Her blind deception the.., p.24
Her Blind Deception (The Dark Reflection Series Book 2), page 24
‘What kind of rumours?’
‘There’s one that you’ve been assassinated, another that Prince Tallius and the rest of the Oceatold delegation are being tortured in Sentinel’s Tower. I just heard a footman telling a maid that Princess Gwinellyn is actually alive and is rallying forces over the border ready to invade, and the Grand Paptich is demanding you stand trial for murder. He has members of the palace guard reciting some story about you murdering prisoners.’ She studied me as she listed off the tales, and I had the feeling she was measuring my reaction, trying to determine if any of those rumours were true.
‘Alright,’ I said, straightening and gathering all of my courage to my chest. ‘I suppose the least I can do is show them I haven’t been assassinated.’
‘There’s also this.’ She pulled a tiny scroll of paper sealed with a dollop of wax from her bodice ‘The Grand Weaver asked me to give it to you while you’re alone.’ Her eyes flickered to the door.
Dread filled my throat as I took it. Popping open the seal, I unrolled it to see just a few words scrawled in black ink. Remember our deal. The moment I’d finished reading it, it began to smoke, then a hole appeared in the centre, spreading like I’d held the paper to an ember. I dropped it with a hiss as whatever was on the paper ate through it until there was nothing left. Staring down at the curled remains, I considered what to do next.
‘I just need a few minutes,’ I said. I felt so off balance. Not at all ready to think about Dovegni. Did this note mean he was getting ready to strike?
‘Perhaps I’ll order some coffee sent up, and then I’ll run you a bath?’ she suggested gently.
‘Yes. A bath.’ I needed one of those. I surely smelled like sex. And like him. ‘I just need a few minutes.’
‘Of course. When you’re ready, just ring for me.’
I took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping back into the room to find Draven sitting up, turning one of my hair pins over in his hands. I sat on the bed by his feet.
‘I don’t think anyone has caught me off guard the way you did when you threatened me that night,’ he said, flicking his eyes up to me. He reached out and slipped the pin gently into my hair. ‘You always manage to surprise me.’
I almost didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to pop the bubble. But I did. ‘Why have you been trying to start a war with Oceatold?’
‘War can be useful.’
‘Useful how?’ He didn’t respond, simply dropped his hand to my cheek. ‘You’ve been stirring up conflict within the country too. Using magic to ignite the anger at the Burnings and starting riots. You want instability.’ He didn’t deny it. He seemed to be waiting for me to take my guess further. So I did. ‘You’re going to overthrow the Guild and the Sanctum, aren’t you? You don’t want to share power.’
His mouth twitched in a half smile. ‘Clever.’
My heart sank. I didn’t believe much in the way of guiding moral principles, but I did know that wars only made those who were already suffering suffer more. The Great War had been brutal and bloody, with so much life lost and destruction wrought that former enemies had been turned stalwart allies sworn to peace. I didn’t know if I wanted to be party to starting another.
‘Don’t frown, my dear,’ he murmured, smoothing his thumb over my brow. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘I can’t let you.’ The words were out of my mouth before I’d consciously decided to speak them.
‘Why?’
‘Too many people will die. I don’t want that responsibility.’
He lowered his hand. ‘You’ve killed people before.’
‘No one innocent.’
‘The princess was.’
I snapped my mouth shut, feeling the blood drain from my face as I dropped my eyes. Please Madeia, let him not be looking as closely as he usually did. Please let him not read my thoughts on my face.
‘This is what happens when you wear a crown,’ he continued. ‘You make sacrifices for a greater purpose.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said, pulling myself together, pulling up the cracked and brittle walls that had long been failing to keep him out. ‘Maybe you can tell that to the court. We have a long list of people demanding an explanation. And the Grand Paptich wants my head for what I did yesterday.’
‘No one will lay a finger on you, Rhiandra. I swear it.’ He lifted my hand, pressed a kiss to my palm.
‘Well, you’d better let me bathe and dress first in case they do.’ And then I could try and figure out what the fuck I was going to do.
He cocked his head, a spark of suspicion lighting his eyes. ‘Why do I feel like you’re going to go back to seeing me as some sort of nemesis the moment I step through that door?’
I leaned in and kissed him. ‘Because you are. The fact that you’re also a good knock doesn’t change that.’
Looping an arm around my waist, he pulled me in. ‘Then I’ll trust the second fact to continue eclipsing the first.’
‘Go on, get out.’ I slipped out of his arms and padded into the wash room. ‘Before the whole kingdom comes crashing down around us.’
I splashed water over my face as I listened to him leave, trying to shock myself out of the strange stupor I’d been in since I’d taken hold of that knife. I had to make a decision, now. An important one. I had to decide whether I was going to comply with whatever it was that Dovegni might demand of me. I had to decide whether I still wanted to end my marriage by betraying my husband. Why was that so difficult a question to answer? What had changed? He was still dangerous and unpredictable. This whole business of starting a war was proof of that.
And then there was the matter of Gwinellyn.
Moving back into the now empty bedchamber, I rifled around in the drawers of my dressing table until I found the black box I was looking for. Inside was the string of blood stones Dovegni had given me. She was surely just fine. If I looked, I would see her cozied up in a cabin, eating her way through the supplies Cotus had left for her.
Picking up the necklace, I brought it before my eyes, examining the faint glow in the heart of one of the red stones. What had Dovegni said? Touch it and think of what you want to see? I thought of the little princess, remembering her big blue eyes and anxious expression. I imagined her in a cabin, as if I could persuade the necklace to show me what I wanted, and I touched one of the stones.
My fingertips tingled slightly, then pain tore through my head and my vision went dark. I inhaled sharply, tried to drop the necklace, but my fingers felt welded to it as I rapidly blinked my eyes, trying to see. When the darkness cleared, I wasn’t standing by my dressing table anymore. I was at the base of a soaring cliff face. The details were indistinct, my surroundings seeming to fade out into a whirl of grey mist at the edges of the scene, but I didn’t need to look far to see the dark-haired girl before me, craning her neck to look up. There was a man, too, one with aquiline features and hair that shone like bronze. He was smiling and holding out his hand as he mounted the first stair of a staircase that seemed to defy logic in the way it clung to the cliff face above. My gaze caught on a pointed ear.
‘Gwin!’ The name was out of my mouth before I’d realised I was going to say it, and I lunged forward to grab her just as she reached out to take that offered hand. My own grasp passed through her like she was made of nothing but smoke. But she glanced behind her, and I caught sight of her face tight with worry. Then the scene dissolved and I crashed back into my body, still standing clutching that necklace. It fell to the floor with a clatter as my fingers sprang open. A bitterness coated my tongue, so strong I gagged, and I doubled over, bracing myself against the dressing table for balance. The necklace lay curled on the floor at my feet, a gleaming string of red and gold, except for a single stone. It had turned a cloudy grey, and the gold touching it was tarnished with black corrosion.
Scooping it off the ground, I stowed it back in the drawer it had come from and tried not to think about what price had been paid by some creature in a dungeon for that one little glimpse. At least I knew Gwinellyn was alive. The thought eased a tension in me I hadn’t realised I’d been carrying and I closed my eyes with a sigh to feel the relief of it. But if the pointed ears were anything to go by, she was keeping potentially dangerous company.
If I complied with whatever Dovegni’s plans were, I could end her exile. I could find her, could explain, and she would surely forgive me for sending her out there in the first place if she thought it was to save her from a worse fate. I could continue as her regent, maybe, and then perhaps as an advisor on her council. I could prevent a war, saving lives and avoiding hardship for thousands. If Draven was bent on overthrowing the Guild and the Sanctum… he might even end up starting a war within our borders as well as the one he was hankering for without. I couldn’t let him tear the country apart like that, could I? But I tried to imagine standing before a courtroom and denouncing him and it made me feel so sick I had to stop. There had to be another way.
Sitting down at the dressing table, I studied my face in the mirror, touched my swollen lips, the beaded flower in my hair where Draven had pinned it. I had run out of time to make my decision. I either needed to warn him now, or be ready to lose him.
Chapter 21
Rhiandra
‘Your Majesty.’ Lord Sherman bowed when he entered my sitting room, staying bent over long enough that I wondered if he’d gotten stuck and I’d have to pull him back up. ‘I have taken the liberty of reassigning the location of your audiences today,’ he said when he’d finally straightened. ‘There are a number of… angry… petitioners and they seem to have congregated by the throne room. I thought it best to dilute them. Perhaps have each audience in private.’
‘That’s fine,’ I said quickly, only half listening. He’d caught me in the middle of pacing the floor, my head spinning along lines of actions and consequences that were far above and beyond which room we sat in. ‘I assume you’ve already told the king?’
‘Naturally, Your Majesty,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘If you’ll just follow me.’
The room he led me to was one of the smaller halls, though when I say lesser, I mean it was still lined with huge marble pillars that dwarfed Sherman’s withered frame, and the ceiling was so high that all the gilding and plasterwork was completely wasted. Hardly anyone was going to stand craning their necks long enough to appreciate it. A network of glisoch crisscrossed below the ceiling, coating the mosaic tiles below in a golden glow that was paid for in blood. The room was completely empty, no courtiers waiting and whispering on the sidelines, my attendants locked safely outside for privacy.
‘Sherman, what’s that?’ I demanded, eyeing the raised dais in the centre of the room.
He blinked, then his gaze followed mine. ‘The… the throne, ma’am?’
In the middle of the dais sat a chair of gleaming mahogany sculpted to fan out behind the monarch in a spray of gilding and glittering gemstones. Beside it a squat, square table draped in a purple sloth stood awkwardly offering water glasses.
‘Yes, the throne. Why is there only one?’
‘Well, I… there’s always been only one.’
‘But now you have two monarchs.’
‘There is a chair for the queen.’ He gestured towards the lesser chair positioned slightly behind the throne, still elaborately appointed, but at a distinctly lower platform on the dais. ‘As there always has been.’
I offered him a pointed smile. ‘But it’s not a throne, is it?’
I ignored his blustering and stammering and approached the dais, thoughtful as I considered the throne. I had sat in one before, when I had been a widowed queen. There was no reason I shouldn’t now, just because I was a married one.
I mounted the steps to trail my hand along the decorative arm rest. As footsteps approached me, I drew my fingers over the rich purple fabric of the cushion, embroidered with threads of gold.
‘Are you going to fight me for it?’
I didn’t face Draven immediately. I needed a moment to banish the prickle of a smile that had pulled at my mouth. ‘What would you do if I did?’
He was clean-shaven and polished. He wore a deep-hued, ankle-length coat, embroidered doublet, polished leather boots and carried a sheathed sword in a decorative scabbard at his hip, and the whole ensemble sat at odds with the picture I’d been caressing of him in my head, of his hair tousled by my fingers, his sharp features shadowed, bare-chested and hovering above me, and it sent a shiver of conspiracy down my spine, like I knew a secret no one else did. He watched me steadily as with a flick of my skirts, I sank onto the cushion, curling my fingers over the armrests. With a quirk of my eyebrow, I dared him to make the next move. The silence that followed simmered and I could see what he was thinking about doing to me written all over his face. Heat flushed my skin.
‘The Grand Weaver is the first on the list, Your Majesties.’ Sherman’s voice cut through the tension, acting like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. My eyes immediately went to the door, remembering the note I’d received. Surely, that wasn’t the only warning he’d give me if he was intending to make a move. He said he’d keep me informed. A jolt of fear iced my veins. He was as trustworthy as a snake. Maybe he’d decided to keep me ignorant.
‘Then invite him in,’ Draven said, mounting the dais. As he reached me, he took my hand and bent low, pressing a lingering kiss to my skin.
‘Don’t let him in.’ The words tumbled out of me before I’d really even thought about what speaking them meant. He gave me a quizzical look as he straightened. ‘You’ve been too dismissive of the threat he is. I think he’s going to try something.’
‘Do you?’ His expression hardened. ‘Then I suppose we’re just going to have to find out what,’ he said, his own gaze flicking to the door, to where Dovegni was entering the room flanked by a handful of other druthi, a heavy frown scored across his face. Draven folded his arms as he watched them approach, and my heart began to race. A sense of foreboding sank over me.
The druthi clustered before the throne and all bowed before us. ‘Thank you for finally granting us an audience,’ Dovegni said as he straightened.
‘You’ve been a bit absent from court recently, Dovegni. What could have driven you away?’ Draven asked, his voice full of mock curiosity. As the two men eyed each other off, the air around us growing hostile, I remembered Draven telling me they had a history. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a friendly history, and I wondered how they could have possibly met before.
‘Court has become an unstable place to be,’ Dovegni replied. ‘But we’ll correct that soon enough.’ The druthi were moving, slowly spreading out to form a semi-circle around us. I tracked them warily.
‘Is there something we can help you with, Grand Weaver?’ I asked, trying to direct the conversation into less hostile territory.
A thin smile stretched his mouth. ‘Just stay exactly where you are, Your Majesty,’ he said, before reaching beneath the neck of his robes and pulling a mask up over his mouth. Immediately, I knew there was something wrong.
‘Guards!’ I cried, but there was none else in the room. Even Sherman had disappeared.
Draven was already down the stairs. ‘I hope you’re about to give me a reason to kill you,’ he snarled.
All five of them raised their hands in unison and slashed their arms down. With a shattering of glass, clouds of red dust burst into the air. I was on my feet. The dust hit me, scorching my throat, my lungs, and I doubled over as I coughed violently, holding my hand over my nose to try and block it out. My vision slipped, doubled, and my head swooped in a dizzying spin. I felt like I was going to be sick.
‘You know, it took me far too long to connect the dots, but I finally realised who you are. You’ve come a long way from that trembling boy in Salterre Castle.’ Dovegni’s voice. I was on all fours, now, trying to find my way forwards with my hands. I found the steps of the dais, tried to pick my way down them while they seemed to pitch and sway beneath me, like each step was suspended in water.
‘Then you should have known I wouldn’t go down easy.’ Draven’s words were strained, spoken with effort. I managed to look up, catching sight of him driving that sword it into the side of one of the druthi. Where was Dovegni? What was this dust? I felt like I was drunk and hungover at once. I slid to the base of the stairs. I needed to get help, needed to get to the door. My head pounded heavily and strange, tingling zings ran up and down my fingers.
A hand yanked at my neckline, drew me up. The world lurched and blurred at the sudden movement.
‘I told you to stay where you are,’ Dovegni’s voice hissed in my ear, muffled through his mask. The cold edge of steel bit at my throat. I shook my head, as though I could shake free the dizzy swooping feeling and the blade against my throat at once. Below, there was a body on the floor, blood on the mosaic tiles. The blurred shapes sharpened enough for me to see Draven frozen and looking at me.
‘I’m determined to slit her throat,’ Dovegni called. The knife pressed harder against my throat. I swallowed against the blade, felt the tickle of blood trickling down my neck. ‘You could try to bend my mind, but not quick enough to save her.’
Draven didn’t move a muscle, his gaze locked on the blade. Dovegni’s grip on my arm was a vice. I tried to breathe slowly, tried to keep the world from tilting around me, tried to focus my woozy and scattered thoughts. One of the other druthi was creeping up behind Draven, something like that collar they’d used on me strung between his hands. Draven would turn and tear him apart, and Dovegni would kill me.
‘Drop your weapon,’ Dovegni demanded.
Draven’s eyes met mine. His hand sprang open. The sword clattered to the floor.
The druthi made his move, shooting forward with raised arms. The collar was snapped against Draven’s neck. He dropped like a rag doll, falling heavily to the floor. I jolted as though I could catch him, but the sting of pain against the blade reminded me I couldn’t. We all stood frozen, staring down at him, at his limp body and closed eyes, as the dust settled to the ground, until Dovegni’s grip on me relaxed. The moment the pressure of the knife eased, I sprung away from him, my hand at my throat, my head swooping again.
