“It’s justice,” Tristan said. “He’s done so many terrible things, been responsible for so many deaths. He’s the murderer. And killing him . . . killing him would be saving lives.”
Aurora shook her head. It was too hard to breathe. “Sometimes kings have to make tough decisions,” she said. “Sometimes criminals and soldiers die. That doesn’t mean you can kill him.”
“You have no idea what he’s like, do you?”
“I know he’s unpleasant,” she said. “I know he’s cruel. But—”
“He became king through murder. Did you know that? He convinced a guard to shoot the old king through the window with a crossbow, and then burned the guard on the castle steps for the crime.” His voice was steady. He did not look away from her, not for a moment. Every word pierced her. “And then he killed all his enemies. All the troublemakers. Anyone who might claim the throne. He said that the reason we didn’t have magic anymore was that a few people were hoarding it for themselves, making us suffer and starve. If we burned them, he said, their magic would be released back into the world. The princess would wake up. And within a year, anyone who might oppose him had been accused and burned, until everyone was either so convinced or so afraid that they could never stop him.”
Aurora forced herself to look him in the eyes. A lump had gathered in her throat. “And then I woke up,” she said. “So people think he was right after all.”
“Yes,” Tristan said. “That’s why we need your support. If you speak out against him, more people will join us. And then he won’t be able to stop us.”
Nausea burned the back of her throat. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s awful what he did, but—I can’t. I can’t help you murder him.”
“It isn’t murder,” Tristan said. He gritted his teeth in frustration. Every muscle in his body was tense. His deep-buried anger was so clear, he practically burned with it.
“He did something to you,” Aurora said. “Didn’t he?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters,” Aurora said. “I’m right, aren’t I?” My parents are dead, he had said. It was too awful to consider. But if what she suspected was true . . .
“I doubt there’s anyone he hasn’t hurt personally by now,” he said. “But yes. Yes.”
Aurora reached out, her hand resting on his wrist. “What happened?”
“He killed my parents.” Tristan’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “About five years ago. There was a bad winter; none of the crops grew. None except the ones my father owned. People in my village accused him of using magic and tore him apart. Literally tore him apart to get the magic out of him. And when my mother took me to the capital to ask for compensation, do you know what the king did? He executed her too, for working with him. And then he made me a servant in the castle, out of the kindness of his heart, so that I couldn’t go wind up any more trouble.” He pulled his wrist away. “And you’re telling me he’s fit to rule? I shouldn’t want to get rid of him?”
“No,” she said softly. “I would want him dead too, if he did that to me. But . . .” Everything in the room felt too close. “Killing him wouldn’t make it right.”
“It’d be a start.”
She looked at the lamp on the windowsill. Lights burned across her eyes. “What will you do then?” she said. “Are you going to put Rodric on the throne? Or me?”
“We can’t,” he said. “If we do this, everything will have to change. People think you returned because of all the things he’s done. If you become queen and save us, that’s just proving him right. They’ll remember him as a hero.”
“So you want me to help you destroy myself.”
“It wouldn’t be like that. You wouldn’t be a princess anymore, but you’d be so much more. More than their stupid little symbol. You could have a place here. You could have a life.”
“I don’t need you to give me a life. I can make my own.” She closed her eyes, trying to shove back the anger rising inside her. She had to stay calm. “And what happens if you succeed?” she said slowly. “Who takes the throne then?”
“We have to kill him first,” he said. “Then we’ll work out the rest.”
Her eyes snapped open. Disbelief burned inside her. “You don’t have a plan? What if someone worse takes the king’s place?”
“Anyone would be better than him.”
“You can’t believe that,” she said. “You’d have to be stupid to believe that there couldn’t be anything worse. There’s always something worse.” She stepped back, shifting toward the door, straining to increase the space between them. “I can’t help you, Tristan,” she said. “I can’t be a part of this.”
He clenched his fists. “So you’re going to be selfish? Protect your own comfortable existence instead of helping?”
“That is not what I’m doing,” she said. “But you haven’t said a single word about the people. I thought you wanted to make things better.”
“Getting rid of the king will make things better,” he said. “You’ve got to get to the cause of the problems. Otherwise it won’t make any difference at all.”
“It’s suicide, Tristan. For you and for the kingdom. You have to see that.”
“I thought you would listen to me,” he said. “I thought if I told you the truth—”
“I am listening to you,” she said. “But you can’t seriously mean this.” The Tristan she knew was not a murderer. But, she was realizing, she did not really know Tristan at all.
“Of course I mean this,” he said. “He killed my parents, Aurora.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said. “Not now.”
“Why not?” he said. “You’re not Mouse, are you? The girl I thought I knew would care. Or would you prefer if I bowed and called you Your Majesty?”
She stared at him, taking in the fury on his face. “I guess you were wrong about me,” she said. “I’m only a silly princess after all.”
She tugged the door open, but he spoke again before she could move. “You’re making a mistake. I won’t be able to protect you.”
She laughed. It wasn’t funny, not really, but the idea that this was his parting message, half warning, half threat, that in the end it all came down to keeping her safe for others to manipulate . . . it was too painful to be serious. “I survived a hundred-year curse, Tristan,” she said. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
She slipped through the door and let it click shut behind her. He did not follow her.
Outside, rain drizzled, forming a light mist along the alley. Aurora lingered in the doorway, her head buzzing. A customer bumped into her as he entered the inn, and she jerked aside.
Nettle, the singer, leaned against the wall. The slight overhang of the roof protected her from the rain. She looked willowy and angular, her long black hair falling over her eyes, her knees and elbows jutting out in points. She glanced across at Aurora. “Are you all right?” she said. Her voice was as smoky as when she sang, but it sounded slightly unnatural and as angular as her body, as though the words were sharp in her mouth.
“Oh,” Aurora said. “Yes. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
Nettle stood up straighter. “No,” she said. “You did not disturb me. You look like you have had a shock.” Nettle was watching her with barely a flicker of an expression on her face, as though merely commenting on the weather.
“I guess that’s true.”
“Tristan told you that he knows?”
Aurora stared, too startled to pretend she did not understand what the singer meant.
“You are surprised that I know too? Do not worry. I doubt any one else has noticed.”
“Tristan noticed,” she said. “Right away, he noticed.”