Chapter 27 #2
The burn marks I’d left on the walls and bedding at the inn scared me. If my Curse was out of control because of my emotional turmoil, I would need to avoid a particular dark-haired man who had a talent for fuelling my emotions.
No more burning walls or turning people and their weapons to ash. Our mission was to keep Bethel safe in King Hared’s castle and keep a low profile – Lord Warwick did not want us starting a battle for the throne that he could not win.
Capita came into view as we crested the stony hill. The city unfolded below us in the shadow of towering spires and ivy-covered turrets. Encircled by a fortified wall, the city was a labyrinth of cobblestone roads guarded by an iron gate that evoked both grandeur and foreboding.
We stopped at the macabre sight that greeted us inside the imposing city gates. Soldiers moved among an uneasy crowd gathered in front of the gallows where the bodies of three women hung.
I felt sickened by the unnatural angle of their broken necks.
Standing behind the dead women, like carrion crows, were several men dressed in long, black robes.
They had the same shaved crown as the curator, leaving only a halo of hair.
The Order of Men. The robed men looked out at the crowd, indifferent to the wails of grief and angry stares.
Cillian’s familiar blond head rose above the gathered witnesses. He was walking rigidly away from the women, who were still swaying at the ends of their ropes. I briefly held his steely gaze before he pushed out of the crowd and disappeared down a narrow alleyway.
I refrained from outwardly reacting to the ghastly sight of the hanging women, but I sat upon Nightmare, unable to tear my eyes away from where Cillian had been standing. I had never asked if he had seen his wife on the gallows.
My stomach churned with guilt because I couldn’t even comfort him.
‘Keep moving,’ Torgrin ordered, his hand brushing my knee as his horse passed me.
Cillian’s haunted eyes stayed with me as we rode through the busy cobblestone streets to Capita Castle.
The sun was setting, and in the gloomy light of dusk the castle was a looming masterpiece of stone and spires, crowned with imposing battlements.
I felt watched by the many dark windows.
Still, we rode unheeded by the knights clad in shimmering armour standing sentinel, their eyes scanning our banner and uniforms before fixing back on the horizon.
Within the walls was a bailey – a courtyard echoing with the clinking of armour and knights on guard.
Our tired group stopped, and servants came to meet us, taking our horses and leading us to our rooms. Plush wool carpet lined the way, muffling our footsteps as we walked through the cold, cavernous passages.
For Bethel, this was like coming home. She relentlessly questioned the woman leading the servants who carried our dusty packs. Who had arrived for the wedding celebrations? What dances and dinner parties had they planned for the week?
I did my best not to show how impressed I was with our surroundings. Intricately carved wooden panels concealed hidden alcoves, and the flickering light from the torches revealed glimpses of rich tapestries and gilded molding.
My role here was to be Bethel’s lady-in-waiting.
I had to be believable as a lady of a poor but noble family who would have been to the castle at least once.
We had come up with my cover story in Murus, prepared should anyone enquire.
I had recently become a ward of Lord Warwick’s after the death of my parents, and I was here to escort Bethel as etiquette demanded.
Still, as we arrived at the series of rooms reserved for Warwick family members, I couldn’t hide being astounded by the luxury surrounding us.
The room we entered had a grand entry and living space with settees and chairs.
I tipped back my head to look at the domed ceiling.
Swathes of fabric in Warwick blue ballooned out from a tiered chandelier crafted with bands of iron and the antlers of what must have been several majestic stags.
There had to be at least a hundred candles lit within it.
We moved further into the room, which was filled with the rich scent of old tapestries, and soft, enormous woven rugs underfoot.
Placed in the only wall without doors was a fireplace big enough for me to stand in.
A fire was already ablaze, warming my bones, which had yet to become accustomed to the colder climate of the north.
Above the grand mantel was a gold-framed portrait of two noble women.
I could see Bethel’s resemblance to one woman who had the same black wavy hair and green eyes.
The other woman was taller and had the same jade eyes, but she was even more beautiful.
Her hair fell in golden waves around a regal face, her smile was wide and generous, and there almost seemed to be a wicked glint in her eyes as if she were teasing the artist who painted her.
This must be Queen Yaris and her sister, Princess Hera – Bethel’s mother.
They looked to be the same age Bethel and I were now.
I could sense Torgrin beside me, looking at the painting too. He was studying the young queen’s face intently. I nudge him from his reverie, but he seemed to look right through me. I raised an eyebrow as his eyes found focus again.
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ I prompted. ‘The queen?’ I tried again, tipping my head curiously at him as he stared at me.
‘Yes, exceedingly beautiful,’ he replied, not taking his eyes from me.
I pretended to explore the rest of the room, hoping the blush I could feel heating my face would go away.
Bethel was to have the grandest chamber I had ever seen.
It had been her mother’s before she died.
The room connected to it was just as ostentatious but had more masculine decor with darker and moodier fabrics.
This was Lord Warwick’s room, but as it was the closest to Bethel, I would use it until he arrived at the end of the week.
There were three more rooms – though they were much less grand – which Torgrin and the remaining soldiers would sleep in when they weren’t on guard duty.
Torgrin had already ordered two soldiers to be stationed outside the main living area, and two more were to guard the main corridor leading to the Warwick family rooms. Tonight we would join King Hared and his son Goodwin for a court banquet, welcoming Bethel back to Capita.
‘You will ask permission to see your aunt, Queen Yaris,’ said Torgrin as Bethel approached.
‘Why do I have to do that?’ Bethel asked, pointing her nose in the air.
‘Because your father wishes to know of her wellbeing, and he has asked me to give her a message.’
‘I don’t think we should visit a woman who’s accused of being Cursed by the king himself,’ she said, pursing her lips.
‘She’s your aunt!’ I said in disbelief. Bethel’s lack of empathy made me dislike her more.
‘So?’ she sneered.
‘Leave us, Caris. I wish to talk with Bethel alone.’
I hated how the Darkness roused at Torgrin’s demand to be left alone with Bethel.
As I left them alone in her bedchamber, I pushed the Darkness back behind my mental door. Did the jealousy and rage belong to me or the shadowy power in my head?
There was a warm bath waiting for me in my bedchamber. Ignoring the two people next door who had become silent, I proceeded to wash away the dirt from our travels and prepare for the banquet.
I dressed in the evening gown that Ania had designed for me.
There was a lot more fabric to a ballgown than a travelling dress.
Ania had chosen a stunning shade of deep-blue cloth, with long elegant trumpet sleeves and a woven belt that accentuated my waist above the full skirt.
The seamstress had cut the front low, exposing the pale tops of my breasts – Ania had assured me this was acceptable and that it would be a relatively modest neckline for a royal dinner, despite my protests.
I replaced my rabbit necklace with the pendant Ania had lent me to wear with the dress.
It was a silver oak tree with tiny acorns.
Each acorn had a small blue diamond that caught the light as I moved.
When I retrieved it from my pack, I found something else in the jewellery pouch that had not been there when I packed it.
It was an arm cuff, just like my mother used to wear, but it was made with the finest silver, not bronze.
My sight blurred as I touched the familiar work of my big, romantic blacksmith.
The band elegantly wrapped around my forearm, showcasing the lustrous sheen of the silver.
I wished Cillian could see me wearing it and know how happy his gift had made me.
I pulled on tall leather boots, tucking the dagger into my right boot. I wasn’t sure what to expect at a royal banquet, but if anything threatened Bethel’s safety, I wanted to be prepared.
It wasn’t Torgrin who came to get me, but one of his soldiers.
Bethel was waiting for me in the living area with several servants.
They had dressed her in a gown of a similar style to the one I wore but in green.
Her hair was perfectly curled, and she wore a tiara encrusted with emeralds, making her look as regal as her mother in the painting over the mantel.
We entered a large dining hall to see nobles clad in rich garments gathered around long ornate tables covered in succulent roasted meats, spiced pies and colourful fruits. The air was filled with lively chatter as minstrels played stirring melodies.
The Capita nobles began greeting Bethel the moment we entered, congratulating the future bride. Bethel preened and smiled prettily, playing the role of modest princess to perfection.
The king and his son sat at a table on a raised dais.
King Hared was different than I had expected.
He lounged in a high-backed chair, a bejewelled goblet forgotten in his hand as he spoke to someone just out of my line of sight.
I caught a glint of gold on the king’s head – a simple circlet worn over his thick chestnut locks.
With a strong jaw and neatly trimmed beard, it was only the slight presence of grey at his temples that showed his age.
The ex-general exuded an air of authority, his every move deliberate and refined.
His son, Goodwin, was a softer, blurred version of his father. His expression revealed his boredom at the conversation happening next to him. I didn’t like how his eyes shifted between different women in the room as if he were picking out a coat to wear for the night.
I could see the nobles were watching us with calculating eyes as we approached the king’s table, but I failed to locate Torgrin among the diners. King Hared unfolded himself from his seat to tower over his son, who also stood to greet us.
Bethel curtsied, and I did my best to do the same beside her. I could only hope I didn’t look as awkward as I felt.
‘Welcome, Lady Bethel. I hope your journey wasn’t too taxing.’ The king spoke with a strong accent that I now knew was unique to those born in Capita.
‘Our journey was arduous, Your Majesty, so I’m glad to be home in Capita again.’
‘And who is this you have brought with you?’
I had stepped behind Bethel, attempting to remain unnoticed, but it was a lost cause – I was taller than every woman in the room.
‘Lady Caris is an orphan my generous father has taken in.’ Bethel flicked her hand at me like she was swatting an annoying fly. ‘They sent her to help me prepare for my much-anticipated wedding day,’ she said.
‘I am very much looking forward to our happy day,’ Goodwin said, graciously bowing his head at Bethel.
Bethel’s bow-shaped lips pulled up at the sides at Goodwin’s words, but her eyes remained rigid.
‘Please join us,’ said King Hared with a charming smile.
I climbed the dais, now able to see the man the king had been speaking to before we approached. Black robes cloaked his massive bearlike frame and obscured his face.
Something wasn’t right. My heart raced, and the Darkness stirred within me. I stumbled on the step as the robed man turned his face towards us. The king’s firm hand came around my waist, keeping me from falling.
Over the king’s shoulder, familiar ice-blue eyes locked onto mine.
My mother’s killer was here in Capita, and he was sitting at the king’s table.