Chapter Thirty-Three
Amalthea
There was no polite way to decline a royal summons. Especially when you had been the one to request the audience and had waited several days for it to be accepted.
Amalthea entered the throne room and immediately dropped to a low curtsy. In front of her was nothing but white marble, perfect slabs with barely a hint of brown or gray.
“Rise,” the queen commanded.
Thea rose gracefully. “Queen Ophelia, thank you for receiving me.”
The queen appeared even younger than Samara, maybe eighteen, nineteen. But there was no mistaking the monarch.
Her white hair gleamed, a shade lighter than the marble.
It was long and loose, reaching the floor while she sat on a throne.
The throne was polished quartz, looking like the same frost that coated the kingdom.
A glass crown rose tall on her head. A piece that would have shattered from carelessness centuries ago if anyone else had worn it.
A statement that the queen could afford fragile eccentricities—like a kingdom where no males were permitted.
The kingdom colors were white and red, but the only spot of red in the entire room was the banner behind her and the dress she wore from her collarbone to her knees.
As long as Thea ignored the blood dripping from the bodies Eka saw fit to display in the room, anyway.
“Lady Amalthea, surely there’s no need for formalities,” Queen Ophelia chastised.
Thea allowed a slight smile. “I do enjoy them, Your Majesty.”
The queen’s consort was at her side. They stood to the right of the throne, hands clasped in front, the sword at their hips scant inches from the floor. Unlike the queen, their hair was cropped short, nearly to the skin.
“Consort Quinn, warm blood and long nights to you as well.”
Quinn dipped their head.
Ophelia flicked her wrist in Thea’s direction. A chair of ice emerged in front of Thea. The queen’s powers on display—the least of what she could do. The palace was half ice, half stone, and held together by her magic.
“Sit,” the queen commanded.
If not for the enchanted cloak Thea kept fastened on her shoulder, it would have been wildly uncomfortable. Hesitating wasn’t an option, regardless.
Thea sat.
Another flick of the queen’s wrist, but no magic stirred in the air. Just an indolent gesture. “So Raphael has turned his Chosen.”
Ophelia never called him King Raphael. She wasn’t one for propriety.
“That is correct, Your Majesty.”
“He must be quite taken with this woman,” the queen mused. “The first one he’s turned since . . . well. Since then.”
It wasn’t a question, so Thea remained silent. The queen was probing for details, but truly, after all these years, she should have known better.
“Rumors reached my ears that he hid her away to see her through the transformation, being so taken with her,” Ophelia continued.
Thea knew—she had started the rumor, after all. “It’s as you say, Your Majesty. He’s fond of Samara.”
“Samara,” Ophelia repeated, as if to imply it was the first time she was hearing the name.
Thea was confident she’d learned it weeks ago.
“Do you know what he sees in her? I mean, a fledgling after so many centuries. I was beginning to wonder. When I’d heard he’d taken her as his Chosen, I could understand—eventually the thirst claims us all.
But to then sire her and pledge himself?
Tell me, Amalthea. You have great insight, I’m certain. ”
The truth would get Thea promptly killed, so that wasn’t an option. Vampires couldn’t lie, and some forgot humans could. But Ophelia would never be so careless, so it wasn’t just the words—her body language had to be fluid, her heartbeat even.
Thea was very, very good at keeping secrets.
“I’m honored you think me so privy to the workings of my liege’s mind, but I regret to disappoint you. I’ve spent little time with her, but from what I’ve seen, the king is kind to her. Affectionate, even.”
“Is she a great beauty?” Ophelia mused.
“I’m sure she couldn’t compare to you, Your Majesty.”
The queen rolled her eyes. “Yes, because there’s a world in which I’d be competing for Raphael’s affections?
Hardly. I’m just wondering how some random void managed to charm him.
Julian, I could understand. He’s always been more prone to these flights of fancy.
But Raphael? He’s never been inspired to act by anything as mundane as beauty. ”
“Perhaps he enjoys her youth,” Thea posited. “He’s taken her with him to Limanos, after all.”
It was an easy piece of information to cede. Demos had sent a messenger wyvern to Ioni when their party reached Limanos, which she’d received the day she’d arrived. The small, winged beasts could fly with astonishing speed, sending word from south or north in only a day or two.
Ophelia traced the edge of her crown absentmindedly.
“Yes, he has.” The queen’s agents had certainly sent their own wyverns with letters detailing what they’d found in the court, including any observations around the king’s new fledgling.
“Tell me, Amalthea. If you won’t guess at what your king sees in her, give me your impression.
You say you’ve spent little time with her, but I know you better than that. What do you make of his new heir?”
What did Thea think of Samara? The truth was, she hadn’t expected to actually like her.
It had complicated everything. Now she was torn between the king she’d sworn her loyalty to and the necromancer who could wreak untold havoc on the world. With that power, Samara could wreck the entire order of Eastern Eurobis.
So many bodies . . .
What could she give that didn’t truly give away anything?
“She’s smart,” Thea said. “Lady Samara has a passion for tinkering.” More than once, Thea had seen her after sparring practice trying to puzzle out the mechanisms of the more complicated weapons, constantly trying to understand how the pieces fit together and if they should be fit together in a different way.
“She’s kind and courageous.” She was afraid, more like.
So often afraid, but that was where the courage came from.
Thea had watched her stand up for the seamstress, and even for Thea herself.
Even now, convinced Raphael would kill her, Samara worked to harness her powers not for her own survival but to protect all of witchkind.
“Courageous,” the queen repeated. “It sounds as though you admire her.”
“I suppose,” Thea said noncommittally.
Ophelia raised a brow, changing tacks. “Interesting that he keeps her so close. Does he drink his fill from her?”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t presume to know.”
The queen sighed. “Truly, Amalthea. I’m asking for scraps. I wasn’t even invited to the debut.”
The last thing Sam needed was to meet the ice queen.
“I’m afraid it was a private affair. The king invited no one.
If you venture to the Skyflame Celebration, you could meet her this very day.
” The transport card to get there would be extraordinarily costly and difficult to procure, but the queen certainly had one.
But that wasn’t why the queen wouldn’t go. They both knew it.
Ophelia narrowed her gaze. “Careful, child.” She might indulge Thea because Raphael favored her, but impudence wouldn’t be well received.
“Apologies, Your Majesty.”
The queen jerked her chin up. “When do you return to the mountains?”
Finally the conversation had moved away from Samara. “With your blessing, I thought I might linger. My visits have been brief, but I was considering spending some extra time here on this trip. There are certain charms to the north I’ve never . . . appreciated before.”
The queen arched a white brow at the oracle. “Do those charms have a name?”
Amalthea grinned, the same grin she gave the ladies in the garden. “I couldn’t say. But Lady Kayara would be a lovely guide, should she be available in the coming days.”
Ophelia’s nod was knowing. “That can be arranged, if she’s amenable.”
Amenable was the mildest way the young vampiress could be described, but Thea nodded as if this were a gift instead of what she’d been maneuvering for over several days. “Your generosity is a kindness, as is your discretion.”
Thea didn’t truly care for the young vampiress, but it secured her a reason to linger in the territory that wouldn’t raise suspicion.
Any guilt Thea might have felt had been dulled by the constant barrage of corpses that filled her vision now.
Her gaze didn’t waver from the queen’s face; her conviction didn’t waver over any betrayal.
There was no room for guilt.
She’d secured an excuse to explore the area. Gifts, Lady Essa had said. The entire reason Thea had orchestrated the need for a diplomatic visit to the north.
Most witches relied solely on their innate magic. A few rare lines had grimoires to support their casting through generations.
But the necromancer . . . it wasn’t written anywhere, but there had been whispers among the eldest vampires that the necromancer had more relics, indestructible enchanted objects that would let her unlock her powers, scattered through the continent.
Thea suspected one of them was hidden in the frost-filled kingdom.
And if she was going to have any chance at halting the corpse-filled future, she had to find it soon.