Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
T he return to the castle feels strangely somber, like a death march. It’s hard to be cheerful when you defy a ruthlessly cruel king, then trot back to his castle to tell him what you’ve done. If we’re going into battle, I do hope it will be more metaphorical than literal, though given the number of soldiers Auberon keeps around at all times, who knows.
Shivering, I ride with Talan on his horse. The cold wind nips at the bare skin of my thighs through the slits in the fabric. At least part of me is warm—Talan’s cloak is draped around me, the wool carrying his smoky, slightly spiced scent. He holds me firmly against him with one arm, his grip secure around my waist. His steely chest presses against my spine, warming me as we ride.
I glance behind us at Griflet on Clover. The cleric looks downright miserable. Now that the exhilarating effects of the bisen-root have worn off, it’s clear he regrets this plan. Nivene rides beside him, her brow furrowed. Her gaze flits to me, but whether she’s truly worried or simply playing a part, I can’t tell.
At the end of this winding road, the gates to Castle Perillos loom above crowded cottages. Shafts of sunlight break through the storm-gray clouds, casting the cobbled road in shadow. Today, the walls around Perillos seem to tower higher than ever. The gates, usually open wide, are shut tight. Soldiers stand in formation before them, their armor flashing in the sun.
As we approach, the soldiers snap to attention.
Instantly, Talan’s arm tenses against my stomach, and my breath quickens.
“Anything I should know?” I whisper.
He leans down, his breath warming the shell of my ear. “Only that my father might suspect I’ve been dismantling his plans during the night. But at this point? It’s too late for him to do anything about it.”
“Could this be considered treason?”
“That depends. Are we defining treason as ‘whatever the fuck the king says it is in the moment’?”
“I believe that’s his legal standard.”
“In that case, possibly. But since he only has one son left, I’m afraid he has to keep me around for the security of the realm. Bad luck for him, really.”
I glance back over my shoulder at our companions. Nivene and Griflet are behind us, their faces set like stone. Griflet has gone pale as milk.
As we draw closer, the soldiers draw their swords.
Talan’s thumb idly strokes my waist, slowly and lazily, like he has all the time in the world. It may be an unconscious gesture, but it still sends a warm ripple thrumming over my skin.
“You don’t mean to block our way, do you?” Talan’s deep voice rings out.
One of the soldiers, visibly trembling in his armor, steps forward. “The king’s orders, Your Highness. We were told to lock the gates to Perillos unless you returned alone. We are not supposed to let anyone else pass, king’s orders. We are, of course, delighted for your upcoming nuptials?—”
“I do love when people try to tell me what I can or cannot do. Your bravery is adorable, really.” Talan raises my hand, and the ring is dazzling in the sunlight. “But I make my own choices, and today’s wedding is off. My true bride already wears my ring.”
The soldiers exchange uneasy glances. A chill ripples through the air, and clouds slide over the sun once more. One soldier steps forward, a knight, judging from his emblazoned shield and surcoat, and their commander. The knight’s mouth opens and closes twice before he finally manages to speak. “Your Highness, I beg your forgiveness, but the king was under the impression that your wedding to the countess, the Lady Arwenna, was to take place today. We were ordered not to allow your mistress back within the castle walls out of respect for the new princess, at her wishes.”
“The new princess rides with me,” Talan says sharply. “I am already married. Open the gates for my bride and me, and I will announce our union to the court.”
This is beginning to feel like an open rebellion.
Is Talan really capable of deposing his father?
The clouds overhead darken the sun, churning with ominous blue-gray shadows.
The knight goes pale. “Your Highness, my deepest apologies. His Majesty gave us strict orders?—”
Before the knight can finish, he collapses to his knees, his eyes wide and jaw slack.
Cold, dark magic ripples from Talan, a shadowy power that skims over my skin, sending a shiver through my bones. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
As the knight writhes in pain, the rest of the soldiers look on in dismay. Their commander is out of commission and unable to give them orders. As Talan weaves a nightmare in the knight’s mind, the poor man’s terrified cries echo off the stones. The knight is on his hands and knees now, shaking, and he looks like he might vomit. Panic-stricken, the other soldiers glance from the knight to us, unsure what to do. Faces appear in the windows of the cottages along the road, and hands press against the glass in horror.
“Really, I was expecting more resistance from a knight. Nia, darling,” Talan murmurs, his voice buttery soft, “will you compel the nice knight to open the gate for Brocéliande’s new princess? Discreetly, of course.”
I take a deep breath and glance back at Nivene. She nods ever so subtly.
I turn back to the knight in charge. He’s begging for mercy now in a broken voice.
I lower my voice to a whisper. “I’m not going into that man’s mind until you pull the nightmares away. I really don’t want to see what you’ve created in there.” As I speak, I slide off the horse onto the cobbles and glance over my shoulder at him.
As I approach the knight, his terror begins to fade. Slowly, he stands, his breath hitching as he steadies himself.
“Are you all right?” I say softly. Reaching out, I touch his cheek, as if out of concern, and summon my powers. Tendrils of magic, crimson entwined with violet, flow from me, and I slip into his mind.
Fragments of the nightmare he escaped flash before me.
A valley of dried bones beneath the shadow of death…
I lay rotting among the beasts, the criminals, and the cursed…
My powers blend, Sentinel and telepathy fusing into a plum-hued force that sinks into the soil of his thoughts. He knows something is wrong, but after the horrors he just experienced, he can’t resist my magic or the promise of relief. What I give him is a balm from his torments.
I tighten my grip on the soldier’s mind. His fear is overwhelming—dark ink scribbles across his thoughts, blotting out sanity with terror. Slowly, I thread my thoughts into his, writing a story where Talan is the true king, the one man who can save him from his nightmares. Talan is his salvation.
For a few moments, the knight’s terror remains visceral. He can’t stop picturing himself being hurled from the city walls, plummeting hundreds of feet to rot among discarded carcasses. He’s terrified of the Pit of Hounds’ Bones, a place outside the city walls of noxious fumes, burning corpses, bleached skeletons, and above all, an ignominious, lonely death. He saw it once as a kid, a freshly broken knight’s body rotting among the filth. Punished by the king.
I keep a delicate grip on his mind, like fingers around a glass sphere. I can’t push too hard because he’s close to breaking completely.
“If you open the gate,” I whisper into his thoughts, “you won’t rot in the Pit of Hounds. You’ll live out your days as an Old Fey, safe in your home. Reading by the fire.”
My magic roots itself deeper into his mind, planting ideas like seeds. We are his saviors, the only escape from the Pit of Hounds. His eyes glaze over, and his shoulders slump. I sense the relief spreading through his thoughts as the fear seeps out of his body.
He turns to the other soldiers. “It’s best if we let them in. It’s really…it’s really best if we let them in,” he stammers.
“Sir…” The protest, made by one of the lower-ranking soldiers, dies on his tongue. I suspect he has quickly calculated that if he makes too much of a fuss, he’ll be the next to receive unwanted attention from the prince.
Without a word, the knight turns and pulls out a large set of skeleton keys, then unlocks the oak gatehouse door. It swings open, and he stumbles into a cramped room. He grips a rusted iron winch, grunting with exertion as he turns it. Slowly, the city gates groan open, metal scraping against metal.
I turn back toward Talan’s horse, Maponos. Talan reaches down, lifting me easily by the waist, his fingers lingering long enough to send heated shivers down my body. Settling into my place before him, I feel his arm slide protectively around my waist once more.
“Excellent work, dear wife,” he whispers.
Leaning back against the crown prince’s chest, I ride onto the castle grounds. Talan is now an invader in his own palace, and the rebellion against the king has begun.
Our little entourage crosses into the courtyard outside Perillos, and my heart constricts. It’s not empty like usual. While we were frantically running from a basilisk, someone here was hard at work, using magic to transform the courtyard into a golden, flowering idyll.
It seems like Jasper hasn’t told anyone that the wedding was off. The poor man will probably be in hiding for years.
In the center of the courtyard, an enormous golden tent stands, bright beneath the cloudy sky. Inside the tent, banquet tables are draped with gold brocade cloths. The sweet scent of violets and musk rose drift on the breeze, mingling with the smell of roasting meat.
Fear twists inside me when I notice a columned wedding pavilion on the far side of the courtyard near the fountains. I dread what the king will do when he learns his preparations were for nothing. This is all for Arwenna—the golden tent with musicians inside, the pathways lined with primroses and sweetbriar, the ivy and honeysuckle draping the courtyard.
And here I am, a girl from California, about to turn the kingdom upside down.
Slowly, a small crowd of nobles starts to gather around us, staring. They’re here for the scandal, to gossip later that they saw the prince ride in with his whore mistress.
A servant dressed in a blue coat hurries over, blond curls framing his face. “Your Highness. The king wishes to see you. He wants you to prepare for the wedding.” His gaze flicks to me. “The countess…I, uh, think she wouldn’t like…” His voice tails off, his face going red.
A chill creeps over me. This feels a little like a nightmare of my own.
Talan swings down from the horse and brushes the dust from his cloak. Then he turns his dark gaze to me and reaches up for my waist, lifting me off the horse. Strangely, his touch seems to warm my chill, but only for a moment.
Talan turns to the servant. “What’s your name?”
“Brennus.” He looks relieved at having something simple to answer.
“Brennus, I want you to take Maponos back to the stable,” Talan says, handing over the reins. “I have an announcement to make to the court.”
Brennus nods and hurries away, leading the horse.
The great doors of the castle swing open with a loud groan, a sound that reverberates through the courtyard. Dozens of soldiers march forth, which can only mean one thing—the king is heading out to meet us.
My stomach plummets as the king exits behind the soldiers, his regal figure draped in a blue ermine-trimmed cape. A crown shines on his pale blond hair.
He is not alone. Arwenna is behind him, radiant in her wedding gown. It’s simple and elegant, and as much as I loathe the woman, she looks like absolute perfection. The midnight hues of the fabric gleam against her pale skin and white-gold hair. Her ladies-in-waiting trail behind her. In their shimmering silver-green gowns, they resemble a bouquet of wormwood, beautiful and likely just as bitter.
Arwenna’s withering gaze lands on me, and my hair stands on end.
She’s going to kill me, isn’t she?