Chapter 24
ARLET
The next morning, I awake alone.
Light peeks through the curtains, and I see no sign of anyone trying to enter.
Was I wrong? Was it not actually Vann who had come?
Will Vann try again? Is he even alive?
I…don’t know. The thought of him dead shocks through me, and I sink to the floor. My eyes burn. This place will be my grave.
Merlina, Eslina, and Kiala do not come to my room. Instead, regular servants arrive to bathe, feed, and dress me. I accept their help reluctantly and comply when they explain that my presence is required at a court meeting.
Though…I don’t know where my ladies-in-waiting are, and that worries me.
My dress today is much less restrictive. The deep, muted green makes me seem unassuming, and it matches the collar I still wear. When we reach the audience hall, I am surprised to see that barely any part of the palace looks damaged. How were they able to clean so quickly? So efficiently?
Hundreds of chandeliers hang from the arched wooden ceiling. Maldita sea, there’s even music playing. It rolls in waves. Strings, flutes, and the slow, deliberate rhythm of drums that mimic the beat of a heart.
The room is filled to the brim with those who have already traveled for the wedding: the lesser courtiers and higher courtiers alike, the mountain lords, and the envoys from the sea region. I recognize some of them from the ball and wonder just how many were lost in the attack.
Thorne sits at the back of the room, on the Throne of Living Wood. Even from here, I feel the pulse of its magic. The connection between it and Arion is strong.
I notice the smaller, less ornate chair set up as some sort of seat of honor. The collar around my throat rubs where it meets my skin. I feel it like a rash today. The weight of it is worse after a night of poor sleep.
Arion gestures for me to join him, and I do. I feel a strange vibration in my collar as I approach his throne. It fades a little when he takes my hand. I almost recoil at the contact, but force myself to stay still. The other guests watch us.
My betrothed’s voice, when he finally speaks, is smooth as oil.
“Let us begin.”
The music fades. The great doors close behind the last of the attendants, and the sound dies like a candle snuffed out.
Arion surveys the room, smiling faintly. “We gather today not in mourning, but in gratitude. My sister’s rebellion has been quelled. The city still stands.”
I glance at him but try not to let my features change. Seems a little…premature. One group of Mrath’s assassins doesn’t equate to an entire movement. How can he say so calmly that the resistance is finished?
A courtier near the front rises. “Forgive me, Majesty, but reports from the lower wards claim the fighting has not fully ceased. Are we certain the threat is gone?”
Arion’s expression doesn’t change. “The only threat to this court is rumor. The rebels were scattered mercenaries, nothing more.”
Murmurs ripple through the chamber. Someone else, a lord from the south, leans forward and stares at me long and hard. “Should the wedding be delayed, in case any remain?”
The smile Arion turns on him is soft and terrible. “The gods have tested us,” he says, “and found us worthy. To delay would suggest doubt in their judgment. The wedding will proceed.”
I blink. Is it to be in two days? What if there are still some of Mrath’s women here and they attack the ceremony?
Agreement follows like a tide. No one dares be the last to nod.
It’s so strange to see them all bow before him, eager for his approval.
He squeezes my fingers. “Let us proceed and finish this meeting quickly.”
I bow my head. The motion hurts less than words might.
The meeting continues—lists of repairs, the redistribution of guards, and which noble houses lost their sons. I drift somewhere just behind the conversation, hearing it as if through glass. When a servant refills my cup, I notice his hands shaking.
I wonder if he was there during the attack. If he saw the blood and rotting bodies. It would be enough to make anyone tremble.
Then the doors to the hall open again. Lords shift, and I try to angle my head against the rub of the collar to see who approaches.
The servant bows, then calls out, “Announcing His Grace, Lord Castien of the Obsidian Court. The Living Shadow.”
The air changes, and several of the lords around the table frown. I have never heard of this person before, but the name is intriguing. Even the darkness inside of me stirs a fraction.
Lord Castien strolls in a second later. Everything immediately around him dims slightly.
He wears all black, from the fit of his leather riding pants to the fine shirt and black jewels that hang from his ears, neck, and even one eyebrow.
He is a contrast to the rest of the elves in the room, and I can feel something dangerous roll off him in waves.
His hair is black, shot with a few meager streaks of silver, some strands hiding his eyes.
When he bows, his cloak pools around him like ink spilling across the wooden floor and plush carpets.
He’s powerful. And old. I think I recognize him, Cursed One says.
Arion stands to greet him, the motion practiced and regal. “Castien. You grace us.”
“I would not miss the dawn of a new reign,” the Living Shadow replies, his voice low, measured. “My king, the throne suits you well. You look resplendent in power.”
I wonder if they know that Arion is looking for the elven artifact. I wonder if they know he has less power than his sister currently. Surely they would not follow him if they did.
How did he explain his attack on Mrath’s Enclave?
The Living Shadow steps closer to where we sit, and I catch the faintest scent of smoke and cold metal. “My king, I come with news regarding last night’s unrest.”
A flicker of interest passes through the room.
“Already? You’ve hardly been here a day, and you are already seeking to please your ruler? Such respect should be commended.” Arion looks pointedly at the rest of the room and then gestures for him to continue.
“One of your consort’s attendants,” Castien says, “was found to be in correspondence with the Sisterhood. Her goal was not the crown, but the consort herself. She sought to stain your union and give information to our enemies. She was even behind the attempt on the human’s life.”
The room stirs. Arion’s hand stills over mine. “Speak plainly.”
Castien inclines his head. “She spread a lie—that the human girl is barren. That she could not bear the heir the kingdom expects. Mrath was planning to use that lie to topple you.”
The air leaves my lungs. How could she know that? I thought the meetings with the royal physician were going well. I’ve been drinking that disgusting tea every night.
My eyes snap straight onto my future husband. Does he believe any part of this? If he does, then today will be my last day living.
Arion’s tone remains almost pleasant, but he doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t even look worried. “And this traitor?”
“One Kiala Fereleaf. She was dealt with at first light,” Castien says.
One of the lords stands, bowing to Arion, then says, “Am I to understand that Mrath’s terrorists believe that the human cannot bear children?”
“That is what I said,” Lord Castien retorts blandly, clearly unimpressed with being interrupted.
“And we are sure there is absolutely no validity in this statement?” the man continues.
“Because the whole godsdamned purpose of this little experiment is that humans can bear us children. We know from the Peredhels that this could be true, but if it is rare or less effective than breeding with our own kind…then why in the name of Doros’s teeth are we putting a human alongside the king?
Why create a new law that protects fucking Peredhels at all? ”
My cheeks burn, and it takes every ounce of practiced decorum not to flinch.
A new law? For the half-bloods?
A bit of a past conversation with Thorne comes to the forefront of my thoughts.
“Half-bloods are despised among your kind.”
“He will fix that any day now.”
Arion waves his hand, unconcerned, but sweat continues to prickle along my skin, even pouring down my back. There’s so much more to the story than I thought.
“In the Enduar Mountains, they have already had dozens of babies with these humans. We are kin to the Enduares, and even if we weren’t, Peredhels have been a part of our people for as long as history can remember.
Most recently, there have been tests carried out in the hills.
A child has already been born, and in record time. ”
My mouth falls open. A child?
Arion continues. “If I were a less understanding king, I would cast you out of this room for suggesting, even after I have carefully explained this over the last several months, that humans do not require years of gestation. They do not require expertly timed cycles once every year or so. Arlet could already be pregnant in this very moment, as humans have the ability to conceive a child each month.”
As he says the words, I sink a bit lower into my seat. Is he saying I’ve had sex? With him?
He’s lying about that to posture for his people, despite the fact that he’s done little more than kiss me. Will he take me to his chamber tonight, as he promised to do last night?
And what if the herbs are not really working and I do not fall with child?
Gods. One week ago, I bled for the first time in months. My womb could be preparing for the quickening as we speak, or this could all be another false alarm.
My eyes burn. I have no idea what to say or do, so I just keep sitting there. Listening to men talk about my body as if I were not present.
“Lady Arlet has been monitored carefully since arrival. She is in perfect health, and all will be well.”
“I can, in fact, confirm this, after reviewing the reports,” Castien says, then nods to the elf in the corner who has been utterly silent. I see him glower at the entire exchange. “Lord Thorne has also been very forthcoming with information on this matter.”
I blink. Perfect health? I feel weaker than I ever have. Do these people even know anything about women?
The lords, appearing to be satiated by the responses, nod along, and Lord Castien continues. “The other attendants were questioned and found loyal. But a gap remains in your consort’s service.”
Arion frowns. “This is true.”
After a beat, Lord Castien quirks up one corner of his angular lips. “If I may…” He gestures toward the doors. “My daughter, Vesilane of the Obsidian Court.”
A pale young woman enters. She moves like light in fog—graceful but unhurried. Her gown is gray, brushed with silver. Her hair, dark with an undertone of blue, is woven simply. She bows with perfect composure.
“Your Majesties,” she says. “It would be an honor to serve.”
Arion studies her. “You would lend your bloodline’s loyalty to the palace, then? Gods, Castien. Will your gifts ever cease?” He sounds pleased.
“My father’s loyalty is already yours,” she answers. “Mine follows.”
Arion looks at Castien. “I believe that question was directed at you.”
Castien nods. “She would be an excellent attendant for your bride.”
“My king,” Thorne says, interjecting from the shadows. “It is I who chooses those allowed near your bride. As warden—”
“Your last selections were not so desirable, were they, Lord Thorne?” Castien says.
Thorne goes silent and returns to his seat.
“Do not worry, Warden. I believe our guest is merely showing us a kindness.” A faint smile touches his lips. “The court will welcome you. A timely gift.”
Castien’s eyes glint, unreadable. “May she lighten the shadows around your bride.”
Polite laughter ripples through the nobles. But it just grates against my nerves. Kiala is dead? She was trying to get me killed. I knew she wasn’t my friend, but she seemed to be less antagonistic than Merlina.
Either she or her family tried to have me killed.
She wanted to reveal my secret before marriage. That single word—barren. It echoes with every heartbeat.
I was so close to losing everything. I should be better. More grateful. More acquiescing to Arion.
This is my life now, and no one is coming to save me.
Arion turns to the assembled courtiers. “Let it be known that the palace stands whole, the traitors are dead, and the wedding is unchanged. Tomorrow at dusk, before the four high houses, the vows will be spoken.”
Applause fills the hall, sharp and rehearsed.
The meeting dissolves into clusters of murmuring nobles. Arion exchanges words with his generals. I remain seated until a hand—small, cool—touches mine.
Vesilane.
She bends slightly so her voice doesn’t carry. “Your Grace. It will be my honor to serve you.”
I hum. This is already so different from the way the other women assigned to me have treated me.
“It is my pleasure. I am sorry, I do not know more about your court or your family.”
The words are clumsy, but she smiles as if they were charming. “My father has always been careful about who knows us and our dealings with the outside world. It is I who is sorry for your loss. I can only imagine what last night must have been like.”
Her tone is gentle, not pitying.
Hmm. I don’t think she is a threat, Cursed One interjects. Perhaps she will be useful.
Useful for what? I respond.
For escaping.
It takes me a moment to find any words at all. After weeks of training, I am unaccustomed to any measure of kindness. “You shouldn’t speak to me like that here.”
“Then perhaps later,” she says softly. “When no one listens.”
I search her face for deceit and find none—just a quiet steadiness that feels like air after drowning.
“I’ll help you as much as I can,” she adds, and for some reason, I almost believe her.
Before I can answer, Arion’s voice cuts through the murmur of the room. “My lovely Arlet.” His tone is calm, but I feel every noble eye turn toward us again. “Come. There are matters to discuss before sunset.”
I rise. The hem of my gown whispers against the marble.
Perhaps, I say to my companion, we should just…accept our fate. I am marrying the day after tomorrow. Mrath might spare me if she takes power. The risk of turning my back on Arion before I know is too great.
In my first days here, Eslina had told me that the king makes people who betray him fight to the death. I can hardly wield a knife without the Cursed One’s help.
What about the man who came for you? He seems clever. He could—
Vann hasn’t appeared since last night—maybe I was wrong. Maybe he is dead. I don’t have the energy to plot anymore. I just want to live.
My companion doesn’t respond.