He looked back down at the book. “I was happy, you know,” he said. “I know I wasn’t always the most eloquent person to be around, but I was happy. I finally felt . . . capable. This is the first time I’ve been of use to anyone.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “I know you don’t believe it, but—you’re wonderful. Isabelle loved you. And you’ve been a friend to me. You didn’t have to be, but—you’ve always been kind.”
“Kind?” He laughed bitterly. “What difference does that make?”
“It makes all the difference.”
He shook his head, and she reached out, wrapping an arm around his neck. For a moment, they hung there, barely touching. Then Rodric clutched her side, pulling her toward him, until her face pressed into his chest, his arms squeezing her so tightly that she could barely breathe. He rested his cheek on the top of her head. She opened her mouth, hoping that the right words would appear if she began to speak, but before she could make a sound, someone knocked on the door.
“Princess?” It was the guard. “I must return you to your room. Their Majesties will not like it if we linger.”
“You should go,” Rodric said. “But—I was glad to see you.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “You too.” She got slowly, achingly to her feet, and then sank into a curtsy, her skirts sweeping behind her. It seemed natural, somehow, in this moment when no words would do. Rodric stood up as well, and gave her a jerking little bow. Then he reached out and took her hand. He squeezed it, once.
“Do what you think is right, Aurora,” he said. His voice broke. “I’ll do the same.”
She nodded. His hand fell from hers, and she walked slowly out of the room.
Another guard waited by Aurora’s door when they returned. He bowed as they approached.
“I took the princess to see Prince Rodric,” the first guard said, as though daring the newcomer to criticize him. “She wished to stretch her legs.”
“Of course.” He held out a roll of paper. “I only wished to give this to the princess. A letter of condolence.”
She reached out and took it automatically. The paper felt rough under her fingertips—certainly not the high-quality stock used in the castle. Her throat tightened. “Thank you,” she said. “I trust you are busy with your duties.”
Her dismissal was clear. He bowed again, and she watched him until he had walked completely out of sight.
When she was back in her room and the lock had clicked behind her, she opened the note. It was written in the rough, unsteady hand of someone unaccustomed to writing.
I heard what happened. The king is keeping it quiet, but I heard. And I know how it looks, but I had to tell you, it wasn’t me. It had nothing to do with any of us.
You are not safe in the castle. Come to the inn tonight.
Trust me. —T
She read the note over again, then again.
She wanted to believe him. He had been her friend, the fire when everything else felt cold and dead. But he had warned her that he could not protect her. He had broken into the castle and then fled when danger approached. He might have cared for her, but he cared for his cause more. If he had to sacrifice her in order to take down the king . . . he might be willing to do it.
And Tristan did not know everything about those around him. He might believe that they were innocent, but that did not make it true.
It did not change the fact that Isabelle was dead because of people like him.
She tossed the note into the fire and watched as it burned.
TWENTY-FOUR
AURORA MUST HAVE SLEPT THAT NIGHT, ALTHOUGH she did not recall closing her eyes. She awoke to the sound of fists hammering against the door. The sun had not yet fully risen, casting a chilly red glow over her room.
“Who’s there?” she said. The door shook under the force of the knocks. “I am not yet dressed.”
“The king has summoned you, Princess,” a voice said. “Please prepare yourself. We must return to the throne room with you at once.”
“The king?” Why would the king wish to speak to her, so early in the morning? She felt a stab of dread.
“Yes, Princess,” the voice said. “Come along, or we shall have to enter your room, permission or not. He was very insistent.”
“My maid is not here,” she said. “I will have to wait for her.”
“Not this morning, Princess. It has to be now.”
“All right,” she said, and she was proud that her voice remained steady. “I will only be a moment.” She quickly changed into a simple dress, yanking her fingers through her collapsed curls to release some of the knots.
A crowd of guards waited outside her door. They pressed around her as she stepped into the corridor, until she was surrounded by their glittering mail.
“King’s orders,” said the guard who had spoken before when he noticed her looking around at them. “For your protection.”
“Of course,” she said. She doubted that was true.
The king and queen waited in the throne room. Rodric stood to the side, a few feet from their thrones. His face was still pale, and his hair stuck up at the back at an angle that would have been funny if he did not look so tragic. The queen, too, looked pale and drawn, but the mask of regality was back, her emotions hidden behind powder and pins. The king’s face was red and stern.
“Ah, Aurora,” he said. “Thank you for joining us.” He glanced at the guards who had accompanied her. “Sir Stefan, please watch the door from the outside. The rest of you may leave.”
The guards bowed and walked out of the room, leaving only the king’s personal escort, lined up behind the throne, to witness what might happen next.
“Aurora,” the king said, and his voice was almost cheerful. “Come closer so I can see you.”
He was not smiling. His voice boomed out like the jolly figure presiding over the feast, but his eyes were hard and cold, like two wet stones glinting in the moonlight. As though pulled by the words, Aurora began her slow walk across the room. Only the echoes of her footsteps broke the silence. She stopped a few paces from him, her hands loose at her sides, trying to keep her chin high, her face confident.
“I assume you know why you’re here.”
“No, Your Majesty,” she said. She refused to curtsy to him, not until she understood what this charade was about. “The guards did not explain.”
“I did not think you would need an explanation,” he said. “I am sure you recall the unfortunate incident at your banquet. I am sure you recall the suspicious circumstances of my daughter’s death.”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice cracked on the word. “Of course I remember.”
“Not the best omen for your wedding, I am sure you’ll agree. I would say we should carry on regardless, but—well, with circumstances being as they are, I cannot leave things uninvestigated.”
“Are you saying you want to postpone the wedding?”
“I am saying, Aurora, that I want an explanation for that night. You must see how it looks. Your being out of the room, talking to a singer who just happened to be called in at the last minute, when dessert is brought in. My daughter eating poison off your own fork.”
“You think that—” She broke off, swallowed, fighting to steady herself. “I wouldn’t hurt her,” she said. “I would never—”
“You fed her the poison yourself,” he said. “You can hardly claim that you were uninvolved.”
“If I’d known it was poisoned, I would never have let her near it.” Panic filled her voice, but the king seemed unmoved. “Why would I hurt her? Why, when she was so good to me?”
“I do not know,” he said. “I wonder about many things you do. And it is quite a surprising coincidence.”
“Somebody tried to kill me,” she said. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Come now,” the king said. “Who would want a lovely thing like you dead?”
The question was so filled with venom, so false, that Aurora started. He might, she realized. He was the one who would benefit most from her death. It would hardly bring the rebellion popular support. But if she died, and the rebellion was blamed . . . the king would get rid of two problems in one move. Any potential sympathy for the opposition would vanish in a moment, and he would lose a burden that he might be unable to control in the bargain.
But surely he would not do something so risky. Surely, if he had been responsible for the poison, he would be more distraught over his daughter’s death.
“Her involvement seems unlikely, dear,” the queen said. “The princess does not strike me as vicious, whatever her flaws.”
“If I wanted your opinion, Iris, I would have asked for it.” The queen blinked, her expression unchanging. “As it is, you have had far too much contact with the girl. It is time I was in charge of her.”
“I was not involved, Your Majesty,” Aurora said. Her voice shook. “You must see that.”
“I am the king, Aurora. There is nothing I must do. Meanwhile, you must see how suspicious this all looks. You have never seemed fully grateful for all my family has done for you. You have never seemed quite like the girl who was promised to us. And if your involvement were to be proved, you would not only be a murderer but also a traitor. Do you know what we do to traitors, Aurora? We burn them.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, so hard that she could taste blood.