63. Zarek
Zarek
WHAT IS HAPPENING IN VSENROG?
“What in the hells is going on?” Gerard sputters.
I shake my head. I’m pretty damn sure I know exactly what that elf bastard did to break the windows and crack the walls of the royal ballroom, but I don’t know how to even begin to describe it. Not that Gerard would believe a word I said anyway.
I pull my cloak over my head and slow to a walk. The gardens are starting to fill with people, noblemen and women in ball gowns covered with dust and broken glass.
“Put your damn blade away,” I growl to Gerard as we turn toward the open doors of the ballroom.
He scowls, and for a moment I think he’s actually going to fight me on this, the little shit.
But then he slides his dagger back into its sheath.
A man stumbles toward us with wide eyes and a dazed expression on his face.
Lord Abbingten. If I remember correctly, he has a particularly comfortable estate by the ocean. And he hates coming to the palace.
“Pardon me,” Lord Abbingten says to Gerard. His eyes don’t quite rest on Gerard’s face. “I can’t seem to find my cloak.”
“Uh, yeah.” Gerard steps back, his hand on his dagger. “I mean, good luck. Sir.”
Abbingten turns away with a vague, soft smile. I put my hand on Gerard’s arm and pull him off the path before we blunder into any other noblemen who might be coherent enough to recognize me.
“What the fuck,” Gerard hisses at me, “is happening in Vsenrog?”
I growl at him to shut up, and we thread our way through the hedges and neat gravel paths of the garden that borders the ballroom.
A few people are wandering through the gardens, sobbing.
Someone is laughing hysterically. The air is thick with dust, just like it was in Ethiria, but I’m not close enough to feel Varitan’s strange energy. Thank the gods.
And then the music starts up again. I freeze, then turn to Gerard to see if I’ve actually lost my godsdamned mind.
“Music?” I whisper, my voice rough.
“I hear it too,” he replies.
I stare through the broken windows of the ballroom. One of the chandeliers sways drunkenly, dragging a loose chain behind it. A group of older gentlemen scurry past us, glancing over their shoulders at the ballroom like they’re afraid they’re being followed.
The music stops, and there’s a rush of frantic applause. It fades, replaced by the booming echo of a man’s voice. I can’t make out the words, but I’d know that resonant baritone anywhere.
King Malrik. Fuck.
The music starts up again. Gerard stares at me like he’s waiting for me to tell him what to do, and some part of me recognizes that he must be deeply disturbed by all this if he’s looking to me for directions.
Well, shit. I tilt my head toward the open doors of the ballroom, pull my hood down even further, and walk toward the sound of Malrik’s horrible laughter.
We’re nearly to the door by the time the music stops. I watch as a group of women dart through the open door, holding hands, and then vanish into the garden’s shadows. None of them even look at Gerard and me.
Light from the ballroom spills across the paving stones of the patio. It almost reaches my boots. I stare at the light and try to swallow the bitterness rising in the back of my throat.
You go in there, Petrys told me when he sent me to the stables, and you’re a dead man.
I close my eyes. My brother’s not wrong. It’s dangerous enough being this close to the crowd in that ballroom. Lord Abbingten probably knows I’m supposed to be executed tomorrow, or tortured, or whatever the fuck Malrik is planning. If he’d turned and looked at me, recognized me, raised an alarm—
Malrik’s voice cuts through the air, and my thoughts shatter.
“Dear citizens of Vsenrog,” Malrik calls.
Gerard stares at the ballroom’s open door like he’s tracking the movements of a venomous snake. Gerard, who must have ridden hell-for-leather from Marion to reach the palace and save Lilias. Because Elrick asked him to, yes, but also because he loves her. Because so many people love that woman.
I turn back toward the door as Malrik’s voice breaks through the soft darkness of the garden.
“Our next mission of reunification approaches!” the king of Vsenrog announces.
And I step toward the light.
My wife is in that room. And, hells, if I can buy her escape with my life, that’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.
A man in a dark blue cloak presses past me without even glancing at us, and then I’m standing in the doorway with Gerard.
Malrik says something about Lisal, and I find I’m not at all surprised.
Of course he wouldn’t be content with Marion and Ethiria.
Malrik won’t be content until the entire godsdamned world bows to Vsenrog’s crown.
“We have the power to help Lisal,” Malrik declares.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gerard growls beside me. “Lisal?”
I flinch as the king’s voice booms through the darkness. The air inside the ballroom is hazy with dust and thick with the unmistakable tang of fear, like a thread of iron beneath the scent of wine and perfume. I run my eyes over the crowd, searching for the bright glow of Lilias’s dress.
“To protect our dear neighbors,” Malrik continues.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath. Gods, she has to be here.
“To bring them into our arms,” Malrik says.
There! A flash of light against the wall draws my gaze. And there she is, with Petrys at her side. They’re covered in dust and plaster, but they’re upright. And they’re moving toward the door.
“Into the warm embrace of Vsenrog,” Malrik declares.
Applause thunders in reply. Petrys looks up, meets my gaze from across the ballroom, and nods, the quick, casual, forgettable greeting we exchange when we’re in public.
Petrys tugs Lilias toward me as the crowd cheers.
Someone is screaming, a high, loud cheer so frantic it almost sounds like panic.
I press my back against the doorframe and watch Petrys and Lilias cross the ballroom, slowly and carefully, moving like they have all the time in the world.
Moving like no one should pay any attention to them.
“Damn,” Gerard whispers. “That’s one hell of a dress.”
“Shut up,” I growl.
“I can see why she didn’t want to sneak out in that.”
My hands clench into fists. Lilias is so close now I can see the strands of hair that have fallen out of her elaborate braids. But her cheek looks red and angry, and her lips are swollen.
Holy hells. Did Malrik’s spy actually hit my wife?
Rage burns through my body, blinding and explosive. I turn to the crowd, ready to drive my fists through that man’s face. Gerard grabs my arm and pulls me back.
And I realize the entire crowd has turned to stare at me.
“Stop her,” Varitan calls from across the ballroom. “Stop them!”
He’s staring at me with a slow, lazy smile, like this is exactly what he expected. Petrys pulls Lilias through the door behind me and into the night. Varitan raises his hands. I step into the doorway, putting my body between Varitan and the people I love.
My skin crawls with the sickening flush of magic. The silver chain in my pocket burns and writhes like a living creature as I stumble backwards through the door, staring at the shocked faces of all the nobles in Vsenrog.
All of these people were at my wedding, just months ago. Sitting at their elegant tables, drinking the king’s wine, laughing at the king’s jokes. Watching Malrik destroy Lilias’s life to justify the war he was about to wage.
Varitan’s magic burns through the air, hissing as it spins toward me. Toward every person in this world that I love.
I don’t think. I can’t. There isn’t time.
I lift my hands, step into the garden, and push back against Varitan’s attack.