The Beauty of Darkness (51 page)

I watched her walk away with Kaden to speak with the Vendans, and then I left in another direction. We weren't in Terravin and never would be again. Wishes were for farmers, not kings.

 

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TY-FIVE

PAULINE

The Timekeeper was beside himself. He stood off to the side of the dais, fidgeting, waiting for Lia to finish. He had been exonerated, but now he had to follow Lia instead of dictate to her. His pocket watch and ledger had become useless. Tradition and protocol had always been the wheels and grease of Morrighan. Now Lia was.

Her aunt Bernette was standing beside him, waiting too. I saw pride in her expression but also worry. No one was quite sure how to navigate this new Lia. She moved about Civica with force and purpose and no apology. No words were bit back. She didn't have the time. As far as I could see, no one doubted her—she had saved the king's life and exposed traitors who had been plotting right beneath their noses—but I knew they wondered what she had seen and endured these past months. She was a curiosity.

As was I.

I saw the glances and heard the whispers about Pauline, the quiet, meek attendant who had always followed the rules. What had become of that girl? I wondered myself. Some parts of her were still here, other parts gone forever, and maybe others, I was still trying to find. It wasn't just tradition and protocol that had been shattered, but also trust.

When the last address was finished, we made our way down the steps at the end of the dais.

“Hold up,” Gwyneth called to Natiya, then sidled up to me. “When are you coming back to the citadelle? I don't like you off by yourself at the abbey.”

“Natiya's there too.”

Gwyneth grunted. “And that's supposed to comfort me? She's a kettle ready to explode.”

We both watched Natiya, who still scanned the dispersing troops, her hand resting on the hilt of the sword that dangled from her hip. Ours weren't the only stares she drew. A young girl armed with three weapons—and happy to flaunt them—was not a common sight for anyone in Civica.

“She's finding her way,” I said.

Gwyneth's eyes narrowed. We both knew Natiya's history. “I suppose she is,” she sighed, and turned back to me, saying she was taking Natiya back to the citadelle. “She needs a break from her murderous ways.” She shot one last pointed look at me. “I'll see you there too—with all your
belongings.
Right?”

“We'll see,” I answered.

A frown pulled at the corner of her mouth, but she didn't push the matter further. She strolled over to Natiya and slung her arm over her shoulder. “Come on, you bloodthirsty imp. Gwyneth's going to teach you a few new things about subtlety today.”

I left in the opposite direction. I was just past the statue of Piers at the gate entrance when I heard someone call my name.

“Pauline! Wait up.”

I turned to see Mikael, and I came to a dead stop, stunned that he had the nerve to approach me.

“I know what you're thinking, Pauline,” he said, “but I was only following orders. I'm a soldier and—”

“And you've already spent all the reward money? Or are you afraid now because I'm part of the new cabinet and I could do all manner of things to you if I choose to?” His eyelids twitched, and I knew I had hit the mark. “Get out of my sight, you groveling parasite!”

I pushed past him, but he grabbed my arm and whirled me around. “What about our baby? Where is—”

“
Our baby?
You're mistaken, Mikael,” I growled. “I already told you the father is no one you know.”

I tried to yank away again, but his fingers dug into my wrist. “We both know that I'm—”

And then there was the crack of a fist on flesh and he was flying through the air. He landed with a thud, flat on his back, a cloud of dust erupting around him. Kaden was upon him, grabbing him by his collar and hauling him to his feet. Molten rage twisted Kaden's face. “You have a question about the father, soldier, I'm the one to ask! And if you ever lay a hand on Pauline again, it will be more than a split lip I give you.”

Kaden pushed him away, and Mikael stumbled back, then froze. He knew who Kaden was, the Assassin of Venda who could have easily gutted him without making a sound. But more than that, I saw another assumption settling over Mikael's face. Maybe it was true, maybe he hadn't been the only one in my life. His inroad to me was gone. He wiped his lip and turned away, disappearing into the milling soldiers.

I saw Kaden's shoulders heaving as if he was trying to dispel the last of his anger. He told other soldiers who had stopped at the commotion to go back about their business before he finally turned to face me. He brushed the hair from his eyes. “I'm sorry, Pauline. I saw you trying to pull away, and I—” He shook his head. “I know I had no right to intervene or imply that—”

“You already knew who he was?”

He nodded. “Lia told me he was still alive, and I put it together. The same shade of blond as the baby. Your reaction.”

The color on his neck suddenly deepened, as if just realizing his admission—he had been watching me. His eyes bore into mine, and I saw a hundred questions behind them I hadn't seen before.
Would I ever forgive him? Had he gone too far? Was I all right?
But mostly I saw the kindness in them I had seen the first time I met him. Silence and dust motes hung in the air between us.

“I'm sorry,” he finally said again, and glanced at his knuckles that were red from the blow to Mikael's face. “I know you wouldn't want it to appear that a barbarian Assassin—”

“Will you walk me back to the abbey, Kaden?” I asked. “If you have the time? Just for appearances, in case he's still watching?”

He looked at me, surprised, perhaps even fearful, but he nodded, and we left for the abbey. Both of us knew that Mikael wasn't watching.

 

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TY-SIX

After my aunts and Gwyneth helped me bathe and dress, I shooed everyone from my room. For almost a week now, I had been consumed in meetings with generals, officers, and lords, and today I had addressed more regiments who had arrived after being called back to Civica. I needed one quiet moment. I remembered what Dihara had told me about the gift.
The walled in, they starve it just as the Ancients did.… You're surrounded by the noise of your own making.
And there had been a continuous stream of noise, most of it passionate and loud.

Rafe, Kaden, and I led private talks with Generals Howland, Marques, and Perry, Captain Reunaud, the Field Marshal, and Sven and Tavish. I personally greeted General Howland, trying to put our rocky start behind us. Our team of ten gathered maps, made lists, and devised our strategies. Kaden and I told them in vivid detail about the weapons and numbers we faced, a hundred and twenty thousand. When the Field Marshal suggested that the Komizar might divide his forces to attack on many fronts, Kaden assured him he wouldn't. The Komizar would hit with his full force on Morrighan, ruthlessly plowing his way to Civica to make it a quick decisive victory. I agreed. The Komizar's blood pulsed with the power this army gave him. He wouldn't divide it. I remembered his face as he beheld his creation—its immense, crushing impact was a thing of beauty to him.

During our meetings, arguments erupted over everything from timing to routes the Komizar would take to the best ways to arm our soldiers. One thing was clear—we needed more—so that call was sent out too. More weapons, more soldiers. The lords were sent back to their counties with the same orders for recruits and supplies.

All of Morrighan was enlisted in the effort. Metal of all kinds was brought to the forges to repurpose into weapons. Gates, doors, teapots, no item was too small or too important that it couldn't be used to save the kingdom. The mill was tapped to work around the clock. More wood was needed to build stockades, polearms, and defenses yet to be imagined. Training began as well, the sharing of skills, because it was undeniable that Dalbreck's soldiers had a refined disipline that would be helpful. Initially this rankled the officers, the prospect of Rafe's regiment of one hundred soldiers training Morrighese troops, but I snuffed that argument cold, making it clear that pride was not to be an obstacle to our survival, and Rafe smoothed it over, genuinely reaching out for advice from them as well.

I was caught off guard several times when I saw Rafe and Kaden explaining—or arguing—strategies. I saw them both in ways I never had before, in ways that had nothing to do with me. Ways that were all about their own histories and hopes, obligations and goals. I watched Kaden, skillfully skirting questions about the future of Venda even as he plotted to strengthen Morrighan. Some of our battles had to be waged later. They still called him the Assassin, not in a disparaging way but almost as a badge of honor that a Morrighese citizen had infiltrated enemy ranks and now returned to his own with Vendan secrets.

As the days passed, meetings ran long, and tensions ran high, I realized most of the outbursts were not about pride as much as dawning realization of the monumental fight ahead of us—they fully grasped it, including General Howland—and everyone searched for answers that were not easy to find. How does an army of thirty thousand, still scattered across the kingdom, take on one that is a hundred and twenty thousand strong and armed with far deadlier weapons? But we kept trying to find an answer.

When we pulled out maps and unrolled them across the table, I tried to read the Komizar's mind. I looked at the roads, the hills, the valleys, and walls surrounding Civica. The lines and landmarks blurred, and something faint tapped beneath my breastbone.

The details of our meetings whirled constantly in my mind. It was hard to block out the noise, but I knew I needed to use other strengths as well, a knowing that would help guide us because my doubts about all our strategies were growing, and each day wrung tighter with worry about my brothers and their squads.

I threw open my window, the cool night air shivering over my face, and I prayed, to one god or four, I wasn't sure. There was so much I didn't know, but I knew I couldn't bear losing two more brothers.

There had been no word, but Rafe had already told me there would be none. They would either come or they wouldn't. I had to hope and trust that the message had gotten there in time.
Bring them home
, I begged the gods. And then I called to my brothers, just as Walther's words had reached out to me.
Be careful, my brothers. Be careful.

I stared out over Civica, the eventide remembrances quieting, a thin song still clinging to the air.
So shall it be for evermore. For evermore.
A city dark except for golden flickering windows watching over the night.

Peace settling in, meals being prepared, chimneys billowing.

But then the peace was disturbed.

Sounds crawled up my spine.

Sounds that weren't from the world outside my window.

The crunch of stone.

The hiss of steam.

A keening howl.

Fervor, Jezelia, fervor.

My heart sped. I felt the Komizar's breath on my neck, his finger tracing the kavah on my shoulder. I saw his onyx eyes in the darkness and the smile behind them.

“Shall I walk with you?”

I jumped and whirled.

Aunt Cloris poked her head into my chamber, her question a reminder not to be late.

I smiled, trying to mask my alarm. While my aunt had tolerated the complete lack of protocol on every level with surprising grace, I saw the signs of her impatience returning. She wanted things to go back to the way they were before. I couldn't promise that but I could give her tonight.

“I'll be along,” I said. She left as quietly as she came, and I shut the window, returning to my dressing table. With only one hand, there would be no fancy braids tonight—not that I was ever particularly skilled at braids even with two hands.
But I had become skilled at using a sword and knife with either one.

When the physician checked and rebandaged my hand today, I got a good look at it for the first time. The wound itself, except for the three small stitches on either side, was barely visible but my hand was still swollen. It looked like a blue-veined glove stuffed with fat sausages and felt just as foreign and numb. Something inside had cracked or torn—probably when I shoved the bolt loose to kill Malich. The physician was dismayed by the continued swelling and said it was essential that I keep it elevated on pillows at night and he crafted a sling for me to wear by day. When I asked about the numbness, he only said, “We'll see.”

I set aside my brush and looked in my mirror. My hair trailed loosely over my shoulders. On the outside I mostly looked as I had before, perhaps a little gaunt, but on the inside, nothing was the same. It would never be the same again.

He's betrothed
.

The thought came unexpectedly, like a sudden gust of wind. A mountain of demands had blocked it out, but now a single unhurried moment had let it back in.

I jumped up from my dressing table, adjusting my belt, my sling, sheathing my knife at my side, learning to do with one hand what I had always done with two.

*   *   *

The family dining chamber was for smaller more intimate meals, but tonight there would be sixteen of us. I would have just sipped some broth in my room and fallen into bed, as I had previous nights, or eaten through our late-night meetings, but my mother had come to me herself and suggested it, and she hadn't left her room in days. I thought about my doubt in the days after Aster had died and how Rafe had told me I needed to regroup and move forward. It seemed like that was what she was trying to do now.

My aunts chimed in, saying that in the frenzy of activity over the last few days, they'd met everyone only in frantic passing moments. They said we had a long fight ahead of us and a shared meal would give us a chance to knit tighter together. I couldn't argue with that.