Chapter Fourteen #2
I let out a slow breath, nocking the arrow.
“Fire!”
My eyes snapped open, lifting the bow to aim and fire within half a second.
The arrows around me whistled through the air.
Mine hit dead center.
I took a step back from the line, stretching out my stiff limbs, my hands calming for the first time. I could never let another episode affect me like that. I had to be stronger than the memory, and it needed to stop.
But even though I tried to act like it was nothing and I could overcome it, I knew the nightmares would return. That was why I had to find Richard Athello, take his ring, then assassinate the king. It was the only way I could be done with this once and for all.
––––––––
I TOOK SECOND PLACE in the archery competition, only going up to two hundred and fifty yards.
Winning first would have been easy, but second place offered me a lower profile.
A few of the competitors dipped their heads in respect, but no one approached to congratulate me.
Multiple investors and high-ranking nobles surrounded the man who walked away with the first-place prize.
For me, the archery competition hadn’t been about alliances.
It had been a means to occupy my time and make acquaintances, although no one I had spoken with proved to be of any consequence.
Every person I had asked about the man with the opal ring shook their head apologetically.
Athello was a popular surname, but without anything else to go on, they were all unable to direct me to the correct family branch.
If he wasn’t a member of the nobility, I would have to enmesh with the lower classes to gain any valuable information.
The dying rays of sunlight stretched out on the canvas of their sky, causing competitions to wrap up or bring the final tournaments inside.
Torchlight filled the palace grounds, the attendees moving across the shadowed lawn like dark waves on the ocean.
I picked my way through the crowd to the main ballroom where the final rounds of the fencing tournament had begun.
I unstrung my bow, untwisting the two pieces from the main branch until I could safely tuck it away in its pack and throw the strap over my shoulder. The collapsible style made it easier to smuggle into places it wouldn’t be allowed.
I grabbed another glass of raspberry lemonade before wandering over to an older gentleman watching from a platform around the outer edge of the festivities.
He smiled up at me as I sat down, attention quickly drawn back to the duel he was watching.
King Zaricor lounged across the aisle from us.
A woman with intricate braids in her hair, smooth brown skin, and gorgeous golden eyes—not his wife—hung on his arm.
More than one man performed a double take as they passed by.
The king was not a faithful man, and he bore no shame in displaying that fact.
“Have they narrowed down the brackets yet?” I asked the older gentleman.
“There are four competitors left,” he said. “After this round they’ll have the last with the two finalists.”
I took a sip of my drink. “And who is competing?”
“In the first ring we have a Haskelle warrior pitted against one of the nobility’s sons, and in the second ring we have Prince Valeris and the crown prince of Ingon.”
The cocky prince of Paravellia. No doubt he had bribed his way into the final round.
“Are any of them good?” I asked.
“Oh, they are all excellent, but I believe this competition will end between His Highness and the Haskelle warrior.”
“The prince is well accomplished, then?”
He quirked an eyebrow as if I had asked him if the sky was blue.
“Oh, Prince Valeris is a masterful swordsman, trained by three of the finest sword masters I have ever met. That’s one of Paravellia’s best available trades—military leaders sent to train other kingdoms’ armies in our ways in exchange for other goods or services. ”
I fixed my gaze back on the arena, the final four opponents taking up their places. Prince Valeris wore the purple of Paravellia and wielded a specially crafted longsword. Light reflected off the steel of the blade and the rubies encrusted in the tarnished silver of the hilt.
Valeris’s attention was focused, his stance open.
The moderator gave the final call and both parties circled the other.
I kept my gaze trained on the Paravellian prince, curious if he was as good as this man claimed.
He moved with a casual gait, confidence oozing from each step he took.
His opponent attacked first, Valeris easily deflecting the attack.
He took the offense next, bringing his blade down from one direction and then feinting in the other.
His opponent anticipated the move and blocked it.
Valeris performed a double feint, ending up on the opposite side of him.
The other man twisted, stopping a second attack and then quickly trying to remove himself from the defense.
Valeris moved around him, darting in and out.
Their movements were like a dance, constantly circling one another, breaking apart then coming together.
The longer they spent fighting, the more disjointed their synchronization became.
Their blows grew more agitated and intense, backed by strength.
I found myself scooting forward on my seat for a closer look.
I had watched thousands of duels in the tower throughout my training, but this swordsmanship was different.
As assassins, we were taught to deflect and kill.
These princes had been taught the art of the sword.
Valeris pulled an overhanded trick and disarmed his opponent, the tip of his sword pressing against his neck.
The crowd burst into cheers, the noise deafening.
I noted that Lord Eyreling had his eye trained on Valeris while his own Haskelle warrior was fending off his opponent.
“You were right, they are excellent,” I said. “Have you been a member of the court for long?”
“I have attended the last nine of the Paravellian Balls,” he said. “Witnessed the split of the southern kingdoms, the fall of the Frasha Empire. I have been around a long time, child.”
A sense of comfort settled in my chest, as if I were speaking with my grandfather again, who had passed when I was a little girl.
“Is this your first time at the Paravellian Balls, miss?”
Sorrow tainted my expression. “I was able to attend the last event, but that was the only time.”
Valeris left the dueling ring, conversing with one of the men on the sidelines and gulping down a glass of water. He appeared less cocky now, but it could be from exertion.
“Sir.” I turned to the man. “I’ve been searching for a man I met the last time I was here, but no one seems to know who he is or can even point me in the right direction. He wore a very distinct ring, vines and leaves encompassing an opal stone, and went by the name of Richard Athello.”
“Richard Athello.” His eyes narrowed and then popped wide. “You don’t mean Richard Wylan Athello, do you?”
I cocked my head, not following.
The man laughed a little. “He’s standing right over there. He goes by his middle name, that’s probably why no one could figure out who you were talking about, but I remember that ring. Not many would ever get close enough to examine it, but I had the opportunity once. It is an exquisite creation.”
My eyes strained out into the crowd. “Standing where?”
He pointed. “Right there, speaking with his nephew, Prince Valeris.”
His words sucked the air from my lungs when I found who he was indicating. My blood grew cold as I set my eyes on the man Valeris was speaking with. Nothing in his attire screamed of royalty, and he bore no resemblance to the king or queen.
I worked my jaw, shock stammering the words from my mouth. “He’s—he’s his uncle?”
The old man threw me an odd look. “Of course. He’s Alekvandor, the younger brother of King Zaricor.
Lost his claim to the throne as soon as the king’s eldest son, Rivero, was born, but he remained in the court.
That’s why he adopted the name Richard Wylan Athello, which eventually became Wylan Athello to be less recognizable.
Folks don’t think much of him. He holds no power in the government, but I daresay he has been a far better father to that young man than the king ever was. ”
Alekvandor. The history connected itself when he said his royal name. There had been three brothers. Zaricor, Alekvandor, and Quintar. Although the latter had been executed years ago.
His uncle.
That stupid, cocky—
I slammed my glass back onto the table, startling those around me. The man I had been looking for had been nearly within my grasp the entire time. The brother of the king. His nephew had tried to form an alliance with me, and I had blown him off.
I muttered under my breath, grappling for a way to fix this.
The prince wouldn’t consider an alliance with me again, not after the way I’d humiliated him by rejecting his offer.
Pieces of a plan formed in my mind. If I was going to regain his trust and get close enough to his uncle to steal that ring, I was going to have to do it tonight.
And it would have to be public—something he couldn’t shy away from easily.
I ran my interactions with him back through my mind, sorting them out.
The prince was my ticket to get to his uncle, and while I loathed the thought of it, I needed him.
At least his swordsmanship was good, and he was wise enough to try to make an alliance with me after insulting me by trying to have me exiled; maybe he wasn’t too bad.
Or maybe he was.
Valeris and the Haskelle warrior stepped into the ring, the crowd growing in anticipation of who would win the event.
“I do so hope our Prince Valeris wins,” I said to the older gentleman.
I was depending on him too.