Chapter Forty-Three
Analleia
Paravellia granted its guests access to the royal library, and I slipped inside, hoping my visit wouldn’t reside in the guards’ memories.
I worked my way to the history section, flipping through endless pages explaining Paravellia’s government and laws.
Everything Valeris had told me about the line of succession lined up with what was stated in the books, but I kept combing through them even though they all said the same thing: Once the king died, the line of succession began with the eldest son, and if the eldest son had children when he was crowned, any siblings were ruled ineligible for the throne.
Rivero had children, but since he had died while his father was still alive and ruling, his heirs would now never hold a claim to the crown.
I returned to my room and changed into my assassin’s garb, loading up on knives and specialty weapons. Desmond and Nadiyah were nowhere to be found. I left a note in code explaining what I planned to do.
I had come to avenge my family, but killing King Zaricor would set off an uncertain chain of events.
If he had set up the competition between his children it had to already be in writing, signed and sealed—which would force the competition to go forward even in the event of his death.
Killing him meant one of the three Paravellian heirs would become sovereign, and according to Valeris, Ezrielle or Zandyr on the throne could be disastrous.
How they could be any worse of a ruler than their father, I wasn’t sure, but Valeris feared for the fate of his people underneath their leadership.
My fight was with King Zaricor, not with his children.
My rope was still hidden beneath the ivy on the palace wall, and I counted the schedule of the guards on the other side, ensuring I wouldn’t be seen before I climbed up and over. Desmond had been clocking Athello’s schedule. He should be in his office by now.
I stalked across the courtyard, my plan processing in my mind, forming more with every step I took.
If I killed King Zaricor, Valeris would be thrust into royalty sooner than he expected—which made him vulnerable.
All someone had to do to bring this country to its knees would be to kill Valeris, ending the line of Paravellian kings, and making a way for a new line to ascend to the throne.
And none of this would have started if Rivero hadn’t been assassinated.
His brother’s assassination had never made any sense to me, but now the pieces were falling into place.
Rivero had always been the crown heir; there had never been a need or a consideration for another to replace him.
The only way for King Zaricor to be enticed into changing the line of succession was if the crown heir was dead.
Someone had ordered his assassination. Someone who knew how to manipulate the laws, someone who had also lost a claim to the throne, and they would have to know Valeris inside and out to encourage him to win the competition for the throne.
I hesitated outside Athello’s office, candlelight flickering from within the room. Shadows concealed me as I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as I summoned peace into my mind. I had to go through with it on my own. For all our sakes.
My fingers dug their way into the grout between stones, the tips of my shoes following as I worked my way up the wall, moving slowly as I crept toward his office, ears alert for any noises.
I brought myself up parallel to the window, peeking in to find Athello writing at a desk.
I stepped onto the ledge before dropping into the room, landing silently on the floor in my slippered shoes as I drew a knife from its sheath.
He scribbled furiously on the parchment, ink splattering over the hasty words.
“I thought you would have come for me before now.”
I froze.
His quill stilled.
“I know about your ploy for the throne,” I said, struggling to disguise my voice when it was strangled with emotion.
He turned and took me in, studied the dagger outstretched in my hands before cocking an eyebrow. “And what ploy might that be?”
“I’ll start with a story.” My voice grew raspy.
“Once, the heir to a throne was murdered, and the king decided the line of succession should be changed. A competition, arranged between three of the remaining heirs. Do as the king wished, and they would win the crown—but there was a catch in the laws of the land. Once an heir has been passed over, they can never be a contender for the throne again. So my question to you is if they crown the youngest child, eliminating all other heirs, and then that youngest child is murdered, who is chosen to sit upon the throne?”
He rose to his feet. “You think someone is out to kill my nephew?”
“I think someone wants the line of Zaricor to end.”
“And you think that’s me? You forget I am no longer in the line of succession.”
“And therein lies the loophole. If Valeris is crowned king, and he dies, who stands to claim the throne?”
Something flashed across Athello’s face. A realization. “I’m not the one you’re looking for.”
My eyes narrowed. If he wasn’t behind the ploy for the throne, then who was?
A sharp disk flew at me from underneath his cloak. I bent backward, the razor edge passing within an inch of my face.
“You’re going to have to dig deeper if you want to find out the true mastermind behind this,” he continued. “Because it isn’t me.”
He came at me, daggers drawn, striking as I maneuvered in and out of his attack, thrusting my knife forward but always missing him by a hairsbreadth.
We were in a dance again, each one anticipating the other’s moves, but his skill outranked mine.
I fought to stay one step ahead, just out of his reach, but this was his space, and he held the upper hand.
He forced me back, and I stepped onto a loose board and tipped backward.
His fingers curled around the edge of my mask, yanking it from my face as gravity pulled me down.
My back smacked against the floor, and I gasped.
My mask hung in his hands like a prize he didn’t think was worth the fight. He stared in shock, my white-blond hair furled out around me on the floorboards. Whoever he had suspected to be behind the mask—it had not been me.
“You’re a Dark Walker.” His face clouded. “You’re here to kill my nephew.”
I shook my head, my voice laced with bitterness. “I didn’t come here for him.”
My wrist shot forward, the slim knife within my cuff ejecting and embedding itself into Athello’s gut.
He cried out at the pain, clutching at his side as he stumbled into the desk.
I lurched to my feet, knocking him to his knees before pressing the tip of my dagger to his neck.
If he moved, if he breathed any harder than he was now, it would slice open his throat.
My gaze drifted to the ring on his hand.
“You’ll have to kill me to get this ring,” he snarled.
I lifted my chin, willing myself to swipe the dagger across his throat. To end this.
I had to.
I refused to lose my only family.
Resolve curled within me, the headmistress’s words echoing in my head. Her guidance. Instruction. Everything I had learned in the last five years funneling into my next move. Into the choice I had to make. The life I had to take to protect my family. One turn of the wrist and it would be over.
But I hesitated.
Hesitated to wield the knife, to do what I had come here to do.
I had to kill him. If I didn’t, I would lose the spell, lose myself.
I would lose my chance to get a shot at King Zaricor, but the memory of my mother turning to attack the fray of approaching enemy soldiers filled my mind.
The fear that had clutched at my heart, the sorrow that had overpowered me.
Evil or no, I was about to enact that same cruel fate on Valeris.
His uncle was all he had, and I was about to strip him of that.
Maybe there wasn’t a loophole. Maybe his uncle was telling the truth.
My hands shook. I couldn’t take his life.
I had sworn I would only ever take the king’s life.
I hadn’t come here to compromise what I had vowed five years ago.
The Enchantress’s threat loomed over me. You’re a Dark Walker. Your skills would be wasted on cleaning. How many more would die if I became indentured to her?
Desmond’s face flashed before me, panic rising in my chest, Valeris’s confession in his room just hours ago filling my ears. My grip tightened on the knife.
What are your plans after the finale?
Valeris’s question came back to me, the memory of the kiss fresh on my lips.
Why are you here? Because it doesn’t feel like you’re focused on the king. Do you even want to assassinate him?
Desmond’s questions paralyzed me. I had lost my focus on the king. He needed to be assassinated, but I hadn’t been prepared for the sacrifices it would require. Tears pricked my eyes, torment ripping through me as Athello waited for me to kill him. I pressed the dagger father into his skin.
No.
There had to be another way.
If not, I would make one.
I jerked away, staggering back, not registering the confusion on Athello’s face as I fled, disappearing out the door and down the hall.
This wasn’t what I had come here for. I’d joined the Dark Walkers, trained to become a weapon, but I had never once wanted to hurt innocent people.
To be the cause of someone’s pain. To be like the soldiers who burned our kingdom that night.
I wanted to help people. I wanted the world to be a better place, and I didn’t want the innocent to die by my hand.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I hurtled through the dark corridor. As I sought freedom.
A force shoved into me and knocked me backward, the air ripped from my lungs as I crashed onto the stone floor.
“You stupid girl.”
The Enchantress’s voice echoed off the stone walls as I met her vengeful gaze. She hovered, suspended in the air, hands outstretched on either side of her, black hair billowing around her. Golden specks of starlight littered the air, magic at her command.
“One task,” she said. “That was all I asked, but even that was too complicated for you. You have failed to deliver on your end of the bargain, Analleia Kallistar—and I always come to collect.”