52. Lilias
Lilias
THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY
True to his word, Blayne vanishes after the speech.
Off to his important luncheon, I suppose.
Petrys and I linger in the throne room, invisible, as the elegantly dressed men and women wander past the banquet tables and into the halls, talking and laughing with crystal glasses in their hands.
I pace along the far wall, in the shadows of the raised dais, nodding and smiling at everyone who walks past. No one speaks to me. It’s almost a relief.
Finally, the room is nearly empty. A handful of people still linger at the table, picking at scraps, but no one remains in my corner of the room.
“What did you hear?” I whisper.
I don’t dare turn to Petrys as I speak. It’s not that strange for me to be pacing the room, looking like I’m waiting for Blayne to return. But talking to a guard? Well, that would be improper.
Petrys makes a humming sound in the back of his throat. I slow down.
“They say Zarek killed Prince Syvan,” he whispers.
My chest feels tight. I glance at the small crowd around the banquet table, still gossiping and smiling. They’re too far away to hear anything, surely.
“I assume they mean to punish him,” Petrys finishes.
My breath catches in the back of my throat. My dress feels too heavy, too tight, the lacing and the silk dragging me down.
“H-He didn’t,” I gasp.
I turn to Petrys. His face is perfectly impassive, and he looks away as soon as our eyes meet. I gulp, then drop my gaze back to the floor.
“He didn’t kill Syvan,” I admit.
Petrys says nothing. A burst of laughter floats through the bright, sunlit air in the throne room. I stare at the open door and try to imagine how far I could run before someone stops me.
Not very far, I think.
I open my mouth, then close it. Zarek didn’t kill Syvan, but what difference does it make? He’ll still be punished for the murder.
Unless I confess.
“Keep moving,” Petrys whispers.
I blink at the floor. I didn’t realize I’d stopped walking. I force my legs forward, my entire body cold and numb.
“I’ve also heard he’s here,” Petrys continues. “In the palace.”
I nod, then take another step.
“I’ve heard that too,” I whisper.
I’m so close to the far wall I could reach out and touch it. I gulp a breath, then spin. My eyes meet Petrys for a heartbeat before he steps aside, gesturing for me to continue. I lurch forward, cutting another path across the throne room.
“Where is he?” I manage to whisper.
I glance around the room as I say it, as if Zarek might be tucked into one of the alcoves in this sunny, gleaming space. From the corner of my eyes, I see Petrys move to scratch his nose, covering his mouth.
“I don’t know,” he says.
My heart sinks. I didn’t realize how desperately I was hoping Petrys would know exactly where Zarek is, that Petrys appearing at Blayne’s estate was all part of some brilliant rescue plan.
“He’s probably in the dungeons,” Petrys whispers.
I stumble on nothing and lurch forward. Petrys grabs my arm, keeping me from making a scene that would probably embarrass Blayne. I turn to Petrys, wild desperation gnawing at the pit of my stomach.
“How do we get him out?” I whisper.
Petrys steps back and bows low without meeting my eyes.
“My lady,” he says.
I blink at his odd response. Shoes click across the stone floor, drawing closer. I turn to see a woman wearing a brilliant white apron approaching us. She bows toward me, stiffly formal.
“Lady Lilias,” she says. She blinks like she’s expecting a response.
I tilt my head. “Yes?”
“Her Highness, Princess Acelina requests the pleasure of your company,” she announces. Her tone makes it sound like I don’t have the option of refusing this generous invitation.
I start to turn toward Petrys, to see his response, but I catch myself and force my eyes back to the floor. Why would the princess of Marion care what the guard trailing her thought of this invitation?
“Of course,” I say, twisting my lips into a smile. “I would be honored to greet Her Highness.”
The woman nods at this, the only correct reply. Then she turns and walks out of the room. I follow, with Petrys trailing behind me.
I expect her to lead me through the crowds and up the grand staircase, to the elegant rooms I visited once for tea, when Dulcia called me Mrs. Snake. But instead, she leads me past the stairs and through the open doors, into the sun-filled garden.
There aren’t as many people out here, on the crushed gravel paths, and Zarek’s words whisper through my memory. The gardens are usually safe, he told me the morning after our disastrous wedding night. Too much effort to eavesdrop out here.
Is that why the wife of Vsenrog’s crown prince asked to meet me in the gardens? I frown as my hands twist together. No, that’s ridiculous. Why would she be worried about people listening in on her conversation with me? I’m worth even less now than I was when I was Mrs. Snake.
The woman in the apron turns, then turns again. We walk past the fountain with the fox on top, then down a path that leads to the kitchen gardens.
And there she is. The wife of Malrik’s first born sits on a bench, her face toward the sun, her delicate blue gown draped across the bench in a way that looks far too artistic to be accidental. The woman in the apron clears her throat, then bows as Acelina comes to her feet.
“Thank you,” Acelina says.
The woman in the apron turns to leave. I stare at Petrys for a moment, and he bows too. He stands in the middle of the path, then turns his back to us and rests a hand on the hilt of his sword.
It’s so absurd that I almost laugh. He looks like he’s prepared to fight monsters. Gods, we’re in the middle of the palace gardens. What in the hells could happen to us here?
“Lilias,” Acelina purrs. “Thank you so much for coming.”
As if I had a choice. I try to swallow, but my throat has gone dry. I turn slowly and meet the gaze of the acting queen of Vsenrog.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I reply, the words coming automatically as I bow to her.
Her mouth twitches in the slightest acknowledgement of a smile.
“Walk with me,” she says.
Again, it’s not an invitation. Acelina offers me her arm, and I take it, pressing my hand against the smooth silk of her sleeve.
Together, we walk slowly down a narrow path that leads away from the kitchen gardens.
I don’t dare turn back to see if Petrys is following us, or if he’s still standing in the middle of the crushed gravel path with his hand on his sword like he’s expecting to fight a pack of starving wolves.
“Shall I offer you congratulations on your new marriage?” Acelina asks.
I glance at her, but I can’t quite make sense of the small smile on her lips. It’s perfectly polite, that smile, but there’s an edge to that question, like a blade wrapped in silk. Or hidden under a dress.
I make a sound in the back of my throat that could be interpreted in many different ways. She doesn’t reply. Our feet crunch on the path. Somewhere nearby, a bird lets out her long, lonely song.
“I hope he’s at least an improvement over your last husband,” Acelina finally says. It’s not quite a question.
I can’t stop the sound that comes out of my throat. It’s part laugh, part choking objection. Acelina stops walking and turns to look at me. I wave my hand, trying to show her I’m fine.
“No,” I manage to stammer. “No, he is not. An improvement, that is.”
Her face wrinkles. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I shake my head. Acelina glances over her shoulder, then leans closer to me.
“They say Zarek killed Syvan,” she whispers quickly, like she needs to get the words out before she can change her mind. Or before someone overhears them.
The garden suddenly feels cold. Acelina glances over her shoulder again, down the path to where Petrys stands with his feet in the dirt and his back straight. The man Zarek hired to teach me how to fight, so I could protect myself.
And suddenly I’m thinking about another morning in this garden, walking with Zarek. When he led me to the stables and told Alia to grant me all the privileges he was given.
He didn’t even know me. Gods, we met the night before, and I made an absolute ass of myself.
But still, somehow, he knew I loved horses. He tried to protect me. He tried to make this horrible place feel more like home.
And I cannot let him suffer for something I did.
“He didn’t,” I finally say. My voice is hardly more than a whisper. Acelina turns back to me with a frown.
“I killed Syvan,” I confess.