Chapter 9 #2
She glanced at the clock again, and he saw her do it and looked, too. She was almost embarrassed that he saw her look, but he didn’t do anything to rub in the fact that he’d made it back with a minute to spare.
Argos placed the sack on his big open palm and held it out to her.
Theora moved toward the end of the bed, touching the knot of the bag hesitantly. Looking at a dead animal before bed wasn’t her idea of sweet-dream material, but maybe it was just the pelt. That would be manageable.
Either way, she was going to reject it. She’d at least do him the courtesy of looking.
“I thought we agreed no trophies,” she said.
“It’s not a trophy.”
“A peace offering, then?”
For a moment he didn’t reply—maybe he didn’t understand the question. And then he touched his fingers to his bottom lip, then reached down to touch hers. “Yes,” he said, and held the bag closer.
“Yield,” Theora said, and when he did, she repeated the trust sign from her lips to his. She untied the knot and let the sides of the sack drop.
And stared into the eyes of the severed head sitting there.
Her hands were suspended, trembling where the knot had been. Perhaps her hands processed the dead eyes looking back at her before her mind did, because it was another couple seconds before a helplessly horrified noise slipped out of her.
The head was drained of blood, the features lax, though the eyelids weren’t closed completely. If it had been an animal head maybe Theora wouldn’t have been fighting the urge to vomit. If it had been anything but a person’s head.
Anything but the head of the Vespulan war commander.
She scrambled backward, tumbled off the end of the bed, rushed into the bathroom, and locked herself in.
“I didn’t see that,” she murmured. “I did not just see that. Oh, Blessed Sovereign, don’t do this to me…”
A gag clenched her muscles and she rushed to the toilet, throwing her glasses onto the tile just in time, so they wouldn’t join her vomit. She heaved until there was nothing left and then curled up on the cold floor in a panic.
For pity’s sake, Theora. You didn’t become queen of Aranea by acting like a baby.
No. She became queen by violent default.
She pushed herself up and rinsed out her mouth in the sink, threw cold water on her face. She put her glasses back on as she stared at herself in the mirror, not really knowing what she was looking at.
Well…at least she wouldn’t have to manufacture an excuse to reject his gift.
Theora eased the door open, fully expecting the severed head to greet her. Instead she faced her husband sitting on the bed, leftover red from his hands staining the covers where he gripped them.
“Argos,” she squeaked. She swallowed and took a trembling breath. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”
He looked up at her slowly, his golden eyes like a bonfire gone wild. “I killed the honeyfluff for you,” he said, as if it were as simple as that.
Honeyfluff ? Is that what Warriors call Vespulans?
She would have laughed if this weren’t the worst thing in the world she could think of. He had killed the commander of their enemy’s army. In the middle of a ceasefire. The night before the peace talks.
What the hell was she going to do?
“I let you hunt,” she said, her voice shaking. “I thought that meant killing an animal.”
“Right,” he agreed. Again, it sounded so simple.
Theora had to give herself a minute to unravel the knot in her throat before continuing. “You can’t just kill people. This isn’t a battlefield. And we’re in the middle of a ceasefire.”
“I was chosen to protect you, Theora. If anyone orchestrated the attack that began the war, it was Kenzi. Besides,” he added, gesturing to the other side of the bed, where, thankfully, his gift lay out of Theora’s sight line, “this is exactly what you wanted.”
As much as she could admit he was right, her stomach tightened. “When did I ever say I wanted you to behead someone?” she said, her voice raised to the edge of panic. “I would never say that.”
“At the beginning of the week. You said you were not allowed to retaliate,” he said, then gestured to his trophy again. “Ta-da.”
It pained her to admit it, but he wasn’t wrong.
She had said that. She’d also been vulnerable with him, shown him her scar.
He’d obviously put the story together and killed the person responsible for hurting her, which was…
exactly what she’d selected him to do, wasn’t it? Protect her from the enemy.
But that didn’t mean this was all right. In fact, it was a disaster.
“I have peace talks with the Vespulans tomorrow. What do you think will happen if they find out my Warrior husband murdered one of the most important officers in their colony?”
Argos didn’t look concerned. In fact, he looked a little confused.
The knot in Theora’s throat threatened to suffocate her.
This was an act of war. There was no explaining it otherwise.
Even if no one had seen Argos, it was still too much of a coincidence that it had happened right after their trading post had been taken, and right before she was expected to commit to a future of peace.
“We need help,” she said, throwing on a silky robe. “I’m calling Boada. Go get rid of…that.”
Argos was quiet. Hesitant. “You’re displeased?”
“Are you kidding me, Argos?” Theora pressed her hands against her hot cheeks, collecting her thoughts. “This is probably the worst thing you could’ve done. Now take that disgusting thing out of my room.”
He sat for another moment, not even a rumbling growl breaking the silence. And then he got up, scooped the head up in its sack, and left the room so quickly Theora blinked and missed it.
Theora snatched up her telephone, nearly dropping the earpiece. She wasn’t sure what Boada would be up to at this time of night, but there was no point in peace talks if war happened to erupt once again over a grave misunderstanding.
Three rings, each one heightening her anxiety, before Boada finally picked up. “What happened, kiddo?”
“Boada, I—” She swallowed. She couldn’t say it now. How could she ever describe…that—what had just happened—over the phone?
“Theora?” Boada’s normally calm voice had an edge of concern. “Argos just walked in, with—” The silence on the other end twisted at Theora’s gut. “What the—?”
“I’ll join you in your office,” Theora said, and she slammed down the phone. Dread Sovereign. She was hoping Argos had gone to destroy the evidence, not gone straight to his handler—not before she could get there first, anyway.
Theora put on her slippers and rushed out into the hall. Generally, she’d never leave her room looking this way, but there were more important things to worry about now.
She tripped over her slippers as she entered the office.
Boada wore a loose-fitting floor-length dress, and for a moment Theora felt as if she couldn’t breathe, flashbacks of Warriors in gowns of armor creeping into the back of her mind.
Maybe the Vespulans already knew about their war commander.
Maybe they had called off the ceasefire and were on their way here—
“Is this your idea of diplomacy?” Boada snapped, gesturing to the—blessedly—closed sack on her desk.
The handler’s words knocked her back to her present predicament. She was a queen, for Sovereign’s sake. She could not allow her memories to control her emotions.
Besides, she knew from asking questions as a child that Boada had to wear armor while training young Warriors to obey her voice. Apparently, toddlers went for the ankles.
“Does that severed head look like my doing to you?” she replied, matching the handler’s tone.
“You claimed him. Only for this mission, but it’s still legitimate. It’s his Honor to get you things you want, even if you ask for them without asking. Expressing a desire for something is enough.”
“All I wanted was a bodyguard, Boada.” Theora paced, scratching at her scar, the lingering itchiness the only clue left of her trauma. “Besides, shouldn’t he know better than to hunt down a Vespulan dignitary just before peace talks?”
“He is in the room with you,” Argos growled. “And you selected a Warrior to bodyguard for you, so excuse me if I do things my way instead of waiting for more attacks to happe—”
“Cease, Warrior,” Boada commanded, and Argos immediately silenced. She took a second, calming her anger, before glaring at Theora. “What’s done is done. All we can do now is come up with a solution.”
Theora took a breath, picking up the phone receiver. “Let’s bring Venita up to speed. Perhaps she’ll—”
Boada took the phone from her, hanging it back in its place.
“The fewer people who know it was Argos, the better. An act of war of this magnitude could cause a mountain of problems for us just when we’re about to step into peace talks.
Besides, the queen before Pyre had a tendency to make enemies, so it’s not far-fetched that the beheading will be pinned on someone unrelated to us entirely. ”
“Come on, Boada.” Theora sighed. “Given the circumstances, I think Aranea is going to be the first colony they blame.”
“Not if we’re ten steps ahead of them.” Boada looked at Argos. “Were you seen?”
“No, ma’am,” he said.
“Of course you weren’t,” Boada said with a satisfied nod.
“Well, that solves it then. You feign ignorance. The news won’t have reached us by then, and we can always blame the long train ride for your being uninformed.
The main thing is to not be the first to mention it, and then to give sincere condolences when it’s brought up. ”
“That’s all well and good, Boada,” said Theora, her hard tone implying that it was not at all well and good. “But the war commander’s head goes missing and I suddenly show up to the peace talks with my Warrior husband? We won’t get away with lying.”
Boada snapped her fingers, her eyes brightening. “You will if you married for love.”
Theora and Argos looked at the handler at the same time, both as intrigued as they were skeptical.
“Married for love?” Theora asked, borderline disgusted.