was a mistake.
She drove her elbow backward into his ribs.
Gasping, he let her go.
“Help!” she screamed, diving around her turncoat guard and dashing for the doors. “Guards!”
Lord Bennett stepped in front of her, his expression grim. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, grabbing her by her bound wrists.
Sweetheart?
Gritting her teeth, she lunged toward him and hiked her knee, driving it straight into his groin. “I am the Queen of Elmoria,” she shouted as the wretched man doubled over, shuddering in pain. “And I will not be—”
She choked on her remaining words as a length of silk swept about the lower half of her face and wedged between her teeth, gagging her. Rough fingers yanked the silk taut and tied it behind her head, tangling some of her hair in the knot.
“You know what your problem is, Seraphina?” Coreto whispered, his hot breath unfurling against her ear as he finished tying off the gag. Slowly, he turned her around, forcing her to meet his cold gaze. To see the silent triumph flashing there.
She narrowed her eyes at him, hoping he felt the full weight of her disdain within her own gaze.
He smiled—a quick twitch of his lips, there and gone in an instant. “You are too trusting.” Gently, he tried to smooth a bit of her hair back from her face. “You seem to think loyalties cannot shift overnight. That they cannot be bought.”
She twitched away from his touch and narrowed her eyes further.
His expression darkened. “Now, be a good girl and show me where the secret door in this room is. I know there is one.”
And what if I don’t? She arched her eyebrow, her chin lifting in challenge.
Coreto’s smile returned, but this time it chilled her to the bone.
He dropped his voice low, the words for her alone, when he warned, “I intended to make this a bloodless coup, girl, but I am happy to adjust at a moment’s notice.
Shall we start with the Lord Chancellor?
I have never much liked Percival myself. ”
He was bluffing. He had to be bluffing.
She searched his eyes, hunting for a crack in his cold smile.
…But she found none.