TWENTY-NINE
THE LORDS AND ladies of Skyvale Palace were sent back to their rooms, like children who’d only be in their parents’ way if they stayed.
Breakfast was served late, and in spite of the lockdown, rumors still managed to spread from room to room. Black Knife had killed the king; the prince had murdered his father; one of the royal guards had too much to drink and lost control while demonstrating a sword technique. The rumors were wild and frightening, and so was a deep part of me that looked on this development with a sense of wonder.
King Terrell was responsible for my parents’ deaths. They’d been slaughtered by his men, there in the courtyard, their blood spilled across the cobblestones. And everyone just watched, too frightened to take a stand.
I remembered catching Prince Tobiah’s eye then, the fear and pity in them. “Don’t look,” he’d mouthed, but it was too late.
I’d already seen.
They were already dead.
“I can’t believe it.” Melanie dropped to the sofa and took a book from an end table. “Murdered. Not just dead from whatever sickness he had.”
I wanted to feel something more, some sense of amusement of the irony, like Melanie did, or relief at the idea of King Terrell finally leaving this world, after he’d plagued mine for so long. But all I could summon was this strange sense of pity, like whatever Tobiah must have felt when he urged me not to look at my parents’ bodies. Though my parents’ men had kidnapped Tobiah, he’d still tried to comfort me when they died. Now, our positions were reversed.
A little after lunch, I rang the servant bell and asked to speak with Tobiah.
“He’s part of the investigating team,” said the maid. “He’s coming to everyone’s rooms personally.”
I thanked her and shut the door.
While Melanie read aloud from a book describing the One-Night War and King Terrell’s part in it, I checked that all of our Osprey things were in hiding places we’d agreed on. Everything was in secret compartments, beneath mattresses, and inside little-worn gowns. Papers, notebooks, map—
“Mel?”
“Yes?” She was still in the sitting room, lounging on the sofa.
“Where is the map?” It wasn’t with the rest of the papers or shoved between the drawings I’d been working on as part of our disguise.
The book thumped to the sofa cushion, and a moment later, Melanie stood in my doorway. “I gave it to Patrick while you were gone. It was finished.”
I touched the faded bruise on my cheek and met her eyes.
“No,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t.”
“It wasn’t long ago we’d have said he would never hit any of us in anger, either.”
“No,” she whispered again. “He wouldn’t.”
“We have no proof, obviously. But we need to speak with him tonight.”
She shook her head. “I will. Alone.”
“That night we went together, he wanted me to kill someone, remember?”
“But not the king!”
“We don’t know who it was. He wouldn’t tell us after I said no.”
“Let me ask before we start accusing.”
I nodded. “Find out what you can.” Black Knife had wanted to meet me tonight, and while I wasn’t going to tell him about Patrick, he would certainly be interested in the king’s assassination. Maybe I could learn something from him. Or help him. Or . . . I wasn’t sure.
Being here in the palace was confusing my feelings and goals. This wasn’t my home. I had no reason to care that the king was dead—I should rejoice—but I couldn’t help but remember how he’d wanted so badly to improve his kingdom. He wanted the best for everyone. Maybe even me.
A knock came at the sitting room door just as I was hiding Black Knife’s gifts under my mattress. I opened the door to admit Crown Prince Tobiah, James, General Fredrick, and a handful of other men in Indigo Order uniforms. Bodyguards, no doubt. Both the king’s and the prince’s.
“Your Highness.” I curtsied low, that strange sense of pity gnawing on my heart as I invited him to sit. He took a place at the table and laid out a few sheets of paper. James and the general sat to either side of him, while the rest of the guards took up posts around the room, their hands behind their backs, and their expressions as hard as stone. “My deepest condolences. Losing a beloved parent is one of the worst things in the world. I’m sorry you must endure this now.”
I was sorry. Having seen him with his father, having witnessed their strained argument last night—it was easy to see they’d loved each other.
“Thank you, Lady Julianna.” The prince had washed and changed clothes since this morning, but stress lines pulled at the edges of his eyes and mouth, and grief made dark hollows below his eyes and cheekbones. He looked exhausted as he glanced at a list: reminders of what he needed to say. “I am conducting this investigation myself, with the help of James and my father’s best men. We’ve been at this all day, so please forgive any gruffness to our questions. We want this solved as quickly as possible. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course I do.”
He nodded. “If you’d like anything to drink, a maid is waiting outside with a cart of wine, as well as some herbs for stress and anxiety. May we call for anything for you?”
I glanced at Melanie and we both shook our heads.
“Very well.” The prince turned the first page of his notes facedown on the table and focused on a sheet of paper with a list of questions on it. “Tell us where you were last night, from the second hour until dawn.”
“I was in bed, sleeping,” Melanie said. “So was Julianna. We came straight back after the ball.”
“Is that true?” Tobiah lifted an eyebrow at me, and I nodded. “Very well.” He made a note on his paper and moved to the next question. “Did you notice anything suspicious as you were leaving the ballroom? People you didn’t recognize? People behaving strangely?”
“We’re still new to Skyvale Palace society,” I said. “There are many faces I don’t recognize.” Not quite true. After spending weeks here, I’d learned many faces, as well as their names and stories and deepest fears, where I could. But everyone I’d seen last night seemed to belong. No, the best attacker would have been one who could have made himself appear to fit in. Unless he’d waited and come after, entering and leaving the palace in the same way Melanie and I did. Once we’d learned the guard routines, the palace was laughably easy to sneak into. Of course, the Indigo Order put a lot of faith in no one untoward being able to cross the wall.
“No one behaving suspiciously?” Tobiah asked again, and both Melanie and I shook our heads. “What time would you say you each fell asleep?”
“One, perhaps?” Melanie cocked her head. “Half an hour following? I was tired after the ball.”
“Same for me,” I said. I’d gone to bed at the same time; I just hadn’t stayed there. “My recent illness causes me to tire very quickly.”
“I see.” Tobiah asked several more questions, most in the same vein, and after ten or so minutes, the prince handed the papers to Fredrick, who slipped them into a folder marked Julianna Whitman.
“That’s all we have for now,” said the general. He stood and started for the door, but as the prince and his bodyguard began to follow, I leaned forward.
“What happened to His Majesty? We’ve heard so many rumors.”
Tobiah winced. “We’d rather not say for—”
“His throat was cut,” said James. “Sliced clean open in his sleep, using a serrated blade. The assassin is right-handed and strong. It’s hard to gauge his height, since His Majesty was obviously already lying down, but we know he must be someone with incredible stealth to have slipped past the four on-duty bodyguards.”
“James.” Tobiah’s scowl pulled around his mouth. “That’s enough around the ladies.”
Belatedly, I remembered to be horrified by the details; I forced my expression to shift into slowly blooming alarm. “Why would anyone do that?”
Tobiah stood and looked at me. All traces of the sullen, bored prince I’d come to loathe were gone. Now, he just looked empty. “People always want to kill kings. That is why they have bodyguards.”
A few minutes later, the men were gone, and Melanie and I sat at the table with our chins balanced on our fists.
“You lied about where you were last night.” She plucked a petal from one of the flower arrangements on the table. “Where were you really?”
“Getting air.”
“For five hours?” She flicked the petal across the table; it fluttered and fell to the floor.
So she’d heard me come in after all. “Well, I wasn’t fighting crime with Black Knife.” I said it like a joke. And it was true . . . this time. Admitting my relationship with Black Knife would be an even worse betrayal to Melanie. Saying no to Patrick was one thing. Spending a week as Black Knife’s partner was unforgivable.
And kissing him, maybe falling in love with him—
I changed the subject. “What do we do about Terrell?”
“Nothing. We’re not part of this. Let them handle their own problems.”
“And if Patrick is responsible?”
She licked her lips and glanced toward the balcony door. “He must have had a good reason. Like revenge. Like keeping the Indigo Kingdom distracted while we return to Aecor.”