Chapter 20
Solemn requiems filled the temple, accompanied by the weeps and moans of a dozen hired mourners. The statue at the center was turned so that the Lord of Night’s sculpted face looked out among the procession.
That face. How was it that any artist could sculpt it into a recognizable shape? Unlike the one in the Tower of Mana, this one was far less ominous, more resembling an upper-class gentleman of good nature. It was inaccurate, and I did not feel the god’s presence seeping from within.
It had been a week since I’d spoken to anybody, including my closest of allies.
Percy’s body was discovered in his own bed, no traces of poison found by the royal physician.
The mystery was all the talk at the castle.
Apparently he’d died with his eyes wide open, as if staring at some terror in the dead of night.
Even now, with his coffin in plain sight, there were whispers among the nobility as they discussed his death and his lands and titles, the poor Queen Adelaide and how terrible she must have felt and how they really had to arrange a gift to ease her mourning.
The politics never ceased. I wasn’t sure if a single soul here truly cared for Percy.
I touched my throat.
I’d done that a lot in the last few days, like a guilt-stricken killer fumbling with the murder weapon.
At the head of the room, Queen Adelaide approached the coffin one last time, then turned around to face the rest of the room.
Her eyes seemed to land right on me, but that could have merely been a trick of the conscience.
The queen took her seat in the front row, and a crew of four lifted the coffin and carried it down the stairs toward the family crypt.
“I heard he died of fright,” Angharad whispered nearby, exchanging gossip with Diamond Simon and Maeve Halston.
They joined others as they made their way to the center aisle and began exiting the temple, now that the ceremony had concluded.
“No doubt the Montfort was suffering from some spiritual warfare.”
“The poor man really should have taken a wife,” Lady Diamond sighed. “Someone to alleviate that burden.”
I watched them go and returned my gaze to the statue. Winnie said something beside me, but the words took off in the air and never made it into my ear. Our hands squeezed together in brief solidarity, and she departed.
When the room was emptied out, the royal family was the last to go. Several Montforts, none familiar to Castle Altaigne, left first; then the queen and prince turned, surprised to see me still standing on my own.
Nicolas exchanged a nod with Queen Adelaide and came over to my side. He made me face him, his usual tension giving way to gentility. I stared back, wondering if his heart carried a similar weight.
He pulled me into his arms and held me tight.
I breathed him in, shutting my eyes and wishing he knew what I had suffered to make these ends meet.
One day, when I could find the words, I would have to tell him.
For now, all I could do was shove it deep inside of me, a trauma to be kept under lock and key.
His lips brushed the rim of my ear, delicate and warm, and his voice carried in hushed breath..
“Good girl.”
My insides swirled. I reeled back, nauseated, and hurried off to find a suitable place to expel my breakfast, ignoring him as he called after me. I didn’t spare a second glance toward the prince; if I had to see those honey-gold eyes of his one more time, I would detest him for the rest of my days.
Good girl. I was so wonderfully obedient, wasn’t I?
Nicolas had commanded me to take a life, and while I’d protested, I had all the willpower of wet parchment.
Percy’s death was by my hand, and I thought I’d come to terms with that, but being praised for it awakened all the guilt I’d kept behind barriers.
I needed space. I wasn’t sure who I hated more—myself, or the prince. Our betrothal would soon be official, and preparations for marriage would need to be made. If I resented Nicolas then as much as I did right now, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.
My black skirts waved about my legs as I rushed to my chambers.
The palace was noisier than usual today, as if its inhabitants had just returned from an opera and were eager to discuss it.
I ground my teeth, desperate to simply bury my head under a pillow and shut all of it out until the excitement of Percy’s untimely demise had settled.
At the other end of the hall, Viscount Quinn returned from below, chatting quietly with a servant boy. He reached his door as I got to mine, then dismissed the servant. I watched him, my thoughts a web of accumulated dread.
Quinn noticed me with a slow turn of the head. His posture straightened, but he knew better than to speak. Not when I was so close to eruption.
He crossed that short distance between our rooms and opened my door for me.
Sucking in a breath, I held up my index finger and ran into my chamber. I took the wax tablet from its place at the hearth, dusting off the wooden frame before approaching him once more. As I wrote a message, the viscount tried to keep his curiosity understated.
“Will you accompany me to Caermont?” I revealed, turning the tablet to face him. Then I hesitated, adding one more word. “Please.”
Quinn ruffled his hair. “It would be rather inappropriate to leave during the mourning period…”
I stamped my foot, then smoothed the wax and wrote again. All the while I could feel his eyes tracking me, crinkling with restrained amusement. “Lord Quinn, I command you to take me to Caermont.”
I wasn’t sure I had the proper authority to do so, but I had to try.
This time I shoved the tablet toward him. Quinn stepped back to read the message. With a quiet snort, he rolled his eyes and placed both hands on his hips.
“Ah, hells,” he muttered. “Go on and change into something suitable for riding.”
In my surprise, I forgot to maintain my frown.
I hurried into my room again, changing into the plainest dress I could find, then put on a wool cloak and trousers for warmth.
A pair of leather boots finished the less-than-regal attire.
I waited just outside for the viscount to catch up, the wax tablet safely stored within my father’s gifted satchel.
Quinn emerged from his quarters in a brown leather doublet, his ornamental sword replaced with a simple blade. Gone were the royal colors that marked him as nobility; he looked the part of a traveling merchant’s guard, and nothing more.
“This way,” he murmured, gesturing away from the main corridor with a roll of the neck. “The servants’ stairs will draw the least attention to us. We’ll take my horse, Niro. He could use the exercise.”
I hesitated, then followed him down a narrow passage I’d never seen before, our footsteps muffled by worn stone.
The walls here were plain, functional…a glimpse beneath the glamor of Castle Altaigne.
Quinn moved with quiet purpose, pausing at each turn to listen for approaching footsteps.
He seemed comfortable sneaking around, begging the question of just how many times he’d gone through these forbidden passageways.
We slipped through a side door into the courtyard. I pulled my hood up in hopes that no one would spot me wandering with the viscount. In the distance, servants called to each other, wheels turned on cobblestone, and life continued as if Percy Montfort had never existed at all.
Quinn’s hand appeared at my elbow, steadying but not presumptuous. He guided me toward the stables with the quiet efficiency of a man who knew when not to ask questions. I’d never liked him more.
For the second time, I rode through the streets of Caermont.
This time there were no windows to block out the smells that assaulted my senses.
Human waste was far from the only unpleasantness; there was a press of unwashed bodies, a sour wine smell from cheap drinks poured out onto the cobblestone.
Street vendors boasted medicines and remedies that were dubious at best, an acrid herbal smoke lingering about their stalls.
Vinegar, sweat, and tallow created the foulest of perfumes that hung like fog around the lower district.
How was it that the main entrance and exit for the city cut straight through this impoverished district, which seemed to be a recipe for robberies and attacks? These people would have needed a great deal of fear to keep them in line, and laws to invoke it.
Still, they didn’t seem entirely miserable. There was music in the distance, and children ran about with no mind for reprimand. Even the drunks were contented with their ale, smiling with missing teeth at us as we passed. The lively song grew louder, accompanied by unseen applause.
I touched Quinn’s knee, giving it a light squeeze.
“What is it?” he asked, slowing his horse. I withdrew the tablet and scribbled quickly, small enough to leave room for future messages.
“I want to hear the music up close, if we may.”
Quinn clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “As you wish. I’ll need to find some place suitable to leave Niro. I believe the ostler at the Hart’s Content knows his business.”
Rather than taking the gates that led to the more affluent parts of the city, we continued straight, eventually reaching a drawbridge that led out to a wide field. A single inn stood in the distance, smoke billowing from the chimney.
When we reached it, Quinn sought out the innkeeper and exchanged concise, polite greetings before paying him off. Then he helped me down, giving Niro to the ostler.
There was no telling when the performance might end. I took his hands and pulled with urgency, gesturing for him to hurry along. Quinn stiffened, then quickly laughed it off.
“You want to run?” he asked, flashing his teeth with a sidelong smile. “Very well. Try to keep up.”