The Beauty of Darkness (11 page)

“Then tell me what you know about the Komizar's plans. Who else in the Morrighese cabinet was he conspiring with besides the Chancellor and Royal Scholar?”

He shook his head. “The only one I know of is the Chancellor. The Komizar kept those details to himself—to share his key contacts would give away too much power. He only told me about the Chancellor because I had to deliver a letter to his manor once. I was thirteen and the only Vendan who could speak Morrighese without an accent. I looked like any other messenger boy to the maid who answered the door.”

“What did the letter say?”

“It was sealed. I didn't read it, but I think it was a request for more scholars. A few months later, several arrived at the Sanctum.”

More and more, I had been pondering just how many had conspired with the Komizar besides the Chancellor and the Scholar. I'd been thinking about my brother's death and was sure it wasn't a chance encounter. What was a whole Vendan battalion doing so far from the border in the first place? They weren't marching on an outpost or kingdom, and as soon as my brother's company was dead, they turned around and went home. They were lying in wait, perhaps uncertain when the encounter would occur, but somehow they knew my brother's company was coming. Had word been sent ahead by someone in Morrighan? The slaughter was planned. Even when I met with the
chievdar
in the valley, he never expressed surprise at running into the platoon of men. Could the treachery in Morrighan have reached even into the ranks of the military?

A sudden hard gallop clipped the air. A soldier circled his horse around to my side. “Madam?” The word was stiff on his tongue as if he wasn't quite sure what to call me. He strained to keep the innuendo out of his tone. It was obvious that Rafe hadn't told the captain everything yet.

“Yes?”

“The king wishes for you to come ride at his side. We're almost there.”

The king.
This new reality rattled beneath my ribs. The coming days were going to be difficult for Rafe. Besides dealing with his grief, he'd be under as much scrutiny as I would be. This could change everything. Our plans.
My
plans. There was no way around it.

I glanced back at Kaden. “We'll talk more later.”

He nodded, and I followed the soldier to the front of the caravan.

*   *   *

I looked at Rafe but couldn't imagine him sitting on a throne. I could only see him on the back of a horse, a soldier, his hair sun-kissed and windblown, fire in his eyes, intimidation in his gaze, and a sword in his hand. That was the Rafe I knew. But he was more than that now. He was the ruler of a powerful kingdom, and no longer the heir apparent. His lids were heavy, as if all his lost days of sleep were finally overtaking him. No man, not even one as strong as Rafe, could go forever on handfuls of rest.

The captain rode on the other side of him, conferring with a soldier. I didn't know how Rafe had explained his long absence. I was certain most details of Terravin had been left out. What did a captain care about a tavern maid serving a farmer?

Rafe turned, knowing I was looking at him, and smiled. “Hot baths for both of us first thing.”

Was it wrong for me to wish it could be a single hot bath for us both? A few blessed hours where we could forget that the rest of the world existed? After everything we'd been through, weren't we entitled to that much? I was tired of waiting for tomorrows, hopes, and maybes.

“There she is!” I heard Orrin call from somewhere ahead of us.

I looked and saw a structure rising on a gentle knoll in the distance. Two soldiers galloped ahead of our party to announce us. This was an outpost?

“That's Marabella?” I said to Rafe.

“Not what you were expecting?”

Not at all. I expected a sea of tents. Perhaps some wooden barricades. Maybe a fortification of sod. This was the Cam Lanteux, after all, and no permanent structures were allowed here. It wasn't just an understanding—it was part of a very old treaty.

Instead what I saw was a sprawling stone structure with gleaming white walls, lithe and graceful, spreading out like beautiful swan wings from a tall gate tower. As we got closer, I saw wagons and tents huddled in groups outside those walls. A city in its own right.

“What is all that?” I asked.

Rafe explained that the outside perimeter of the outpost served as a safe haven and stopping point for traders on their way to other kingdoms. Vagabonds also took refuge close to its walls, especially in winter, when the northern climes were too harsh. Here they could set out plots and grow winter vegetables. And there were those who came to ply their trade with the soldiers too, offering food, trinkets, and diversions of various kinds. It was an ever-changing city as merchants came and went.

The sun was still high, and the rising expanse of stone wall shone bright against the dark earth, reminding me of something magical from a child's story. The gate opened and people flooded through it—not all of them soldiers. More crowded the tower walls above, eager to get a look. The news had arrived, and likely none of them could quite believe it. The lost prince was found. Curious merchants from the nearby wagons walked closer to the gates to see what the fuss was all about. A line of soldiers kept them back so the road was clear for us to enter.

It seemed that if there was one thing I was destined for, it was to make underwhelming and filthy first impressions, whether it was the first time I stepped into Berdi's tavern, my entrance into Sanctum Hall—or today, meeting Rafe's countrymen for the first time.

I felt the stickiness of my neck anew, the grit behind my earlobes, the grime smearing my face, and wished I at least had a basin to wash up in. I smoothed back my hair, but my fingers only became tangled in knots.

“Lia,” Rafe said, reaching out and returning my hand to my side, “we're home. We're safe. That's all that matters.”

He licked his thumb and rubbed it across my chin, as if that made a difference, then smiled. “There. Perfect. Just the way you are.”

“You smudged my dirt,” I said, feigning irritation.

His eyes sparked with reassurance. I nodded. Yes. We were safe—and together. That was all that mattered.

Other than the rumble of hooves, it was silent as we approached. It was as if every breath was held, all unbelieving, certain that the soldier had made an error in his message, but then murmurs of recognition rose, and someone high on the tower wall yelled, “Bastards! It
is
you!”

Rafe smiled and Sven waved. I was startled at first, then realized that it was a greeting and not a jeer—soldier to soldier, not soldier to king. Jeb, Orrin, and Tavish returned calls from other comrades. I was surprised to see that there were women among the crowd. Finely dressed women. Their mouths hung half-open and their gazes rested on me—not their new king. Once we were through the gates, soldiers waiting to lead our horses away took our reins, and Rafe helped me down. My injured leg was stiff and with my first step, I stumbled. Rafe caught me, keeping his arm around my waist. His attentions didn't go unnoticed, and there was a lull in the greetings. Certainly the soldiers who rode ahead with a hurried message of the prince's return hadn't included details of a girl in the convoy.

A tall, trim man made his way through the crowd, and everyone quickly moved aside for him. His stride was deliberate, and his bare scalp gleamed in the sun. One of his shoulders held the distinction of a wide gold braid. He stopped in front of Rafe and shook his head, his chin dimpling like an orange, and then just as the captain had when we were out on the plain, he dropped to one knee and said loudly so everyone would hear, “Your Majesty King Jaxon Tyrus Rafferty of Dalbreck. Greet your sovereign.”

There was a collective hush. A few immediately dropped to their knee as well, more officers echoing
King Jaxon
, but the majority of soldiers hesitated, shocked by the news. It had been a secret—the old king was dead. Slowly the realization took root, and the crowd rippled to their knees.

Rafe acknowledged them with a simple nod, but it was obvious to me that, beyond anything, he wished he could forgo these formalities. While he honored tradition and protocol more than I did, right now he was only a very tired young man in need of rest, soap, and a decent meal.

The officer stood and studied Rafe for a moment, then reached out and gave him a vigorous embrace, not caring that Rafe's filthy clothes were soiling his fresh tunic and crisp shirt.

“I'm sorry, boy,” he said softly. “I loved your parents.” He let go and held him at arm's length. “But blessed devils, soldier, your timing stinks. Where the hell have you been?”

Rafe briefly closed his eyes, his weariness returned. He was king and didn't have to explain anything, but he was a soldier first, loyal to his fellow soldiers. “The captain can answer some of your questions. First we need—”

“Of course,” the man said, realizing his error, and turned to a soldier at his side. “Our king and his officers need baths and fresh clothes. And quarters prepared! And—” His eyes fell on me, perhaps noting for the first time that I was a female. “And…” He fumbled uncertainly.

“Colonel Bodeen,” Rafe interjected, “this was the cause of my absence.” He looked at the crowd, addressing not just the colonel, but them as well. “A worthy absence,” he added with a hint of sternness. He lifted his hand toward me. “May I present Princess Arabella, the First Daughter of the House of Morrighan.”

Every eye turned to me. I felt as naked as a peeled grape. There was stifled laughter from a few young soldiers, but then they realized Rafe was serious. Their smiles vanished. Captain Azia gawked at me, his face flushing with color, perhaps recalling every vulgar word he'd said about Morrighan.

Colonel Bodeen's mouth quirked awkwardly to the side. “And she is … your prisoner?”

Considering the circumstances, the current animosity between our kingdoms, and my wretched appearance, it wasn't an unlikely conclusion.

Orrin snorted.

Sven coughed.

“No, Colonel,” Rafe answered. “Princess Arabella is your future queen.”

 

CHAPTE
R
EIGHTEE
N

A low growl rolled from Griz. Rafe had usurped his claim. I knew, as far as Griz was concerned, that once he had raised my hand to the clans at the Sanctum, I was queen of one kingdom and one kingdom only.

I shot him a sharp glance, and he clutched his side, wincing as if that had been the source of his untimely noise. But Griz's growl was little compared to the pall of silence that followed. The scrutiny was smothering.

Right now it seemed that being Vendan within these outpost walls was preferable to being the impudent royal who had abandoned their precious prince at the altar.

I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, though it surely only exposed more rings of dirt around my neck. I suddenly ached with the trying, ached for a way of belonging that was always out of my reach, ached for Pauline, and Berdi, and Gwyneth to be by my side, to hold me, a tight circle of arms that were invincible. Ached for a hundred things lost and gone, things I could never get back, including Aster, who had believed in me unconditionally. It was an ache so deep I wanted to bleed into the ground and disappear.

But the trying never ended. I stiffened my spine and set my jaw in good royal form. I wedged my voice into something firm and even, and I heard my mother speaking, though it was my lips that moved. “I'm sure you all have a lot of questions, which I hope we can answer later once we've cleaned up a bit.”

A thin, whittled woman with severe cheekbones stepped forward, elbowing the colonel aside. Her raven hair was streaked with silver and pulled back in an unforgiving bun. She addressed Rafe. “Quarters will be prepared for Her Highness as well. In the meantime, she can retire to my chamber, and the other ladies and I will attend her needs.”

She eyed me sideways, her thin lips drawn in a tight, tawny line.

I didn't want to go. I'd rather have cleaned up at the soldiers' showers and borrowed another pair of trousers, but Rafe thanked her, and I was escorted away with the wave of a hand.

As I left, I heard Rafe order that the guards posted at the gate be doubled, and rotations at the watchtowers shortened so soldiers were always fresh. He didn't say why, but I knew it was because he feared more Rahtan could still be out there. After so many weeks of looking over our shoulders, I wondered if we could ever stop watching. Would peace ever be ours again?

Deliberate efforts were made to step back and avoid touching me. Because of my filth or position? I wasn't sure, but as I followed this thin, angled woman, the crowd parted, leaving me wide berth. The woman identified herself as Madam Rathbone. I looked back over my shoulder, but the crowd had already seamed back together and Rafe was gone from my view.

*   *   *

I was offered a stool in Madam Rathbone's sitting room while we waited for a bath to be drawn. Two other ladies who had introduced themselves as Vilah and Adeline had disappeared into their own quarters, and began returning with assorted clothes, trying to find something suitable for me to wear. It was quiet and awkward as they shuffled around me, laying garments over chairs and tables, eyeing them for size rather than holding them up to me. That would require more intimacy, and I was still filthy. Their stares were too cautious, and I was too tired to try to make small talk.

Madam Rathbone sat across from me on a wide tufted settee. She hadn't taken her eyes off me. “You have blood on you,” she finally said.

“By the gods, she has blood
all
over her!” Adeline snapped.

Vilah, who was probably only a few years older than me, asked, “What in the heavens did they do to her?”

I stared down at my arms and my blood-soaked chest, then reached up and felt the crackling roughness of dried blood on my face. So much Vendan blood. I closed my eyes. All I could think of was Aster. The blood all seemed to be hers.