26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
A s much as I hate it, Viridian and I fall back into our old habits. While we still dine together every night, he’s retreated behind his princely mask, cold like the stone walls he’s built between us.
Part of me wonders if this— us —is even worth fighting for.
What happened to the Viridian I’d come to know? Is he even there anymore? Or was he never real to begin with?
I spend more of my days in my studio. Though, being there reminds me of how things used to be. Servants interrupt my peace there with wedding preparations. With endless questions about the ceremony, the flowers, the music.
I merely smile and nod.
Now, I sit in my studio, at the table. I have an easel before me, and I hold a pencil to the parchment it holds in place.
I trace an all too familiar outline of a face.
This time, I draw Viridian the way he used to look at me. Amber eyes bright, the hint of a smile tugging at his soft lips. An easy, relaxed expression at his jaw.
Leaning back, my eyes follow the outline of my sketch.
I barely have time to react when a flaming arrow flies through the window. It lands behind me, and the flames quickly spread across the floor. Dangerously close to the wooden doorway. The flames start to lick their way up the threshold.
If I don’t act quickly, they’ll block my way out.
I glance toward the windows. Like the others in the castle, they’re adorned with thick, bronze colored drapes.
If I can pull one down…
Then I might be able to put out the fire before it grows.
Picking up my skirts, I rush to the closest window and grasp fistfuls of the curtains. Throwing my whole body into the motion, I tug on it.
“Come on,” I mutter, trying again. “Please, Imone,” I pray, begging the Goddess of Mercy to take pity on me.
I pull, leaning back as I do.
The curtain rod holding it in place whines and snaps. It gives way, and I fall, landing hard on my back. The metal rod clangs on the stone floor.
I drag the curtain toward the door and throw it over the flames. Then, I back away, waving smoke from my face.
Not even a moment later, the door swings open so violently, it crashes against the wall. Viridian darts inside. Immediately, his hands find my shoulders, and he scans me for injuries. Worry widens his eyes and drains his face of color.
“Are you all right?” he asks, voice jumbled in a panicked frenzy. “Cryssa, are you hurt?”
“No,” I assure him. “I’m fine. The arrow missed me.”
“Thank the gods.” He closes his eyes in relief and pulls me to his chest, wrapping me in his arms.
I close mine, too, and take deep breaths while I rest my head against him.
Viridian’s mouth curls.
“Who did this?” Holding me even tighter now, his head snaps toward the servant that came with him.
“Human miners. There’s at least fifty of them gathered outside, on strike, Your Highness,” the servant says. “They’re demanding an audience with the High King.”
“Human miners?” I ask, pulling back a little.
“It’s the mining sickness,” Viridian tells me, his voice softening. “The death toll…” he turns his face from mine, as if he can’t look me in the eyes. “It’s increased. Dramatically.”
My stomach drops.
Father. Acantha .
Since we visited Loren in the dungeon, I’ve been so focused on Viridian that I completely forgot about the world outside. About the mining sickness and the mines draining of metals.
I can only imagine how much worse it’s gotten in all that time.
“Come,” Viridian says, taking my hand. “My father must hear of this, if he hasn’t already.”
I nod. We move swiftly through the halls and down the main staircase until we reach the council chamber.
The door is closed when we arrive, and the muffled voices behind it tell me that the council is in session. A guard stands in front of the room, blocking our access.
“Let me in,” Viridian says, his voice low with warning.
“Your Highness, the council is—”
“Must I repeat myself?” He takes a step closer and lets go of my hand. Power thrums through the air. “ Let me pass .”
The guard’s eyes widen. He swallows and steps aside.
Viridian looks back at me over his shoulder and reaches for me, intertwining his fingers with mine. Now that we’re closer, I can begin to make out what they’re saying on the other side of the door.
“Your Majesty, we must act,” a male urges.
“They are refusing to work,” a feminine voice adds. “There are riots in the square—”
Still holding my hand, Viridian pushes the door open and steps into the council chamber .
Silence falls over the room, and all heads turn to look at us. Seated at the head of the table, the High King glowers at his son.
“What is the meaning of this?” He bellows, rising to his feet.
“Fifty human miners are gathered outside our walls,” Viridian seethes, his quiet rage settled into his voice. He pulls me closer. “A flaming arrow nearly killed my betrothed.”
For a moment, Vorr’s fa?ade falls, and fear—true fear—flashes in his expression. Then he tightens his mouth, his hard demeanor restored.
The others at the table—the five Heads of House from each of the Courts, I assume—exchange nervous glances. The female bearing a close resemblance to Lymseia, her mother, Lady Kylantha, clears her throat.
“The Steel Court will not sit idly by while our people die.” She stands. “Your Majesty, if I may be excused.”
Vorr tightens his mouth. “You may, Lady Wynterliff.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Head of House Wynterliff bows her head to Vorr, and then to Viridian when she passes us.
“What do the miners demand?” a male with rich brown hair asks Viridian.
“An audience with the High King,” Viridian responds, staring down at his father.
The male nods and turns to Vorr. “Perhaps it would be wise to consider making a statement. ”
“And do what? Tell them the crown has no answers?” Vorr’s voice sharpens. “You know that would only sow more panic, Tanyl.”
Lord Tanyl Tarrantree—Myrdin’s father, I realize—keeps his expression calm. “The people’s fears may be eased if they know the crown hears their cries. Show them that the crown stands with them.”
I recognize Head of House, Lady Maelyrra Pelleveron, by the scowl on her face.
“Tensions have yet to reach the Gold Court,” she says, raising the crown of her head. “Perhaps we should leave it to the affected Courts to manage their own issues.”
Viridian’s brows furrow, and he clenches his jaw. “That’s—”
I place a hand on his arm. He closes his mouth and takes a breath.
“With all due respect, Lady Maelyrra,” I say, addressing her, “the tensions will come to the Gold Court soon, if it’s true they haven’t already. We’ve already lost so many miners—so many good, hardworking miners—to the sickness. It won’t be long before what’s happening in the other Courts comes to your doorstep. Make no mistake, this is a kingdom-wide issue.”
“And why should I take your word?” she sneers at me. I hear what she leaves unsaid. You’re a human . “You are no one of importance.”
Viridian tenses at my side. But before he can come to my defense, I glance at him, as if to say, “Leave it to me.”
“You’re right,” I tell her, straightening my posture. “I am no one of importance. But I am a citizen of your Court. And I have seen the sickness firsthand. My lived experience gives me a better understanding of this issue.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “Better than anyone else in this room.”
Tanyl tilts his head back, his mouth curved into an approving smile. “Spoken like the future High Queen.”
The other Heads of House, save for Maelyrra, share Tanyl’s expression. To my side, I can feel Viridian watching me in awe.
Vorr’s jaw ticks. His brows stitch together, creased with worry. With fear.
But his fear isn’t the look of someone that’s been left in the dark.
No, his fear has a knowing edge to it. As if he knows more than he’s letting on. More than what he’s telling the council.
And it terrifies him.
I think of what I saw in the East Tower. I remember the commoner’s gossip in Keuron, what Tiffy told me about the stranger, the invitation Viridian and I found.
Whatever is happening, whatever dark magic is causing all of this, I know one thing.
The High King is at the center of it all.
“That is enough for today.” Vorr’s tone hardens. He stands. “This meeting is adjourned.”
“What?” Viridian asks. “What of the humans outside?”
“What of them?” Vorr’s face goes flat, burnt-orange eyes empty.
“You really won’t see them?” Viridian says, resigned, as if he already knows the answer.
Vorr says nothing and brushes past Viridian when he leaves.
The Heads of House rise from their seats, and some linger, talking amongst themselves.
Tanyl approaches Viridian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I will speak to him.”
Viridian exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If anyone can speak some sense into him, it’ll be you, Uncle. Though I doubt it’s even possible.”
Tanyl laughs, though the sound seems forced. “Try not to worry. Use this time to prepare for your wedding.”
Viridian’s face falls, and he presses his mouth into a fine line. “I will.”
To me, Tanyl says, “You spoke well today.”
“Thank you, Lord Tarrantree.” I curtsy.
He hesitates for a moment, and then continues into the hall.
Slowly, I move from the council chamber and begin to pace. Worries and visions of the worst cloud my mind.
Father.
Maelyrra insisted the tensions haven’t reached the Gold Court yet. But if it’s true that the mining sickness’s death toll has increased…
Father could have fallen ill .
Or worse.
He could have already succumbed to it. And then, Acantha would have no one.
My breathing quickens. Anxiety grips my stomach.
“Cryssa,” Viridian says softly, approaching me. “What is it?”
“My father. I have to—” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “I have to know if he’s all right.”
Understanding crosses his face. “Of course. You must write to him.”
“But I can’t—I don’t—”
“You don’t what?” Viridian steps closer to me, tenderness filling his movements.
“I don’t know how to write letters,” I admit. Shame heats my cheeks. “I never learned.”
He cocks his head. “But you can read?”
“Yes,” I stammer. At home, I’d picked up enough to read shop signs, simple descriptions of things, and know the basics of what they were saying. Reading is one thing, but writing… “I know enough to get by.”
Not enough to write a letter.
He seems to understand what I leave unsaid.
“Oh, Cryssa.” He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up to his. There’s no judgment in his voice—only compassion and understanding, even though his background is so different from mine. “I’ll be your scribe. Tell me what you want to say, and I’ll write the letter for you. ”
“Thank you.” I look up at him, into his eyes.
“Of course.” Viridian holds my stare. For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, he doesn’t look away. “Anything for you.”
That familiar warmth swells in my chest. I don’t want it to go away again.
“Come,” Viridian says, holding out his arm for me. “We’ll write the letter in the library.”