Chapter 40 - Truth of the Diamond
I turned toward the Duke’s bed, ready to unlock the truth beneath Ilsa’s Nordingaard crystal, when the sight of a maid holding a silver tray made me freeze.
My heart pounded in my ears as our eyes met. Her eyes widened as she gripped the tea tray in her hands.
“Pardon me, Miss Hyton,” she said with a dip of her head. “This is for His Excellency’s afternoon tea.”
I held my breath. She was looking at me, not the bed—she did not see the glowing crystal beneath the blankets.
I gave her a tight smile and took the tray from her, trying not to appear too eager for her to leave. Derrick would be back to his chambers for tea soon. I did not have much time to search through Ilsa’s memories.
The silver tray rattled as I set it on a low table. Steam softly curled out of the teapot’s spout and tickled my nose.
Smelled perfectly brewed…and I had not refreshed myself in a while.
I poured myself half a cup and tasted it. The sweet taste coated my tongue and I hummed in delight as it ran down my throat. Rosaline definitely did not brew it.
I set the cup on its saucer with a clatter and jumped back into the large bed. I fished Ilsa’s crystal from under the blankets and poured my magic into it.
Show me how I can fix what is broken.
The soft beating of white wings carried me into a memory of the Duchess’s bedroom and placed me on a couch next to Ilsa. The pleasant scent of freshly-cut flowers filled the room. Ilsa’s Nordingaard crystal dangled from her neck as she traced the leather cover of the book in her lap.
A young maid with curly chestnut hair opened the bedroom door. Her eyes were wide as tea saucers. Ilsa’s eyebrows raised at the rhythm of her footsteps.
“Oh, Merri, Baron Thornebow sent me another book!” Ilsa said with a smile. “The cover has the most delicious design worked into the leather, but could you read it to me?”
Merri took the book and flipped open the cover and her face went white. I stood and looked over Merri’s shoulder. On the front page read: “ Run away with me, Ilsa. I understand you like he never did. ”
Merri snapped the book shut with a tense breath.
“What did the front cover say?” Ilsa kneaded her skirt. “I heard he was going to write me a sweet note!”
“It was a joke about a cow, Your Excellency,” Merri lied. She hid the book behind her back and took Ilsa by the hand. “Come with me, your son is in trouble.”
I followed Ilsa and Merri down the palace halls until we reached the wooden door of the Duke’s study.
Ilsa’s hands hurriedly felt around the door until she found the handle. She pushed the door to reveal Alastar the Wise at his desk with young Ragnar and Anders standing in front of him. Alastar the Wise had grey streaks in his curls and Anders was the handsome man I recognized from his coronation portrait.
“My darling Ilsa,” Alastar the Wise said in a tense voice, “leave us. This matter is none of your concern.”
“If it involves my son, it concerns me.” Ilsa reached out and Ragnar took her hand. He was about the same age as he was in Astrid’s memory, with his long white hair flowing down his back.
I settled near the wall and got a clear view of Anders rolling his eyes at Ilsa lovingly clutching Ragnar’s hand.
Ragnar smiled. “Mama, I have wonderful news—I have a son. The House of Hyton finally has an heir!”
Ilsa’s white eyebrows lifted only for a moment before her face softened. She splayed her hand over Ragnar’s heart.
Anders glared at his younger brother. “Freya is actually in labor this time. The twins will be here soon and—”
“And you have a weakness within you that makes you only have girls,” Ragnar said smoothly.
Anders set his jaw and cut a glance to his father, who did not so much as blink.
Ragnar ignored his brother and held his mother’s hand over his heart. “Astrid Bloodstone had my son, Mama. I fell in love with the North, just like you wanted!”
Alastar the Wise leaned on his fists. “The House of Hyton will have an heir.”
Ragnar’s eyes flashed with triumph.
“We will have a strong lineage.”
Ragnar squeezed his mother’s hands.
“But it will not be because of you.”
Ragnar’s face fell. “But I am the only one with a male—”
“And I have six granddaughters perfectly capable of ruling,” Alastar the Wise interjected, his voice hard.
Anders’s eyes widened.
Alastar the Wise was going to make his granddaughters eligible for the throne? Did that mean he had listened to Freya all those years ago? Was he about to sign the reformation making Lycaster women citizens like Freya had dreamed of?
I walked over to Alastar the Wise and examined his hard face. Maybe he had not killed the Alastar in his mind yet, but he was close.
There was something in his eyes…something clear and pure…
Anders stepped forward. “Father, my daughters were not raised to—”
“Then we can change that,” Alastar the Wise cut in. “Just as Freya said, what has chasing after the perfect male heir gotten the Hytons? Bloodshed and betrayal!”
Anders shook his head. “Freya—”
“Is right.” Alastar the Wise glared at his son. “If you had not spent so much time filling her with Cupid’s Blood and instead listened to her, you might know that too.”
The fierce protection…the reverence in his voice…the respect…
…Alastar the Wise loved Freya. It was not romantic, but it was pure and powerful.
Was it powerful enough to kill the centuries-old monster in his head?
Anders’s eyes darkened. “ You pressed me for an heir, Father. All you ever told me growing up was the importance of our line—”
“Then let that be my greatest regret of my reign.” Alastar the Wise turned his ire to Ragnar. “Second only to this—I let your mother raise you. You ruined a young girl’s life, but now you will finally reap the consequences of your actions. You will not marry anyone. ”
Ilsa gasped. “Derrick, no! You cannot do that!”
Alastar the Wise cut a glance to his eldest son. Anders bit down his thinly-veiled frustration and ushered a wide-eyed Ragnar out of the study.
I crossed to the closed door, the very edge of the memory, where Ilsa heard her eldest son whisper, “I will not put my daughters through this hell. I stand with you, brother. If I have no son, yours will have the throne.”
Anders wanted Riyan to inherit the crown?
Alastar the Wise rose from his desk and took both of Ilsa’s hands. She clutched his fingers and her brows knitted in a plea. “Derrick, we agreed that he was my son. Let him have his love! You know Fraleigh would still—”
“I do not trust his intentions,” Alastar the Wise replied gently yet firmly. “What was he doing going after a girl who was not in his selection year?”
He had a point. Why had Ragnar pursued Astrid knowing they would never marry?
“Maybe because he wanted a real choice in who he married!” Ilsa cried. “Do you really think people fall in love with whomever they pick out of that pen of women?”
Alastar the Wise swallowed, his eyes filling with the heartbreak that Ilsa would never see. “He will answer for his irresponsibility. That is my final word on the matter.”
Ilsa threw down her husband’s hands and walked with a scowl out of the study. I followed her into the darkness right before the door slammed shut.
I had reached the edge of the memory, so I pulled myself out of that fractal of the crystal. I took a breath as the smell of the Duke’s bedchamber filled my nose.
Suddenly my chest was tight and the air felt like syrup. The memories of decades of tears shed in that bedroom had flooded into my body all at once.
Different magical signals screamed in the back of my mind. My white flame flared at the many cries for help, filling my arms and legs with righteous heat.
Then one cry dominated over the others—it was rough, demanding, and desperate. The fabric between worlds stretched as the cry from somewhere beyond got louder and harsher.
My eyes snapped to that empty spot on the floor and I could not even blink. I gave in, letting the tears in the air push on my back, beckoning me to leave the bed. I put one plodding foot in front of the other as my body tingled with energy.
I fell to my knees on the floor and my hands splayed over the rug. The tears below me were bitter and cold. Regret. Lies. Disdain.
Then I closed my eyes and my magic let the memory take me away.
A sharp gasp clawed through the darkness. Thin strips of moonlight entered the memory, illuminating Ilsa folding out of her bed as she clutched her throat.
My stomach turned. This was it. This was the night she died.
Her Nordingaard crystal swung from her neck as Ilsa choked on nothing. She stumbled through her room and out the door. I had no choice but to follow her as she raced down the hall to the door with the carved bulls. She found the handle immediately and shoved open the door.
“Derrick!” she cried through her hoarse voice. “Derrick, help!”
I followed Ilsa as she ran into the bedroom. The curtains around the Duke’s bed flew back and Ragnar emerged from the mattress. His chest heaved as he unwound two crimson ribbons from his wrists.
Alastar the Wise’s body was lying on top of the mattress. His eyes were bulging, his face was purple, and a thin red line marked his neck.
Ragnar had killed his father—strangled him with the hair ribbons Astrid left outside Bloodstone Fortress.
Ragnar ran for his mother. “Mama!”
Ilsa’s eyes widened. She could not see her husband’s body in the bed, but her fading blood bond revealed exactly what her Little Diamond had done.
He put his hands on her shoulders as his mother gasped. The red ribbons dangled from his wrists. “I did it for love. You told me love was the most powerful magic there is, and now my love is going to save you.”
I scowled. Just as my mother knew the taste of poison, I knew the taste of a lie.
Love had nothing to do with Ragnar’s motivations.
“Rag—” Ilsa choked.
Ragnar held Ilsa’s crystal in his hand and he sang. “No girl, can’t be undone. I won’t stop ‘till your life is won.”
The crystal glowed weakly. He was praying to the Man of the Mountain to fight Death. He was trying to sever his mother’s blood bond with sorcery.
Ragnar’s face lit up. “Don’t you sleep until we’ve run to the West—”
But only a plea of true, pure love can persuade the Man of the Mountain to listen. And because Ragnar was lying…
The light of the crystal went out. Ilsa’s gasping stopped and she fell out of her son’s grip to the floor—the exact spot where I was kneeling in the living world.
“No!” Ragnar cried, falling down with his mother as her face turned as violet as her eyes. “Please, Mama, no! Astrid told me this would work! I thought I could spare you…I thought I was powerful enough…”
But Ilsa did not answer. Ragnar cried bitter tears alone.
The Diamond of the North would shine no more, so there were no more memories left for me to see.
I pushed out of the tragic past and opened my eyes. I mentally traced the twisted fibers of the carpet below my hands and the tears from Ilsa’s last breath and Ragnar’s failure sang back at me.
The General’s lies stained the memory. If he had not murdered his father for his love of Astrid, why had he done it?
The Nordingaard crystal still glowed white as it dangled from my neck. The magic forced a prickling sensation up my shoulders as I tried to hold myself upright.
Another memory was desperate to show itself, but I thought I was done?
I glanced up at the teapot. The steam had stopped curling out of the spout. Derrick would be back soon. I had no time to—
The sound of splintering glass pricked my ears. I gritted my teeth as the grating noise echoed in my mind. The same force from before pushed me to keep searching the memories.
My mind started to fog. My eyelids were heavy. My body might have been exhausted from the intensity of the memories, but the spirit behind the memory would not yield.
The insistence was all too familiar, like a cup forced into my hands.
I glared at the glowing crystal as it dangled. My white flame burned with disdain but twisted through my limbs as I connected with the force that beckoned for my magic.
Show me, Anders.
With a crash through my mind, the Duke’s study materialized in my vision. Starlight streamed through the windows. Young Anders was at the oak desk, the crown of Lycaster resting on his head. His eyes were bloodshot. An empty bottle of spirits was next to one hand as he pushed Ilsa’s crystal around the surface of the desk with the other.
His hands were dry and cracked like he had washed them a dozen times.
The door clicked open and Ragnar walked in. Anders did not even look up.
“We did it.” Ragnar said with a rueful smile. “The Dukedom believes that Baron Thornebow killed Father. Your plan was masterful.”
Anders still scowled as he stared down at the fractals of the crystal.
Ragnar cleared his throat. “He committed high treason anyway, with what he wrote in that book. What a moron. He knew Mama could not even read it herself.”
Anders rose from the desk. “Do you think this is fucking amusing? In the past twelve hours, I was crowned, we executed a Baron, and Nikkolas Bloodstone accosted me about what you did to his daughter!”
Ragnar smiled. “He will calm down once I marry Astrid and his new grandson is named heir.”
Anders steeled himself. “I already took care of Nikkolas. You are to marry no one else but Astrid Bloodstone, I gave Fraleigh the order.”
Ragnar’s smile fell only slightly, as if he had suddenly grown suspicious. “Then let us marry right away. Lycaster needs an heir and the sooner we legitimize our union—”
Ragnar stopped, his eyebrows knitting in confusion as his brother’s low laughter filled the study.
“You really thought this would work?” Anders said. “You thought you could take Mother’s bedtime legends as fact, trap a hapless girl into bearing you an heir, and come for my throne?”
Anders was just as paranoid as Derrick had been.
I waited for Ragnar to offer another explanation, but his silence made me weary.
Finally, he put on a smooth smile and spoke up. “You cannot just assume the worst of me, brother.”
“Oh, I will not assume. In fact, I will give you everything you want.” Anders waved his hand toward the door. “Marry her. Prove your intentions were pure.”
I knew from Ilsa’s memory that Ragnar’s intentions were not pure, but I still hoped that he would deny his brother’s accusation, or offer another explanation, or change his mind.
I held onto hope for the girl in the wheeled chair who painted him on her walls and was certain that he would come back for her.
But for all my hoping, Ragnar’s face hardened. “What are you not telling me?”
Anders laughed again. “Your bastard son is a giant.” He laughed louder as he stepped around his desk. “Try getting Lycaster to rally around you with an abomination for an heir and a madwoman as Duchess!”
Ragnar’s smooth veneer dissolved and he was white with shock. He did not even move as the flash of a blade appeared in his brother’s hand.
“Just as I thought,” Anders said. “I do not need you to keep the House of Hyton strong.”
Quick as lightning, Anders grabbed Ragnar’s long hair and sliced it off with one swing of the knife. Ragnar’s eyes fell to his beautiful white hair as it tumbled to the floor.
Anders pointed the knife to his brother’s chin. “You wanted to be a killer, now you get to be one—for me. You go to the military academy, your mistake stays in that fortress, and the truth of what you did dies with us.”
Ragnar’s face turned cold. “You said you stood with me.”
Anders smiled. “That was before my son was born mere hours ago.” He pressed the very tip of the blade into his brother’s chin. “That was before you k-killed o-our…”
Anders clamped his mouth shut. His grip on the knife weakened. Now his face was white.
Ragnar’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, Andie. Is the stutter back? What would the Barons think?”
Even I could feel the power shift in the room. Somehow, Ragnar’s towering height became even more obvious.
Before Anders could even blink, Ragnar grabbed his brother’s wrist and twisted the knife free. He snatched the hilt and weighed it, looking down at the blade in consideration as it cut through the gentle starlight from the window. Anders was frozen in horror.
His cold eyes slowly looked up from the blade to his older brother. “Actually, Andie, I think you need me after all.”
What was before me was not mere sibling rivalry, but an Alastar trial that no one else in the Dukedom got to witness. One Hyton brother was made of glass, the other from cold steel. One wore the crown, but the other would have to keep him from shattering.
Especially when the eyes of the Dukedom would never look away.
Suddenly an invisible force pushed on my chest, shoving me toward the door. The spirit behind the memory was insistent that I leave, ashamed of his failure.
Anders had much more than that to be ashamed of.
With a final glare at the two brothers, I shot out of the memory with a crash.
As soon as my mind was back in my body, I sucked in a gasp and collapsed to the floor. I rolled onto my back and my eyes fixed on the ceiling. Ilsa’s Nordingaard crystal weighed heavily on the center of my heaving chest, its white light still shining at the edge of my vision.
The truth of Ilsa was not what would damn the Hytons, it was the truth of her son.
Ragnar was the murderer, the monster, the…
I needed to think, but my mind was slow. My arms felt like they were filled with bricks. My eyelids drooped, threatening to crash closed at any minute.
This was not the magical exhaustion I had experienced before…this was…
I forced my head to roll back until I caught sight of the teapot.
The tea.
I pushed against the thick blanket of fatigue that was smothering me. My magic weakly fought the potion within me, but even my white flame was quieting.
A door clicked open. I pushed my head up just in time to see the toes of Derrick’s boots.
Then everything went dark.