The Beauty of Darkness (39 page)

“Lia, it's me. Pauline. Tell me,” I said softly.

“Leave it. Please.”

She tried to turn away, and I grabbed her arms. “I will not. Pretending you aren't hurting won't make the pain disappear.”

“I can't,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. Her eyes puddled, and she angrily swiped at her lashes. “I can't think about him,” she said more firmly. “There's too much at stake, including his life. I can't afford distractions.”

“And that's all he was? A distraction?”

“Surely you of all people know these things don't always work out.”

“Lia,” I said firmly, and I waited.

She closed her eyes. “I needed him. But so did his kingdom. That is a reality that neither of us can change.”

“But?”

“I thought he'd come,” she whispered. “Against all reason. I knew he couldn't. He shouldn't even, but I still found myself looking over my shoulder, thinking he would change his mind. We loved each other. We made vows. We swore that kingdoms and conspiracies wouldn't come between us—but they did.”

“Tell me everything from the beginning. Tell me the way I told you about Mikael.”

We talked for hours. She told me things she hadn't shared before, the moment she first realized who he really was, the tense minutes before they crossed into Venda, the note he had carried in his vest all those months, the way she'd had to pretend to loathe him when all she wanted was to hold him, his promise for a new beginning, the way his voice kept her pinned to this world when she felt herself slipping into another—and then their bitter argument on parting.

“When I left him behind, I marked every day between us by writing his last words to me in the soil—
it's for the best
—until I finally believed them to be true. Then I found my wedding dress where he had hidden it in the loft at the inn, and it tore everything loose inside of me all over again. How many times do I have to let go, Pauline?”

I looked at her, unsure how to answer. Even after everything Mikael had done, every day I had to let go again. He was a habit in my thoughts, not any more welcome than a rash, but I'd find myself thinking of him before I even realized what I was doing. Banishing him from my thoughts was like learning to breathe in a new way. It was a conscious effort.

“I don't know, Lia,” I had answered her. “But however long it takes, I will be here for you.”

I sat back and looked at the crate. The wood was smooth and sturdy. I stood and hung it from the porch rafter to dry.
Yes, Kaden is right. Once a soft blanket is added, it will be quite passable.

 

 

A scream splits the air.

The pachegos have captured something,

The children cry,

The darkness too deep,

Their stomachs too empty,

The howls of the pachego too close.

Shhh,
I whisper.

          
Tell them a story,
Jafir pleads.

          
Tell them a story of Before.

But Before was never mine to know.

I search my memory for Ama's words.

The hope. The journey's end.

And I desperately add my own words to them.

Gather close children,

And I will tell you a story of Before.

Before the world was brown and barren,

When it was still a spinning blue jewel,

And sparkling towers touched the stars.

The scavengers around me scoff.

But not Jafir.

He is as starved for a story as the children.

—The Lost Words of Morrighan

 

CHAPTE
R
FIFTY-SIX

RAFE

“She's holed up in a little cottage not far from the citadelle with three women and Kaden. A vagabond girl too,” Tavish said.

“You disobeyed orders.”

Jeb grinned. “You knew we would.”

“And you're glad we did,” Orrin added.

“What are those for?” Jeb asked, nodding toward the handler and three caged Valsprey.

“In case things don't go well for us. A parting gift from General Draeger. He insisted on them. He doesn't want us to fall off the edge of the continent again without any word.”

Tavish surveyed the details of our company with a suspicious eye and turned to Captain Azia, perhaps figuring he'd get more information out of him. “How'd you get so many horses with Morrighese tack?”

Sven cleared his throat, preempting an answer from Azia. I knew the question created as sour a taste on his tongue as it did mine. “It's a long story,” he answered.

“I'll explain later,” I told Tavish. “Ride back and tell the rest it's time to split off to the eastern and northern roads into the city. And to stay in groups of no more than three or four. We can't all descend into the city at once.”

We were farmers, merchants, tradesmen, not a battalion of a hundred armed soldiers. At least that was what we wanted them to think.

 

CHAPTE
R
FIFTY-SEVE
N

Heave.

Heave.

I threw off my blanket and sat up, my skin hot and cold all at once. The synchronized chants, the squeal of gears, the sickening metallic clang still rang in my ears. I looked around, reassuring myself that I was still in the cottage. It was dark and silent except for Berdi's gentle snores.
Only a dream
, I told myself and lay down, struggling to get back to sleep. I finally dozed in the pre-dawn hours, then slept late, but when I finally woke, I knew—the sounds and chants were real. The bridge was fixed. They were coming.

I looked around. The cottage was empty except for Gwyneth dozing in the rocker with the baby in her arms. I noticed that the melody of drips falling into buckets and bowls had stopped at last. Finally I could slip back into town. The streets would be busy again and I could pass unnoticed—and Bryn and Regan could be back. I quietly dressed, putting on my protective riding leathers and strapping on every weapon I had. If all went well, I might be leading my brothers and their comrades into Aldrid Hall by this afternoon. First I'd scour the citadelle one last time for evidence, but with the bridge fixed, confronting the cabinet couldn't wait any longer. I threw on my cloak and tiptoed quietly outside to find the others. I found Pauline at the end of the porch, lifting a crate and hanging it from a nail on a porch timber.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“I had a baby, Lia, not an accident. I'm actually feeling quite well. First time I haven't had a foot pressing on my bladder in weeks. Besides, cleaning a crate is easy enough work. Kaden got it for me from the mill. He just went back over there to let out the animals. The oats are gone. They need to graze.”

I hoped that was all he was doing. I knew he still wanted to confront his father.

I looked around, walking to the other end of the porch. “Where about Berdi and Natiya? Where are they?”

“They went to town while there was a break in the weather for more supplies.” She ran her hand along one side of the crate. “It will make a decent enough cradle for now—at least when there aren't arms to hold the baby.”

“It seems there will always be plenty of those available. Gwyneth has hardly let the baby out of her grip.”

Pauline sighed. “I noticed. I hope it's not painful for her. I'm sure it stirs memories in her of all the times she didn't get to hold her own baby.”

“She told you?” I asked, surprised that Gwyneth had shared what I'd thought was a closely guarded secret. I had only guessed because I'd seen the way she looked at Simone back in Terravin. A tenderness had sprung to her face that she had for no one else.

“About Simone?” Pauline shook her head. “No, she refuses to talk about it. She loves that little girl more than air itself, but at the same time, that love is what grips her with fear. I think that's why she keeps her distance.”

“Fear of what?”

“She desperately doesn't want the father to find out that Simone even exists. He's not a good man.”

“She told you who he was?”

“Not exactly. But Gwyneth and I have found this strange place of truth. There's a lot that we share without ever saying a word.” She untied her damp apron and hung it to dry beside the crate. “The Chancellor is Simone's father.”

My jaw dropped. I knew Gwyneth had some unsavory connections, but I never suspected one of them to be so high in the food chain. She had good reason to be afraid. I turned, cursing in Vendan to spare Pauline's ears and a penance.

“You can curse in Morrighese,” she said. “No penance required. I've probably said the same thing myself. Or worse.”

“You, Pauline?” I grinned. “Wielding knives
and
cursing? My, how you've changed.”

She laughed. “Funny, I was just thinking the very same about you.”

“For better or worse?”

“You are who you needed to become, Lia. We've both changed out of necessity.” A wrinkle darkened her brow. She noticed my riding leathers beneath my cloak for the first time. “Going somewhere?”

“Now that the rain has let up, people will be in the streets again. I can pass unnoticed, and Bryn and Regan are surely back by now. I want to—”

“They won't be back yet.”

“The City of Sacraments is only a few days' ride, and dedicating a memorial stone doesn't take but a day. Bryn and Regan won't—”

“Lia, I think you misunderstood. They're going to more cities after that, and then on to the Lesser Kingdoms. Regan to Gitos and Bryn to Cortenai. They're on a diplomatic mission ordered by the Field Marshal.”

“What are you talking about? Princes don't go on diplomatic missions. They're soldiers.”

“I questioned it too, especially with your father ill. It doesn't follow protocol. But Bryn thought it was important, and your father approved it.”

All the way to the Lesser Kingdoms? My heart plummeted. That could mean weeks of waiting that we couldn't afford. But I couldn't march into the conclave without them.

I shook my head.
A diplomatic mission.
I knew how Bryn and Regan hated such things. I could picture Regan rolling his eyes. The only part he would like was riding in the open—

My throat tightened.

They were asking a lot of questions, trying to get at the truth.

Just like Walther had.
I'll discreetly nose around.

Which made them a liability.

“What's wrong?” Pauline asked.

I grabbed the porch post to steady myself. A visit to a Lesser Kingdom would mean days of traveling across the Cam Lanteux. They'd be unsuspecting and easy targets. My heart went cold. They weren't on a mission. They were headed into another ambush. The princes were being eliminated—along with their questions.

My father would never have approved this. Not if he knew.

“It's an ambush, Pauline. Bryn and Regan are headed into an ambush—the same as Walther. They have to be stopped before it's too late. I have to go tell my father. Now.”

And I ran for the citadelle, praying it wasn't already too late.

 

CHAPTE
R
FIFTY-EIGHT

KADEN

“Hello, Andrés.”

I had promised Lia I wouldn't confront my father. I'd said nothing about my brother.

I'd heard Pauline wonder aloud to Gwyneth if it could have been Andrés who had followed her to the inn and alerted the Chancellor to where they were staying. Pauline hadn't revealed her identity to Andrés, but she recalled that he'd asked her a lot of questions. Once she learned what the Viceregent had done to me, it made her wonder if his questions hadn't been so innocent after all. I was sure they weren't innocent. He was his father's son.

I surprised him at the cemetery gate just after he walked in, quickly hooking one arm over his shoulder like we were old friends, my other hand holding a knife discreetly pressed to his side. “Let's go for a walk, shall we?” He got the message right away and fell into step with me.

I led him to Morrighan's crypt in the center of the cemetery, a place of cobwebs, spirits, dim light, and thick walls. Once we were down the stairs, I pushed him away. He stumbled forward and turned.

His head angled to the side as he finally got a good look at me. The dawning came fast. I guessed that I looked far too much like our father. Andrés took after his mother, ashy coloring, a round cherub face, better suited to begging on street corners—but he wasn't the bastard son.

“Kaden?” I saw his fingers twitch as if to reach for his weapon. “I thought you were dead.”

“I think that was the point. It didn't turn out that way.”

“I know you have reason to be angry for what he did to you, Kaden, but it's been years. Father has changed.”

“Sure he has.”

He glanced at my knife, still gripped at my side. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Answers. And maybe a bit of blood to pay for all that I've lost.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Marisol told me,” I answered.

He frowned. “You mean Pauline.”

“I figured you knew.”

“The belly threw me off, but her voice—I met her once. She didn't remember me. I guess I didn't make much of an impression, but she made one on me. Is she—”

“She won't be back,” I said firmly, so he'd know that whatever sights he'd set on Pauline were a thing of the past. “Tell me, Andrés, how is it that you were the only one who didn't ride with Prince Walther's platoon the one time they encountered a Vendan brigade?”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn't ride because I was ill.”

“I don't recall you as the sickly sort. This happen often, or was it just a coincidence that staying home saved your neck?”