Chapter Fifty
Analleia
Every great assassination plot required three vital elements: a setting, a target, and a marksman.
The setting tonight featured the massive palace of Paravellia hosting the finale ball.
The target was the ruthless king who murdered my family, and the marksman was me: the girl who had trained for five years to take him down.
I vowed it would be the only time I killed someone.
I stood the whole carriage ride, bent forward and braced between the two seats, careful not to let any part of my dress bump into anything for fear it would fall apart.
I ran through the plan in my mind, making sure it was solid.
The sounds of the finale ball drifted in through the carriage windows, color seeping through the curtains and my rib cage rattling from the boom of the fireworks overhead.
The fabric of my veil tickled my face and the brown wig was itchy.
It took all my willpower to keep from messing with them.
The carriage rolled to a stop, the attendant opening the door for me.
I kept my eyes trained down in an attempt to keep their color hidden as he helped me out, and I bent my shoulders awkwardly to maneuver my wings outside the narrow opening.
Plumes of swan feathers stretched out on either side of me, giving me the appearance of a golden angel.
The curved ends of the bow made up the bone structure of the wings themselves, the middle piece strapped down my back and connecting them.
I dipped my head in thanks to the man, climbing the palace steps to wait in line behind the other guests, my stolen invitation grasped within my hand.
I had outlined my upper eyelids in black and gold to match the extravagance of everyone else and in hopes it might draw attention away from the bright blue of my eyes.
People’s stares lingered, threatening to give away my identity, but I assured myself unless someone was seeking me specifically, I shouldn’t be recognized.
Far more commoners milled through the palace grounds tonight.
My gaze flicked up to the outer walls, taking note of the extra guards stationed across its line.
They wouldn’t be watching for me at the main gate, wouldn’t think me stupid enough to waltz in with the public, but every outer edge, roof, balcony, and alcove would be crawling with military.
I paused, calculating. Were they expecting me?
I frowned. Had they broken Desmond? Worry lanced through me.
As soon as I killed King Zaricor, I would break Desmond out—or die trying.
“Miss?”
My insides quaked with fear even as I remained composed outwardly. I took a step forward, not looking at the official as I handed him my invitation. Everything depended on my getting in without question.
A shout echoed from the right and I froze, glancing to see the commotion as a fight broke out between two brawling royals and led to blows.
The official looked down at my invitation, frowning.
I clasped my hands in front of me, putting on the air of being put out.
He divided his attention between the invitation and the fight, muttering a string of curses under his breath.
He threw an unseeing glance at me before waving me through the doors.
I fit the part of a pompous noble, no need to question.
I hid my smile, holding in my sigh of relief as I stepped through the glass doors and into the grandeur of the finale ball, the swell of the instruments overwhelming.
Twinkling lights dangled from the ceiling, the walls decorated in swirling sashes and banners.
Acrobats hung suspended from silk and performers spewed fire from their mouths as magicians enchanted the crowds around them.
It was the wonder of the year.
But I walked through it all, only one thing holding my attention as I stepped into the center of the crowd. The seven balconies circled upward to the room around me, and I peered up, my gaze resting on the highest floor where I planned to make my crow’s nest.
Where I planned to avenge the murder of my family and the destruction of my kingdom once and for all.
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Valeris
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TIME TICKED BY LIKE a bomb preparing to detonate, blowing up all my plans directly in my face.
We had searched the safe house. Desmond wasn’t lying.
She had definitely booked it, and we had found a briefcase stuffed with supplies, but there was no sign of Analleia.
The innkeeper said he had never seen her, had just been paid to keep the room empty for the duration of the Paravellian Balls.
I’d punched a hole in the wall when the soldiers had returned with the news. My father was breathing down my neck, pressuring me for answers. I’d assured him he would have her by the end of the finale, but I questioned my ability to follow through on it.
I stood to lose everything.
I circled the ballroom, irritated by my stiff clothes, the collar of my shirt choking me. There was no way she could get past security unnoticed. We had every inch of the palace guarded.
She wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Her brother’s words repeated in my head. I was missing something. Something that should be obvious.
I searched the ballroom, scanning faces, wading in and out of the sea of people and festivities and elaborate costumes.
If she had disguised herself she could blend in, but how would she sneak in?
More than once I found myself turning at the flash of blond hair, the gaze of blue eyes, but every time I was mistaken.
I watched through the windows, peered out into the darkness for any familiar shapes moving along the walls, but saw nothing.
The entire militia guarded the palace tonight, every soldier dispatched.
It would be impossible to make it past all of them without detection no matter how skilled she was.
But my gut told me otherwise.
She would be here.
What if her brother had lied? What if this was all a ruse and she had left the city and was nowhere near the finale? I swallowed, scanning the ballroom again. With the increased presence at the palace, would she have taken that opportunity to escape through the city gates?
I ground my teeth together, sweat pebbling on my skin, not liking being at the finale.
I had fixed the alliances I needed to, dipping into my own personal account to steal back the agreement from the diplomat from Bolera, but if I didn’t bring Analleia to my father before the end of the ball—he would name Ezrielle or Zandyr successor.
“Valeris.”
I met my uncle’s grim gaze.
“They’re ready for you on the dais.”
I lifted my chin even as my stomach plummeted. I hated this part. Standing next to my family and pretending to be something we weren’t.
My parents and Zandyr waited for me, and I looked out into the crowd as I climbed the steps, seeking a face I had come to know far too well, but I didn’t find it.
Instead I noticed one of the poorly repaired boards on the steps, and a servant hastily pushing his way to the back of the crowd.
I resisted a frown at the peculiarity and kept my face pleasant, a sea of faces staring at me as I took my place beside my family.
––––––––
Analleia
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MY LEGS BURNED BY THE time I reached the highest balcony.
It offered the best view of the dais and concealment from searching eyes.
The curtain slid open a little farther beneath my touch, and I retreated into the shadows and out of view of the party below.
No one would see me unless they ventured all the way to the last step, and I would hear them coming long before that.
I shrugged out of my gold skirt, removing the arrows from their concealment and then tossing the fabric aside.
I ripped the swan feathers from my back next, removing the skin of the makeshift wings until my bow was revealed underneath.
It took me less than a minute to secure the three pieces together and string the bow.
I removed the upper part of my dress, pulling the headscarf along with it.
It snagged on the wig, pulling it from my head and sending my white-blond hair spilling around my shoulders. I kicked it behind me with a growl.
There was no need to hide my identity now.
I wanted him to know who had nocked the arrow. Who had destroyed everything he had worked for.
I crept behind the curtain, the material swishing around me as I slipped the arrows into a pocket on the back of my shirt, doubling as a quiver.
The crowds milled about below, their attention on the dais as the royal family gathered before them.
My heart raced in my chest, time moving too fast. I nocked an arrow, aiming, testing my shot.
King Zaricor climbed the stage, and satisfaction and relief welled within me that my family could finally be avenged.
I planned two shots—to make sure. I pulled the string back, not ready to release, but prepared for when I did.
I wanted to fire at the precise moment all the attention was on him.
One arrow would go to the chest, piercing his flesh to slide between the ribs and puncture his heart.
That would kill him instantly, but I had to be certain, so I planned another arrow to fire in quick succession, slicing his jugular to ensure death.
I didn’t want there to be any hope of someone bringing him back from the edge of death.
Unease wound its way through me. I was all too aware of the instrument of death clutched in my hands. Lessons from the tower filled my mind, all the years of endless training funneling together into this one moment.
The first and only life I would take.
For my family.
For my kingdom.
But it didn’t make it any easier.