I’m Not Hugging You Until You Clean That #4
“What do you think this means for us?” Esme asked, holding herself. She thrust the will back into Urias’s hands, her own burning from just holding something Omniel had once touched himself. “I don’t want anything written on that scroll.”
“I know, Es.” Urias tucked the will away and held her shoulders. “I’m going to make Isobel read it in court.”
“She’s not going to want to read anything that undermines her power as sole ruler until she has a plan,” Tagas mused.
“If I give this to Isobel in private, I expect it may end up torn to shreds and set on fire,” Urias said.
“But if I were to forget my manners in grief and publicly announce that this was the will of Turiel Asterou, written by the Great King Omniel, in the middle of court in an hour, then I suppose she’d just have to read it out?
Throwing it away is damn-near treasonous.
She wouldn’t want to appear like a power-hungry bitch in front of all those people, would she? ”
“You plan to trap Isobel into renouncing power,” Esme said. If Isobel publicly refused to read that will, her head would be the seventh on the front gate. “What do we even hope to get out of that? That will is three decades old. I doubt we’d even know the heir he’s named.”
“Let’s say I present this to Isobel in court, and she reads it.
It says some random bastard is king. Someone who likely won’t be in attendance considering this will is, as you so helpfully mentioned, three decades old.
Even if it’s a statesman, Turiel fired of all his father’s advisors when he was crowned, and none of them have come to court since.
That means we have a new king, and he doesn’t know it.
The only people that do are in that room, and we have no shackles on us there.
We lock everyone in, and Tagas, you spin a new truth that Isobel was crowned queen.
” Urias laid out the front half of the plan and let the second half dawn on them each.
Padrian wore a huge, giddy grin just thinking of it.
“Our Bonds to the king follow the laws,” he said slowly.
“The law decrees that the will says who’s king.
If Isobel decreed herself queen, we wouldn’t have to bow to her because she’d be illegitimate.
And the person whom we did bow to would never even know to try and control us.
Not complete freedom, but freer than we’ve ever been before. ”
“Maybe you’re not dumb after all,” Urias said with a wink. “Tagas, this would hinge on you.”
“I can do it,” he said. There was no thinking; Tagas just decided he could.
His glamour thinned, the ghost of his true form glowing under his skin.
He had three mouths, the usual one below his nose and one on each hollow cheek.
All three spoke silently, winding the thread of their will.
Tagas had the power to weave stories. Like a seamstress sewing pieces of fabric into a quilt, he could stitch his will together and throw it over someone’s eyes.
He’d once made a man believe he was a chicken.
“What if it just says Belchin is king?” Sam asked.
“Omniel hated Belchin. He’d never let that ass rule his country. If Omniel wrote this will, Belchin’s not getting a damn thing,” Urias said. “And he never even had the torture of meeting Isobel.”
Sam’s tongue punched his cheek. It was a tall order, but they worked in tall orders. “What about Mak’kon?”
“Glamouring him will take too much of Tagas’s energy.
He should just focus on the humans. Mak’kon will deal with it.
And if he decides to throw a fit, we can be a little mean about it.
” Urias’s voice was flat, as if threatening violence on the man he used to think the world of was the easiest thing.
“I can always just put him in a little shadow ball,” Esme said. “It’ll piss him off, but it won’t hurt him.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Padrian snarked quietly.
They were all pissed at Mak’kon for abandoning them, but it was a quiet fury.
They could joke until they went blue in the face, but a few cruel barbs did nothing to smooth over the bleeding wounds he’d slashed in their hearts.
Mak’kon barely saw them, or spoke to them, or ate with them.
Were they so terrible that he could spare not a drop of attention for the people he’d once considered family?
Or was Isobel just that wonderful? Either option had hatred stopping up the holes he’d left in their hearts.
“But it could work,” Daphna said, voice tight around the hope lodged in their throat.
Urias smiled at the youngest of his Wraiths and pulled them against his side. He bit his lip and threw a look to Esme. She couldn’t find any holes to poke in his scheme. It… it could work. It could actually work.
The very thought had her chest fluttering. Sam swept her under his arm just to hold her up. Tagas, eyes white as he pulled together strings of lies and wove them in his hands, had a quiver to his jaw.
Hope was so close. Esme could feel it.
She could feel the hug of heat on the balmy shores of Uhmer, where they’d all build a little village on the beach.
She’d been there a year ago for a diplomatic visit, and all she’d been able to think about for the whole two months was bringing Mina and Gia to the water.
Teaching Gia to swim in the ocean while Mina watched from her garden out front.
An aviary for Urias. Peaceful dawns. Bloodless nights.
Dinners crowded around a slightly too-small table.
Esme flitting around in low-slung skirts with her stomach out without being arrested.
Daphna able to shift between whatever clothing they wished.
Padrian growing out his hair because Esme could sit behind him and braid it once a week.
“If this works, drinks on me,” Esme said, shaking her head.
“And if it doesn’t?” Padrian asked.
Esme slid her hand into his. “Then drinks on Urias. And we drain the bar.”