Chapter 16
“Is it done?” asks the Nomad when I return to the ballroom.
I offer him a half-hearted nod.
“Was that a yes… or a tick of your head?”
This time, I nod more convincingly, though the Nomad does not appear relieved.
But my mind is on other things. I whisk out my pad, write, then pass it to the Nomad. What are the marriage laws here?
The Nomad flashes me a grin. “Are you asking? Because you and I would certainly qualify, though I’d have to give a false name, of course.”
I punch him on the chest with the side of my fist. He clutches his heart in feigned offense.
“Marriage laws in this kingdom are complicated. There’s a rather strict class system that’s difficult to move in and out of.
If you want to move up, you have to purchase a medallion.
If you want to marry down, you must give up your class.
Although it’s hardly ever allowed. Technically legal, but legality only goes so far when the poor lovebird’s parents have bribing money. Why?”
What would it take to purchase a medallion for the royal class? I write.
The Nomad whistles. “More than money. You’d have to”—He laughs—“You’d have to steal a tapestry from a Fate.”
Aren’t you trying to steal from a Fate?
“Yes, well, it’s less shocking when I manage it, considering my skill level. May I ask why the sudden fascination with the class system?”
Thankfully, the queen clinks her crystal goblet—empty, at the moment—and addresses the ballroom.
“We’re gathered here today not to mourn my late husband,” she says, though her voice is somber, reeking of heartbreak, “but to celebrate his bravery and the lives he saved when he sacrificed his own.” She nods toward her daughter, who I didn’t notice had returned to the room until just now.
From the poise with which she holds herself, you would never know about the conflict that had happened in the hallway just a few minutes ago.
I glance over to Acel, curious, but he’s not looking in her direction. Of course he’s not. The man seems to be as by-the-book as they come, which is why I have a sinking feeling in my heart about the plan.
The queen goes on, telling stories about her late husband.
When she reaches the end, a servant brings out a wine bottle.
“My husband and I were saving this for our thirtieth wedding anniversary,” she says.
“When he died, I vowed to myself never to drink it. But it recently occurred to me that when my husband was alive, he never wanted me to miss out on life. In fact, I believe it would’ve saddened him to know it was going to waste, collecting dust in the cellar, only to be drunk by one of our rowdy descendants long after I’m gone. ”
She says it in a way that earns a nervous chuckle from the crowd, unsure whether she’s making a joke about her dead husband or not.
The queen offers a kind smile, and the laughter intensifies.
“All right, I do feel a tad guilty about this one,” whispers the Nomad in my ear.
I raise a brow at him but otherwise don’t respond.
The servant pours the wine into the goblet, and before drinking it, the queen offers it to Acel, who sips it from her hand. With a barely perceptible nod, Acel proclaims the wine safe.
My gut twists as the queen brings the chalice to her lips.
The Nomad never planned an assassination.
The replaced wine was only supposed to make the queen ill—on the verge of death—and since Acel would have no symptoms, it would be assumed that he had planted the wine himself.
He was the only one to touch the wine other than the queen, and after he drank it, it would be assumed he’d tampered with it somehow.
Sure, there is a crowd full of witnesses who could attest to Acel never placing anything into the goblet, but with someone as important as the queen involved, the target and circumstances matter more than hard, fast evidence.
The mind is a funny thing. All it takes to rewrite a crowd full of memories is the insinuation of a crime.
Moments pass. Next to me, the Nomad remains completely still.
It’s one of his tells—one that means he’s up to something.
Most people’s tells involve glancing down, avoiding eye contact, twirling a ring, tapping their fingers.
But the Nomad is practiced at keeping such tendencies at bay.
He doesn’t realize that that’s what makes him suspicious.
Everyone has some nervous habit. Even when they’re not lying.
Even when they’re not poisoning a queen.
But the queen smiles and lifts her goblet. “This I drink on behalf of my late husband.”
The crowd cheers. Next to me, the Nomad claps slowly. Deliberately.
The music starts back up, and as I’m still fixated on the queen, the Nomad sweeps me into a dance. When his staring at her can no longer persist without drawing suspicion, he turns his head in my direction with such deliberation you’d think he was afraid his neck was going to snap.
“Tink.” My name has never sounded more like a question. Well, more of a demand, really.
I offer him a smile.
Seconds later, he’s sweeping me off the dance floor and into the hall, his grip firm around my upper arm. I expect him to push me up against the wall, but instead, he pulls me into an alcove much like the one where I eavesdropped on Acel and the princess.
“I know you’re not a fool, so please, do tell me where I was unclear in my instructions. When I told you to poison the queen’s cup, did I not specify that I meant tonight? Or perhaps you took it literally, and poisoned the actual cup instead of the wine within it.”
Before I can answer, a voice bellows softly behind us. “So you’re the one who planned to frame me for treason.”
The Nomad looks at me, crinkles his brow, and sighs before turning around and loosening his grip on my arm.
“Ah, the man of the hour,” says the Nomad, a slick grin on his face. He extends his hand to shake Acel’s, but Acel leaves it to hover in midair. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m—”
“If I didn’t know who you were, I wouldn’t be fit for my job.”
“Right. Eh…” The Nomad slips his hand back down to rest by his side, though his fingers are still tensed, as if readying to grab the hilt of his blade any moment.
Though they checked us as we entered the palace, so reaching for a weapon would be simply reflexive.
“Well, this is a tad awkward, isn’t it? Allow me to explain. ”
“No need. She already did that for you,” says Acel, nodding toward me.
“Did she, now?” The Nomad’s tone is pleasant, though his words have to squeeze through his clamped teeth.
“Yes, and her integrity is the only reason I’m giving you two the option to walk out of here unscathed. But trust me, if I get a whiff that either of you have come within a hundred paces of the palace…”
“Yes, yes,” says the Nomad. “I’ve seen renderings of the queen’s gallows. Quite impressive, though you might tell her they need a touch-up. You can tell the red paint is peeling even from the renderings.”
The only thing about Acel that responds is his eyes, cutting to the side. A silent command for us to get walking.
We do, side-by-side, and though I’m convinced Acel is telling the truth, that he won’t arrest either of us, my heart sinks nonetheless.
Stupid. I’d been stupid to tell him the Nomad’s plot.
Stupid to offer him an alternative, a reason to come with us willingly.
Of course, he’d never leave the princess’s side.
Men like that will pine from a distance forever, if given the opportunity, dutifully allowing life to pass them by just to be within proximity to the woman they love.
But in the end, I couldn’t do it. I could have allowed the queen to believe that Acel had betrayed her.
She was willing to let him drink poison for her, after all.
I could have allowed him to suffer the public humiliation.
He would have never paid for his crimes—the Nomad would have made sure of that.
I could have allowed Acel to suffer a great many things.
It was the princess I couldn’t hurt.
Betrayed by the man she loved—had loved for years, it seems. I couldn’t be the reason she believed he would have killed her only surviving relative.
The bitter taste of betrayal is still too fresh on my lips. Sure, the princess might think she’s tasting it now, with Acel’s refusal to be with her. But a refusal to persist in an impossible romantic entanglement is nothing compared to the man you love stealing what’s most precious to you.
If I weren’t so concerned with what Acel would think I was doing with my hands, I would caress my throat.
We’re passing the ballroom doors when the queen’s voice echoes through the slats.
“And now, for one last announcement. I regret my late husband wasn’t here for this moment.
He would have been so proud, but I suppose I will simply have to be proud for the both of us.
I’m sure you are aware that tensions between Irethden and our neighbors have been high as of late.
To be forthright, they’ve been strained since before the kingdoms’ recorded history.
But tonight, we seek to put an end to this petty feud.
“Tonight, I am thrilled to announce that my daughter, Princess Aditai, is of the age to be eligible to marry. Over the course of the next year, we will be accepting suitors from the nobility, and by her next birthday, she will choose from among these suitors who will take her hand in marriage.”
Gasps escape from the ballroom. Behind us, Acel halts in place. I dare glance behind me. His dark brown skin has gone sallow, and though he stares straight ahead, his throat bobs.
“Something bothering you?” asks the Nomad. “Perhaps the odor in this hallway? Should we take a different route?”
I elbow him in the side, and he suppresses a yelp, but the Nomad’s comment seems to startle Acel back into reality, because he prods both of us in the back. “Keep moving.”
We do, winding down hallways, Acel’s breathing much too labored for a man of his physique simply walking down a hall.
When we reach the palace gates, I expect him to hand us over to the gate guards, warn them not to let us back in.
But when the guards greet him, glancing skeptically at us—I suppose the head guard doesn’t usually make a point to escort rowdy guests out of the palace himself—he says, “I’ll be taking care of these two myself. ”
We’re halfway into the city, and, from the look on the Nomad’s face, seconds away from him making a break for it, when Acel shoves us both into an alley. “I need three days,” he says.
The Nomad raises a brow, then looks to me for an explanation, as if I have any idea what that means.
“I know that rumors surrounding me are spectacular,” says the Nomad, “and trust me, most of them are true. But contrary to popular belief, I’m afraid I cannot extend one’s life.
Although, now that you mention it, that would be an excellent business venture.
After all, no one could prove when a person was actually supposed to die. ”
Acel blinks at him, then shakes his head as if to drain his ears from the waterlog of the Nomad’s nonsense.
“It will take three days to appoint a new captain of the guard. I won’t leave the queen unprotected. Thankfully, I already have a successor in mind. Meet me at the Drowned Siren. Three days. If you don’t show, I’ll hunt you down.”
When Acel promptly turns the corner and leaves us, the Nomad leans over and whispers in my ear. “Is it me, or am I missing something?”
I hold out my hand, and he passes me the parchment and quill.
Acel is in love with the princess. But because of the marriage laws about intermarrying between classes, he can’t ask for her hand until he purchases a medallion.
“And how are we supposed to help with that?” asks the Nomad. “You do know how much a medallion of that rank would cost.”
I shrug, but before I can turn to walk away, the Nomad drawls, “Tink, you didn’t promise away my fortune, did you?”
I shake my head.
“Then what did you promise him?”
I turn back around and scribble on the pad. Nothing to worry about. We might just have to steal something extra while we’re getting my voice back and your artifact, that’s all.
“Like what, exactly?”
I don’t answer. The Nomad is smart. He can figure that one out himself.