Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
I fasten my cloak and follow him out of the room. In the hall, torchlight glows over vibrant tapestries and portraits. Our boots clack against the flagstone, echoing off the soaring Gothic arches.
My thoughts are a storm in my skull as we stalk through the hall.
I can’t marry the man I’m going to kill.
When I glance at the portraits of Fey nobles, I swear they’re watching me. Lace collars and gemstones frame their faces, and their painted eyes seem to shift as I walk past. A trick of the light, but I feel their judgment all the same.
A cloaked traitor here to kill her husband. A viper in the grass.
The air grows colder as we descend the stairs. When we reach the heavy oak doors at the bottom, Talan pushes them open. A vast courtyard stretches to the fortress walls, and a bitter wind tosses drifts of snow in our direction. Soldiers still guard the portal beneath the swaying icy branches of the willow tree.
I tug my cloak more tightly around me and slow my pace near one of our message drops. Talan looks back at me, the wind toying with his dark hair. “What’s wrong?”
“I have a pebble in my boot. Just give me a second, will you? I’ll meet you at the stables.”
He nods, then stalks off, shadows consuming him as he walks away, and I scramble to snatch the message from my leather bag. With cold fingers, I pry up a stone under a thorny briar and shove the parchment beneath it. The message ends mid-sentence, but Nivene will learn the important part: Talan wants to marry me to get out of his marriage to Arwenna. Hopefully, she will realize we need to clean up the Lauron situation, because if she doesn’t, I may end my days with my throat slashed by the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
I straighten and hurry to catch up with Talan, passing the fountain with ravens spewing water from their stone beaks, coils of steam rising into the cold air. In the rookery, soft cooing breaks the silence of the night. I find Talan leading two horses from the stables, a delicate white mare and an enormous black stallion.
I reach for the reins of the stallion. “I assume this one’s for me?”
The horse rears back his head.
Talan flashes me a faint smile. “Absolutely not. Clover, the white mare, is yours. No one rides Maponos but me. I can be a little possessive sometimes.”
“Fine.” I take Clover’s reins and run my hand down her neck to reassure her. Sidling up to her left side, I hook my foot into the stirrup and swing my leg over her back, settling into the saddle. I lean forward, stroking her mane with my fingers, and whisper in Clover’s ear, “We’ll be good friends, you and I.”
She flicks her ear like she’s listening to me.
When I look up, Talan is already riding toward the gate. Shivering, I follow his lead, coaxing Clover into a steady canter.
Already, the heavy wooden gates are groaning open, and the soldiers part to let us through. As we pass, the guards bow.
We pass through the gate, and I urge Clover into a gallop.
My life is a maelstrom of chaos, but hasn’t it always been that way? A new disaster around every corner—Mom’s car smashed into a house, the sofa on fire, another eviction. Kidnapped, taken to an academy, engaged to an evil prince…
When the seas of turmoil rage around me, I can’t still the waves. All I can do is cling to the mast and hope I don’t drown.
I focus my mare onward, the wind shrieking in my ears.
Clouds slide over the moons, darkening the stars and blotting out the crimson sheen. Icy raindrops sparkle in the light from the windows as we ride through the winding city streets of Corbinelle, clopping past the slumbering occupants in the timber-frame homes that crowd the roads.
For a moment, I wonder if I should try to flee.
I can’t marry a man I’m trying to kill.
What, then? Running away from my problems is a childish impulse. I have a responsibility to do my job, to bring down the Court of Merlin, and I can’t abandon it.
My role is simple: get close to Talan and help Avalon Tower’s assassins kill him. Kill the prince. Kill the king.
Most importantly, don’t let my secret get out.
My mind is a whirlwind of panic and fatigue as I follow Talan out of the city and into the forests of Brocéliande. Overhead, the clouds thin, and moonlight illuminates a cobbled road that winds out of the city, toward the dark forest of oaks and rowans. Talan leads the way, and I follow, my body aching from days of travel. My thighs and ab muscles burn intensely.
As we ride into the woods, the shadows grow thicker, the air heavy with the scent of soil and moss. Faint, crimson-kissed moonlight pierces the canopy above us, dappling the earth with rosy flecks. Tiny lights flicker above us beneath the trees’ leaves. Fireflies, I think.
After a while, the trees thin to a clearing. Nestled in the woods is a ramshackle oak cottage with shuttered windows. Every line looks crooked: the mossy chimney juts out at an odd angle, and the roof sags on the right side. By all appearances, it could tumble onto the tree next to it.
It’s a wreck of a house, but right now, I can relate.
“Here we are.” Talan stops his horse and swiftly dismounts.
“Where are we, exactly?” I grip the saddle and slide off Clover’s back. “This little cottage doesn’t seem your style.”
Talan hitches Maponos to a tree and arches an eyebrow at me. “Exactly how much do you know about my style?”
“I know you like pearls and silver rings, which seems at odds with a forest hovel.”
He turns to me and puts his finger to his lips. “This is where we find our cleric and you become the newest member of the de Morgan royal family.”
My stomach clenches. No delays, then.
He turns, knocking on the little rounded green door inset into the misshapen wooden walls.
I rub my arms, shivering in the cold. The door is opened by an old man in midnight blue robes. A nightcap slouches over his head, and he stares at us from beneath wild silver eyebrows. Behind him, a fire lights up the room with gold.
“Wadoyouwant?” he barks. He narrows his eyes at Talan. “Oh. It’s you.”
I’ve never seen anyone react to Talan with such a blasé attitude, like he’s an annoying neighbor turning up to ask for some spare sugar.
Talan quirks a smile. “Nice to see you, Griflet. Sorry about the hour.”
“No, you’re not, but you do lie well, Your Highness. Have you brought me crushed bisen-root? I’ve run out again, and it’s given me the most dreadful aches.”
Talan reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a small leather bag tied up with a strap.
Griflet’s eyes widen, and he snatches it from Talan. He tears off the strap and pours a small handful of glittering metallic powder into his palm. Without another word, he leans over his hand and snorts up the silvery powder. When he raises his head again, his nostrils shimmer. His eyes dart to me with a manic gleam. “Wonderful. Wonderful. And who’s this lovely lass? A lover?”
“This is Nia. She’s my fiancée.”
“Really? Despite living in this gods-forsaken shithole, I’ve heard you’re engaged to Countess Arwenna de Bosclair of Val Sans Retour.”
Talan sighs. “Must I limit myself to one? How boring.”
“If you want to live a peaceful life, Your Highness, but you’ve never seemed much interested in that.” Griflet dips his finger into the bag of silver powder and rubs a little on his gums. His green eyes gleam maniacally. “Well, at least she’s pretty.”
Talan leans against his doorframe. “I have excellent taste. Will you marry us?”
Griflet blinks. “How very flattering. Marrying royalty is usually the domain of the Grand Cleric of the Wald.”
“Yes,” Talan says. “Unfortunately, the Grand Cleric of the Wald is a member of the King’s Watch and reports directly to my father. And my father has other plans for me.”
“One of the seven Great Clerics of the Paimpont River, then.”
“Three of them are members of the King’s Watch, two would immediately ask the Grand Cleric for permission, and two report to Arwenna’s father, the Marquis de Bosclair.”
Griflet considers this. “There’s the cleric of the main glade of the Melian Forest.”
“Heavily bribed by my father to inform him of anything that might displease him.”
Griflet sighs. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Your Highness, but you came here because all of the other clerics are corrupt, terrified for their lives, or politically motivated.”
Talan’s dark eyebrows raise. “Excellent summary, Griflet.”
“Am I also to surmise that you think I’m the only cleric mad enough to defy the king’s wishes?”
“Again, you grasp the essentials. Now let us inside.”
“How will you ensure my safety? The king will never approve it, and I will likely end up on the execution block. I may be eccentric, but I don’t have a death wish.”
Talan shrugs. “You will need to return to Corbinelle with me as a witness. Of course, I will explain that I ripped some of your skin off and invaded your dreams, and that you had no choice. And the moment you confirm to the court that I have married, my soldiers will escort you to a secret location, somewhere far away in the Melian Forest. I will have a secret cottage built for you among the bisen-root.”
Griflet’s eyes widen. “You’ll tell me where that is, where it grows?”
“If you grant me this favor.”
“All right.” Griflet steps back into his cottage. “Come in, come in. We have a wedding to plan.”