43
It took three days of travel to reach the palace of Valos, the capital city of Thycca. In regards to architecture it was startlingly similar to Valencya, following the same lines of marble statues and pillars, carved frescoes and plinths and stages and daises scattered among streets and parks, deciduous trees, thickly needled and dark green, the scent of pine and rain oppressive. The buildings were steeply gabled and accented with timber and stone, with windows of diamond panes. Every doorway had a grand archway of stone that contrasted against the rest of the structure while the doors varied in a riot of color, reminding Valine of stained glass.
That was where the similarities ended. Thycca was richly blessed with plentiful lakes and vast mountain ranges, rivers cutting through the kingdom with tireless abandon. Thycca was also cursed with a prevalence of quakes, floods, landslides, and hurricanes. There was also the ominous border of the Black Arbors at the southernmost point, a shadowy line of trees that was rumored to be the veil between the saints and daemons. The border crossed the ocean on both sides, extending like a final determining line, a stark warning to go no further.
No one had entered the Black Arbors and lived.
Valine hadn’t put much weight in the superstition, but she also had never dared go near the shadow border. She knew enough magic and magical beasts existed; she didn’t need to piss off the patrons too.
Rather than stay in the palace like they’d done in Talloh, they had heavily guarded room at the highest revered establishment, the Blue Blood Prince. Valine thought it was fitting that they were being kept at arm’s reach within Thycca, this mission was a formality and cover, whereas Talloh was thinly veiled negotiations—and firmly veiled assassinations. What Valine wasn’t ready to face though, was the proof of a woman who was supposed to be her lover’s potential bride, and soon she would have to befriend her.
The inn was luxuriously decorated, dressed in heavy woods and rich fabrics of velvet and jewel tones, chandeliers dripped elegance and light, cushions were tufted and patterned, rugs were opulent and busy.
They were shown their rooms and they all made quick work of changing and freshening up. Their stay in Thycca was only for a night, only for the graduation ceremony.
The five of them, dressed in reserved but colorful formality, were escorted to the university’s ceremony and guided to a specific area predetermined for royals and their entourage. For the first time since they’d departed for Talloh, they were surrounded by guards, circled by tall men and women dressed in black, viridian, and gold.
Valine found it stifling, and she couldn’t help but pull on the collar of her white silk blouse, unbuttoning and rebuttoning the top pearl before settling on two undone, exposing just the first teasing of her cleavage. She thought she felt Malik’s eyes on her breasts but she didn’t look up to confirm it, there was something so tempting and satisfying about not letting him know that she knew. She wore a sculpted corset of viridian, gilded with filigree, the shape of it enhancing her curves, while the lines were cut elegantly above her hips, the clasps holding it together fashioned out of gold chain and sunburst eyelets.
The rings were back on her fingers.
Malik was dressed similarly, his leather pants not quite as tightly fitted as hers, but his corset was identical in everything but style and vibrancy—his bolder. He wore the typical male version, the filigree stitched rather than sculpted, the shape similar to a waistcoat. Instead of a white blouse he wore black, and atop his head was a subdued gold crown.
They took their seats, Alastair next to her in his very loud citrus-toned outfit, and both Sarim and Freyja in matching black and gray. Their seats were elevated above a stage, a dark blue curtain separating the graduates from the rest of the viewers. Valine prepared to hunker down, stifling her possessiveness that was sure to rise.
The ceremony commenced beautifully, the students and their majors declared as they crossed the stage, and when Liesl Ryniel was called, Valine was shocked to see such a petite creature cross.
Princess Liesl Ryniel was bird-like in thinness and grace, her stature short and her frame delicate. Valine thought she could snap the girl’s bones between two fingers. She had dark brown, nearly black hair, and small features set in an oval face that only made the darkness of her eyes quiet, rather than fearsome. She held herself with a silent solace and scholarly air, someone Valine imagined would much rather tend to one of the many overflowing greenhouses scattered throughout Thycca rather than rule it.
Valine clapped politely when Liesel crossed the stage and so did Malik, but he very impolitely stopped and reached his hand between Valine’s legs in the darkness.
She smiled and kept smiling throughout the rest of the ceremony.
The letter arrived for Malik during the drinks and congratulatory speeches. A servant had swept up to them with an envelope sealed with violet wax. It was a request for aid from Queen Amaris of Talloh, seeking allyship and support during the kingdom’s upheaval following the assassination of the king. Malik immediately penned a letter offering troops and compassion, conveying that they would return to Selyndyr the following day.
Just as they had hoped.
Malik had been careful and precise with his interactions with Amaris and Jericho. He had ensured that the queen knew that their aid would be freely given, while letting the king feel it would be conditional. This was further enhanced by his psychomancy. Leaving false memories and statements when necessary, fueling a fire and unease and jealousy where it was needed. Malik’s machinations also further drove a wedge between the husband and wife, souring what little amicable air they may have shared.
The plan was moving along swiftly, and as soon as deemed acceptable, they departed from the ceremony and back to their rooms. They all hardly spoke, knowing that their responses were going to be watched by the rest of Talloh. It took a week of travel to once again reach Selyndyr, the weather holding up, raining only sporadically, allowing them to camp comfortably on the heavily guarded roads and once again within the Muravo Mountain Pass.
Valine had held her breath for the duration of that portion of the journey, convinced that the arachne would come to weigh her again. They did not.
She had sparred with Sarim each morning. Pulling away from the group far enough to comfortably hone their skills away from prying eyes, and enough to pressure Sarim for info on him and Freyja. They bartered wins for secrets, and many battles were lost on his end. Valine pressed for the truth of their encounters. And it was encounters, plural. Apparently, Freyja had desired him for much longer than he’d thought. Now the two of them were fucking like rabbits, punctuated by suspicious sounds coming from tents and from shared horsebacks.
As much as Valine wanted to have her way with Malik, she could not. It was one thing to suspect the king’s favor for her; it was a whole other to flaunt it.
The mages stationed along the pass nodded solemnly at their retinue, garbed in funeral gray. It was the absence of color, the absence of life. It was the presence of loss. The mages had shadows under their eyes, purple rings that only enhanced the withdrawn pallor of their skin. Valine realized they were being overworked. She vowed to make reparations.
A serpent’s cry took up the sky and Valine’s gaze whipped to the sound as her stomach dropped. Gasps and sounds of dismay rose up around her.
From one of the balconies a basilisk and rider ascended. The basilisk bore white scales and gray feathered wings with the face of a snake but the hooked beak of a vulture, lined with serrated teeth. Its four legs ended in four talons and each were as long as her forearm. The beast was several times the size of their carriage.
Valine could see little more of the rider than a banner of pale hair and dark flight leathers. She froze, staring at the rider high above as they flew southward to Runell.
A basilisk rider spelled bad news.
She continued staring until they disappeared over the mountains and horizon. When it was gone she turned to Malik and he was stone-faced. Even so, she saw the worries and thoughts eddying behind his eyes.
Was Talloh allying with Runell? Were they offering aid just as Adraali was? What was Amaris’s intention?
She didn’t know, and it made her uneasy.
The carriage trundled along, despite the basilisk’s recent presence. Their entire crew was bedecked in gray or violet in respect and reverence to Talloh and their plight for aid. Black was meant for the day after a loss, gray for the following weeks. Valine felt the moments slip by faster and faster as they approached the palace, recognizing the entrance to the courtyard upon them. Once they stopped, Valine stepped out with Malik, greeting Amaris and Jacira.
The queen and princess were pale—paler than usual—with red-rimmed and dark-circled eyes. Their hair, despite being elegantly styled, appeared lank and lifeless. There was something about all the loss they’d endured, the travesty that was thrust upon their kingdom that had sunk their souls to trying degrees. Amaris, star-touched, was now ruler of an entire queendom, and Jacira, impetuous, was now once removed from the throne.
Jacira would be queen upon her twenty-fifth year.
Valine noticed the distinct lack of Pandora. The princess’s lover was likely being locked in a dungeon somewhere far below the palace, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had come of her affair with Lincoln.
Amaris visibly deflated at the sight of them, her relief palpable in the air. Before Valine had time to think, the queen was rushing towards them, arms outstretched. To Valine’s greater shock, Amaris wrapped her arms around her. Valine startled but quickly responded, holding the queen in mourning gray to her breast. The queen was heaving silent, tearless sobs against her husband’s killer, unwitting of the bloodstained hands that soothed her back.
Valine could see Jacira over the queen’s shoulder. The vivacious princess had a face of stone, and Valine could see that something integral had fractured inside the girl. She didn’t know if she would ever resurface. She had lost her father, two of her friends, and her lover was soon to join them. Valine felt guilt, but she squandered it. She signed up for this. She knew this.
“I am so glad you have returned,” Amaris whispered. “The stars told me Mrithun was the cause of my queendom’s descent.”
Because now it was a queendom.
The queen’s words had ice sliding down Valine’s spine. Was she perhaps not as insanity touched as she’d believed? Did the stars really speak to Amaris as often as she was quoted? Worry began to worm its way through Valine in sick coils.
The queen released Valine and Alastair swept the princess up in an embrace. She’d forgotten that Alastair was well-versed in political pleasantries and immediately he’d dived into reassuring and manipulating. Valine couldn’t catch the words but she knew the tone. It was coercive and compelling, drawing threads of hope through the throng of despair. Slowly, she saw the girl crack her shell.
Malik was silent nearby, hands clasped and offering consolations and apologies. Valine had tuned out the repetitive falsehoods. They were not sorry; they had done this.
Sylvan, the servant who’d announced them the first time was directed to show them to their suites again. They were given the same rooms in the Vesper Wing, Valine’s was still joined with Malik’s. She was sure the rooms had been cleaned, but the echoes of the past still lingered. Memories of the walls she was pressed against, the armchairs the king had waited for her on, and the bed Malik had nearly fucked her on.
Valine had been in her room for all of ten minutes when a knock sounded. She answered and was surprised to find it was Hanish, his sharp features eerily familiar to her by now.
“Hello, Valine,” he greeted.
“Hanish, lovely to see you.”
“The queen has requested your presence in the war room. She claims that you will be a queen one day and therefore your input is invaluable.” He paused, a smirk on his lips. “I couldn’t help but notice a certain king blushing when this was announced. Is there any merit to this?” he teased and Valine realized that he was joking with her. She wondered how much he’d held back prior to the assassination; she wondered if he realized how integral he’d become in her journey.
Valine sighed and held up the consort ring on her middle finger. “Does this answer your question?”
Hanish looked at her approvingly and lowered his voice. “You have a fascinating way with kings.”
“Oh, hush.”
“Mm,” he hummed halfheartedly. “I’m to show you the way if you are prepared.”
“I am,” she replied, following him. “Do you know anything about this basilisk and rider?”
Hanish glanced over his shoulder. “It was Prince Sildruil and the queen refused him—whatever he was offering.”
Prince Sildruil was the second prince of Gallae and one of the most talented basilisk riders on the continent. Valine had met him once in her youth and a memory niggled—was there talk of a betrothal between them? Dáinn Desdemon had tried to arrange a marriage for her more than once, so it was possible.
“Hmm. Keep an ear out for anything more?” she requested.
“Of course.” Hanish cleared his throat. “I must say, in all the uproar of the change in monarchy, the storm that raged over Selyndyr the following day has caused a stir of gossip. People have believed it was the wrath of the gods. Quite unfortunate that a strike of lighting sheared the balcony off of a suite. The whole thing fell into the sea, what a shame the damage was caused before a proper investigation of the palace could be brought to attention.”
Valine caught the wink.
“Thank you, Hanish.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“I told you I’d come back.”
“And so you did.”