Chapter 46
Elizabeth, Aneirin, and I lie on top of the Gloaming Tower, staring up at the night’s starry vault. The two moons hang in the sky, both full. Red and silver light pours over us.
I can’t stop thinking about what Tristan said.
Ever since he mentioned that we grew up starving, I keep remembering more glimpses of the real past. And yes, now I do remember when my father came home battered and bruised, with a punctured lung.
He said he fell off a horse, but now that I think about it as an adult, a fall from a horse wouldn’t do that kind of damage to his entire body…
Back then, I believed everything was fine because my parents made it seem that way. They made collecting acorns and foraging for fallen apples into a game.
Tristan’s parents didn’t spare him the truth.
“I don’t want to leave this place,” Aneirin says. “I was scared at first, but now I want to stay. I’d rather deal with the terror than go home to an empty, provincial ruin in the middle of nowhere. There’s absolutely no one around Castle Catreath except a few forest-dwelling peasants.”
Elizabeth sits up. “Maybe you won’t have to leave. Alis is probably going to win the entire thing. Then she can make us knights of the Veiled Court, or we can join her at court in the capital.”
I sit and reach for the bottle of mead. What I want to say is, This is all fake.
I am, in fact, a forest-dwelling peasant.
I don’t love Rion, and the moment he no longer needs me, I’m sure he’ll feed me to Goch, and he’s forcing me to give him the grail tomorrow for what I can only imagine is a truly horrific reason.
But if I want to stay here as a spy, I have to play along.
Everyone needs to think I love Rion so much that I’d just hand him the grail for a few days.
I try to look starry-eyed and heave a wistful sigh. “Rion would make the most perfect king, truly. You know? He’s just very…regal.”
The words taste bitter on my tongue, and it feels ridiculous. I wonder how long I can keep this going.
“Do you think so?” Aneirin asks skeptically. “What does it even mean to be regal?”
“He’s very powerful and clever. And he’s winning.” I realize this is a more realistic tactic than trying to convince them I’ve fallen head over heels in love. “I think I might let him have the grail for a few days to stay on his good side.”
Aneirin sits bolt upright. “You don’t need to help him. Even if you love the man, you should be fighting for yourself first. If you win, you’d be queen. Then he’d be consort. You’d have all the power.”
Elizabeth nods. “Or you could just, you know, not get married because it’s bloody terrible.”
I shrug casually. “I just thought it would be a romantic gesture.”
Aneirin narrows his eyes. “You’re framing it as romance, but this is a calculated move, isn’t it? Igraine is still after him. Giving him the grail keeps you as his favorite, and therefore a favorite of the noble houses, too. It’s not the stupidest idea I’ve heard.”
Making this a calculated move at least preserves some of my dignity. “Well, yes.”
Aneirin holds a glass out toward me. “I’ll be out of here soon, I’m sure. Hopefully with my life. The best-case scenario is that I’ll end up back in my lonely palace with the dead clerics and the howling wind, and the peasants trying to behead the nobility. But that’s only the very best case.”
“Why not come to court?” Elizabeth says.
“Maybe the new monarch will invite us both to Castle Perillos. We’ll have a new Golden Age.
Poetry. Theater. Balls. We’ll have vast, sumptuous banquets.
I’d rather stay a countess than a queen, you know.
I’d rather just show up for the parties than throw them. I’m hoping for a dismissal also.”
Aneirin drains his glass. “Yes, if Alis wins, that would be perfect. But anyone else? We’ve all been trying to kill each other. Do you really think they’ll let us live? Someone like Mabon or Igraine? They fucking hate everyone else here. And you know what kings are like.”
Darkness slips through my thoughts. “Maybe it would be better if we didn’t have a king.”
Aneirin scoffs. “Well, it’s a very pretty notion, but the rest of the kingdom is in chaos right now.”
“You’re awfully gloomy tonight, Aneirin,” Elizabeth says.
His expression brightens. “Sorry. It’s the hangover. No, you’re right, Elizabeth. Let’s think of the new Golden Age. We will all be there for it. Let’s try to help Alis win, shall we? She’s our best chance of surviving.”
And yet, I only have until tomorrow to give the grail to Rion.
I’m only making him more powerful until he rids the court of the rest of us.
* * *
By the time I get back to my room, it’s nearly two in the morning, and my brain is addled with mead. I’m half drunk. Not completely drunk, or I would have risked spilling all my secrets to my friends.
By the way, I’m actually a peasant working with a spy agency to ruin the nascent monarchy, and I murdered my way in here.
A few more glasses of mead, and it would have all come out.
I cross into the bathroom and fill the tub with warm water. Steam coils into the air, and I strip off my clothes. As the tub fills, I slip into the bath.
I am just buzzed enough to take the edge off my heartbreak, and I know that giddiness will turn into sadness soon. But for the moment, it’s working. It’s dulled the pain.
In the bath, the hot water heats my skin.
As I lie back and close my eyes, Tristan’s handsome face floats into my thoughts. Then, his muscled chest with the tattoo of his hound, the dark ink that slashes over his abs. And now I’m thinking of running my tongue over his stomach, and moving lower, feeling his hardness—
After everything I said to him, I should not be thinking of him this way.
Rion asked me why I hate pleasure, and the answer is that it’s dangerous.
And now, I’m thinking of Rion, which is worse. The idea that he has an entire harem of women begging him to fuck them is unfortunately not that far-fetched. But why am I thinking about it?
Elizabeth said he tortures them by not letting them come.
I imagine him behind me, stroking me—
I bite my lip, because now that’s all I can think about. I slide my hand between my thighs.
I can still see Rion in my thoughts—the way he looked in the garden that night with his shirt off and the tattoo glowing on his chest. Around me, the warm bath water laps at my skin. In my mind, Rion is spreading my thighs—
Then I bite down on my lip. This is the man currently ruining my life by blackmailing me.
I refuse to find him attractive.
I rise from the bath and yank a towel off the rack. I dry myself off roughly, dragging the towel over my skin. When I cross back into my room, I quickly dress in a pair of black underwear and a matching little nightgown that comes down to the tops of my thighs.
A knock sounds on my door, and for a moment, I hope it’s Tristan. Instead, I see a letter slide under my door, addressed to Alis.
I frown and pick it up, turning it over.
Opening the door, I peer out into the hallway. Whoever left the letter is already gone, and I can only hear the faint sound of footfalls echoing down the stairs.
Still frowning, I turn back to the letter. I close the door and lean against it.
And when I unseal it, my heart stops. A lock of hair falls out, ripped off at the roots. It’s cherry red, and the roots are bone-white.
Vero’s hair.
My hands shake as I read the note.
I have captured Vero.
Leave your room now. Bring the grail to the dungeons within the hour. Leave it in the third open cell. Take the south entrance route to the dungeons.
Do not linger around the cells. Do not try to fight back. Do not bring help.
If you fail to follow any of these instructions, your little sister will die an excruciating death. I will carve out her organs, one by one.
And then I’ll reveal to the court who you really are…
White-hot rage slides through my blood, and I crumple the paper in my fist.