Please, Father, only a word.
I strain my ears, but there’s nothing. Silence. Breeze skittering on the windows.
Havis motions me to a long oaken table, covered in gold lamps, books scattered. We sit next to each other, wordless, and I blink away the wet behind my lashes. Havis is the last person I’ll let see me cry.
“I think we should talk about your education,” he says, suddenly all business, glancing at the guards far across the room. “I’ve heard a rumour you don’t wish to be married until after you’ve had a chance to study, and I want you to know, I’m fine with it. I’d prefer to marry an educated woman. Otherwise I might get bored, and then there might be an affair, and then you’d cry, and then what would I tell your mother?”
“I’m not doing this for you,” I say.
“Believe me, I’m well aware. Buying time is more how I interpreted it.” He chuckles to himself, leaning back against the table. “All things considered, you do entertain me.”
I think this must be my moment. He’s called my bluff and is still in his insufferably pleasant mood. It’s time for the true questions. “Ambassador, do you believe the General is a good man?”
The sudden question fades his amusement. “Well, I believe he’s predictable, if not good. He has ways of looking at the world, and they don’t change. Once they’re understood, you can know what to expect. But his eldest son? He’s no good. I prefer the younger one.” He sees my confusion and gestures. “The younger son is a naval officer. He’s practical and has good sense.”
I tuck that observation away, for later. “You sound like you know them quite well.”
“Talk travels fast in my circles. It’s my business to know.”
“And do you trust Lark?”
“To a point. But that’s how I feel about everyone, and especially you.”
There’s slight teasing in his voice, and I know he’s trying to deflect this. I won’t let him. Not this time. “He explained his father’s proposal. Tell me—what would you gain from it?” I’m purposefully vague, to see what Havis might confess.
He raises his brows. “Me?”
“Don’t pretend, Ambassador. You would gain something from war just like everyone else.”
“I’m not pretending, Princess. I’m no man of war. I’m a man of opportunity, and sometimes peace is the better gain.”
I find I believe him. It’s the most candid he’s ever been, and while he’s implicating himself as a selfish creature, at least it’s honest. “Is it true that Seath was once a reasonable man? Studying to be a doctor, even?”
Havis’s mouth drops open. “Where the hell did you hear that?”
“Lark,” I reply, not wanting to implicate Mother.
Truthfully, the knowledge of Lark’s involvement with the Nahir has me reassessing every word I’ve ever heard about them. Lark is hardly vicious or unreasonable. He’s rather plain and ordinary, if anything. And if a man like Seath was once sewing up wounds, not hanging necks, then what other reality might I be missing? Something doesn’t make sense. There’s a current between these two worlds, and I want to find it.
Havis shakes his head. “I know nothing about Seath. And you’d be wise to stop involving yourself in things you don’t understand—namely, Lark.” He gives me a pointed look.
“Then you don’t trust him?”
“I already told you. I trust exactly one person, and that’s myself.” He crosses his arms, clearly perturbed, then nods across the room. “Tell me, what do you think is in that locked chest?”
I frown. “Is this a trick?”
“Not at all.”
The wooden cabinet before us glows a warm amber beneath the window, ornate detailing and a metal lock on each drawer. “I suppose something important. Perhaps old documents and political treatises.”
“Or?”
“Items of importance to our history. Rare books.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because it’s locked. There must be something in there that needs protection.”
He nods. “Then go look closer.”
I follow his strange advice. Walking near, I trace my fingers along the round edges, the etched flowers. On impulse, I attempt to open the top drawer. It slides towards me with ease. “It’s unlocked,” I say, surprised.
“And what’s there?”
“Index cards.”
“Interesting.”
I face him again. “I don’t understand your point.”
He grins lazily. “You don’t see the power of the idea? I told you the chest was locked, and you believed me without even checking. That one word made you imagine a dozen things that weren’t there. The idea led you astray.”
I stand in his slightly gloating gaze, aware he’s entirely right. A sour thing to admit. Annoyed, I slump back into my seat at the wood table, the surface old and scraped, shined to a luster. “You think I’m a fool, Havis, but I’m only trying to protect the ones who have no choice in this to begin with. It’s not right. Not when there’s power to change it. Otherwise how can I even keep breathing? What right do I have?”
Havis studies me, glee dissipated. “That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name, Princess.” The realization is as much a surprise to me as it is to him. “Listen, Aurelia … Can I call you that? Since we’re on more personal terms now?”
“No.”
“All right, Princess, let me try to make this clear. You’re from Etania. Your ideas are of this earth. If you tried to explain your most sacred memory to me—about your father, let’s say—I’d only ever catch a shade of it. It would never be real to me. That’s what Lark’s world is to you. You can’t understand it, so don’t treat him like one of your textbooks. Don’t underestimate him.”
Familiar anger breaks inside. I have no proof yet that Havis knows the truth about Lark’s Nahir connections, but I should have known he’d take the easy way out either way. He’s right—he’s a man of opportunity. He’ll play along and say noble-sounding things until he gets what he wants—which, apparently, is me—and never mind how many lives are scattered as ash behind him. The rest of the world can burn and he’ll be safe. Stoking his pleasure in the hills of southern Resya, drinking and kissing and racing desert-bred horses. Pretending he’s too honourable to get involved.
But I want more than that.
“Enjoy your power while it lasts,” I say hotly. “Soon my brother will take his crown and then you’ll never be allowed in this kingdom again. Perhaps sooner than you think.”
Havis’s face turns in a strange way. “What do you mean?”
I realize the words after I’ve said them. “I’m saying if he did take his crown, you’d have no chance with me.”
Havis seizes my arm, tight. “Aurelia, tell me—is your brother trying for the throne? Did he admit that to you?”
“No, he didn’t—”
“That crown is the only thing keeping your mother alive. Tell me this isn’t true!”
I feel my cheeks pale. He can’t be serious, but this isn’t the Havis with the lazy grin and cavalier arrogance. It’s Havis from the hall, the first time I mentioned Seath’s name to him, all those months ago. His eyes scour me, searching for the truth. A desperate man.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice low, urgent, “no one will touch her as long as she is Queen. It’s too much of a risk. But the moment your brother takes power? She loses that precious value, that protection. She becomes a target, do you understand? If you know anything about your brother’s plots for the throne, or your uncle’s, you must tell me. You don’t let this happen.”
I stare at him. I have no idea what to think. Perhaps he’s being honest, or perhaps he’s ensuring Mother stays in power and he remains in her good favour. What good does a crown do? Murder is always possible, crown or not. Look at my father. Look at what those rumours did in the dark.
“I know no more than that,” I say honestly, because this is all from Violet’s lips, a passing comment, and perhaps she made the whole thing more grand in her head.
“Don’t let this happen,” he repeats.
But I promise nothing.
I’m fairly certain Gref Havis is as good at playing desperate as he is at playing noble.
30
ATHAN