Chapter 23 Seraphina
Chapter twenty-three
Seraphina
She blazed down the corridor, making for her chambers, her godfather, Sir Easome, and her Queensguard hot on her trail. She didn’t look back. She didn’t slow. She kept her eyes fixed forward and her mind focused on not letting the frustrated scream she so wanted to unleash explode from her throat.
Mysai would fall. Drakmor had betrayed them.
Why? Why? None of it made sense.
Why try to force her to marry his brother if Edmund’s plan all along was to ally with Arath? Had it all been some sort of…sick attempt to embarrass her? To punish her?
But then what about the witchblade-wielding assassin sent by Arath?
She and Aldric dying that night would have served Arath’s interests, but not Drakmor’s.
What good for Edmund would have come of her dying before she was married to his brother?
What good for Edmund would have come of Aldric dying at all?
Aldric is the rightful King of Drakmor.
A humorless laugh escaped her as she burst into her sitting room, startling the maid already in there, tidying up. Was that it, then? Had Edmund allied with Arath simply out of pettiness? To rid himself of a woman who had scorned him and Drakmor’s rightful heir all in one blow?
But no. That didn’t make sense either. Aldric had been removed from the line of succession fifteen years ago by his father. The world had thought him dead. It was Edmund who had made him a threat again when he restored him to the title of prince.
And if he had merely wanted to kill the Crow, wouldn’t it have made more sense to eliminate him quietly when he was still stationed at Blackrun?
She was missing something. And that something was going to drive her mad.
“Thank you, but that will be all,” she dismissed the maid with a tight smile in the midst of making for her study.
Her latest treaty with Drakmor was housed there.
Perhaps there would be some clue as to Edmund’s plan hidden within the legalese.
Whatever she was missing, she might very well have overlooked during the summit.
Footsteps pounded against the floor behind her. Her godfather’s voice sliced through her spiraling thoughts. “Your Majesty, we need to discuss next steps.”
“I know,” she bit out, bursting into her study.
A warm fire crackled in the hearth, and the drapes were already flung open, allowing the watery sunlight to spill across her desk, illuminating the stack of parchments there.
“Summon the war council. I just need to gather a few things, and then we can make for the council chamber.”
“The war council?” Duke Percival asked, hobbling into her study with his varhound, Rogue, and Sir Easome. “Wellane and Coreto have already quit Goldreach, Your Majesty. Aside from Mistress Olivia and Father Perero, who rarely have an opinion about anything at all, we are your war council.”
“And my husband,” Seraphina reminded him as she gathered the scroll case containing the Elmoria-Drakmor treaty into her arms. Husband.
The word still sounded odd to her ears, but perhaps the more she said it, the faster she would grow accustomed to it.
“I want them both with us as we discuss a new strategy for Mysai.”
No sooner had those words departed her lips than a sudden dark thought leached its way into her mind. A flicker of doubt. Was Aldric a part of this plot, too? Had he known about Edmund’s plans all along?
“Your Majesty—” her godfather started to protest again.
But she hardened her jaw and spoke over him. “Where is he?”
“Here,” her Crow’s familiar deep voice rumbled from the doorway, sending shockwaves of conflicted feelings rippling through her as Duke Percival and Sir Easome stepped out of the way to allow the shorter man to limp into the room.
Was he friend or foe? Enemy or ally? Again, she was unsure.
And she was growing so very weary of being unsure.
“Did you know about this?” she asked him directly. Her eyes met his, searching those dark depths for any hint of hesitation or deception. No more secrets. That was what they had agreed to just last night.
No. More. Blasted. Secrets.
“No,” he answered at once, shaking his head. Though, as ever, his scarred features remained an opaque mask she held no hopes of piercing, he was quick to add, “On my mother’s grave, I swear it, Sera—I didn’t know that my brother would ally with Arath.”
His gaze held hers, unwavering, unblinking. After a few more tense moments of hesitation, she let herself breathe again. The set of her shoulders ever-so-slightly relaxed.
Ally. Friend.
Her eyes shifted back toward her godfather and the Lord Constable, though her true attention remained on Aldric, who stood at her side. Still with her, though the odds of victory had most certainly just turned against her.
What in the world was she supposed to do now? She was officially out of allies—save for Lothmeer, if one could even count Lothmeer.
“Now we just need Mistress Olivia,” she observed to her godfather, “and we can commence with the meeting.”
Duke Percival heaved out a sigh. “Your Majesty,” he said again, clearly fighting to keep his voice level.
His tone calm. “There is no need for another meeting because there is nothing left to discuss. There is no strategy that could possibly save Mysai. It will fall. All that is left for you to do is to order what troops we have left to evacuate. They can be relocated to Arlund.”
Sir Easome gave a grim nod. “His Grace is right, Your Majesty. We must salvage what soldiers we can while there is still time.”
Salvage the soldiers. Their words slammed home, stopping her heart mid-beat. She had always known this day might come—the day she finally had to bury the hope she could save Mysai.
But knowing didn’t make this moment any easier.
The question that didn’t need to be asked hung between them:
What about the civilians?
The air within the study pressed in too close. Too thick. Against the tight lacings of her gown, she suddenly struggled for breath. How many people were going to die at Arath’s hands if she simply abandoned them there?
How many children?
Her heart clenched as the numbers tumbled through her mind. Her stomach churned as she tried to fathom the sheer enormity of the loss. No. Not now. She couldn’t afford to panic now. She had to remain strong. Resilient.
That was what her people needed most: a queen of action.
Snuffing out her mounting anxiety like a candle’s flame, she wrapped herself in the smoldering vestiges of her anger instead. Her fury must be her armor now. Her shield.
Edmund. This was all Edmund’s doing. Edmund, who had condemned her people to die. She could have saved Mysai—she would have saved Mysai—if only he hadn’t betrayed her. If only he hadn’t broken their treaty.
Without a word, Seraphina turned and drifted across the room to the nearest window. She needed to think, to weigh her options. But there was no time to think. There never was enough time these days.
Looking without seeing, she gazed out over the palace grounds. But even without looking, she was aware of the Crow. Aware that he had followed her. That he again stood at her side—hard, stoic, silent.
“You agree with them, I presume?” she whispered, sounding out the words with care. Each syllable fell sharp. Heavy. An executioner’s blade ready to descend on a portion of her people.
Civilians or soldiers?
Who should she save? Who should she condemn to the unknown?
A low sound rumbled from deep in Aldric’s chest—a thoughtful noise.
“You already know what I would do, kirei,” he whispered back without looking her way.
His own one-eyed gaze remained on the window, on the cold, gray world beyond.
“But what I would do isn’t the question you should be asking yourself right now. ”
Her eyebrows knit together. She was no closer to understanding this strange man than she had been last night. Not after learning about Reyla. Nor after he had made his one surprising demand regarding their terms of peace—that she start treating him like a consort.
“And here I thought you wanted me to care about your opinion?”
His lips twitched. Finally, he deigned to meet her gaze.
“I do. So this is my opinion: make the choice that you can live with for the rest of your life. Life is full of difficult choices, the consequences of which we have to live with afterward. It doesn’t matter what choice I would make here because you’re the one who has to live with it.
” After a beat, he added, “And you hardly need one more reason to resent me.”
Despite the dire circumstances, she couldn’t help but indulge in a fleeting smile at that. Resentment? No, she didn’t resent him, despite the fact that just yesterday morning, she had been certain she hated him. But that had just been her wounded feelings talking.
Aldric Hargrave was an odd man, it was true. A cold man. A living, breathing puzzle.
But he was also steady. Unyielding. Fierce.
The exact sort of man she wanted on her side in this, Elmoria’s darkest hour.
“Thank you for your opinion,” she murmured, surprising even herself with the words.
Some sort of emotion flickered across her Crow’s face—there and gone in an instant. “Thank you for listening.”
A curious sort of peace settled between them, then. Something normal. Something comfortable and calm. In that peace, she could almost forget the flurry of events from only yesterday—the chilling voice that had ghosted through her mind when her lips first met his. The dream that had followed.
…Almost.
She snuffed out those memories, too. Worries for another time.
Letting her eyes flutter closed, she desperately prayed, Please, guide me now, Lord. Help me find the solution I can live with that does not run counter to Your plans. Help me do what is best for my people.
Almost immediately, a thought formed within her mind—the path forward.
The only path she could possibly take now.