Thirty-Four
“NO, NO, NO.” Charis crawled past Reuben, her dress catching on splinters of the chair Tal broke when he leaped to her defense. When she reached Holland’s side, she reached for Nalani’s neck, her fingers shaking so badly, she couldn’t tell if she could feel a heartbeat.
“Somebody help,” Holland yelled. “Somebody help my sister.”
Charis curled over Nalani’s face and pressed her ear to her cousin’s mouth.
Nalani lay so still. The roaring of Charis’s frantic pulse made it difficult to focus.
Nalani had to be all right. She wasn’t gone. She couldn’t be.
Pain was a living thing, tipped in fire, unfurling within Charis and spreading through her veins until everything hurt.
“Charis?” Holland whispered. “Will she be— Can we fix this?”
A faint tickle brushed the side of Charis’s face. She jerked back, staring at Nalani. Seconds later, Nalani’s eyelashes fluttered.
“She’s alive.” Charis’s voice shook as much as her hands. Frantically, she snatched at a fallen napkin. “Don’t pull the dagger out. It’s helping slow the bleeding. Press this around the wound.”
Holland snatched the napkin from her and tenderly placed it around the exposed blade, pressing to help keep the wound from losing too much blood.
Tal and Nalani needed immediate help, but Charis was in no position to get it for them.
They were trapped in a room with no allies. People had just been murdered in her name. At any moment, the Everlys would blame her for the ships that had been sunk, for the invasion, and for the bloodbath that surrounded them. Reuben was dead. Charis, Nalani, and Holland would be accused of treachery and put to death, and no one would be punished for tearing her kingdom to pieces.
“Charis, she needs a physician. Quickly.” Holland’s voice was a ghost of its normal strength.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to make that happen.”
The pain within Charis coalesced into a single, burning flame as he collapsed, laying his face against Nalani’s cheek, his dark eyes full of misery.
“What do I do now?” he asked, though he wasn’t looking at Charis.
There was nothing he could do.
There was only Charis, with her little satchel of moriarthy dust and her willingness to be the most ruthless person in the room.
As Lord Everly called the room to order, instructing the servants who hadn’t taken part in the fight to haul the bodies off to the side of the room, Charis climbed slowly to her feet.
Loosening the mouth of the satchel, she plunged her hand inside, brushing against the little envelope of mursilla herb to let the last of the moriarthy dust trickle over her fingertips.
She was smarter. She struck harder. She never wavered. Never faltered. Never broke.
The Everlys should have killed her when they’d had the chance.
Her body moved stiffly, as though she was a stranger in her own skin, as she walked past the wreckage of Tal’s chair, past Reuben, and past Tal, who was speaking softly to Zale.
She held his gaze and saw the moment he understood what she was doing. He struggled to get up, but Zale refused to let him.
Ferris was still under the table, his eyes wide as he watched bloodied bodies being dragged across the marble.
Charis’s lip curled.
Coward.
And this is who Lord Everly wanted to crown king of Calera?
A true king didn’t hide from danger. Didn’t flinch at the result of his own choices.
But then Ferris never had been worthy of being king.
She had seconds before the Everlys noticed that she was no longer distracted. Quickly, she withdrew her hand from the satchel, watching Lord Everly closely while she set her trap.
The instant he noticed her, she spoke in a cold, clear voice that rivaled Mother’s on her best day. “People of Calera, we will deal with the horrifying violence we were just subjected to—”
“Too right, we will,” Lord Everly blustered. “We all heard them say—”
“We have a treaty to fulfill.” Charis raised her voice. “And it cannot be put off. I know Lord Everly will join me in advocating that we keep our word to King Alaric tonight.”
She locked eyes with King Alaric.
Zale said quietly, “I agree, Father. Let’s get this done.”
“Indeed.” King Alaric watched Charis closely. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“I’m sure you have no argument against us honoring King Alaric’s wishes, do you, Ferris?” Charis turned as Ferris hastily climbed to his feet.
“I— That is, I’m not certain if we... Father?” Ferris glanced between Charis and Lord Everly.
“Do you speak only your father’s thoughts, or do you have your own?” she asked, reaching for her glass of fizzy pink wine.
Ferris’s jaw tightened. “You know I have my own.”
“Then stop checking with your father and answer me. King Alaric wants us to complete the treaty. I think we ought to honor our agreement with him, don’t you?” Her fingers closed around the glass stem, and she prayed they wouldn’t shake.
“Of course, but—”
“Thank you, Ferris. I quite agree.” She lifted the glass, her mouth dry, her heart thunder in her chest. The goblet trembled in her hand, and she tightened her grip.
It was time.
“I’d like to propose the first ceremonial toast.”