A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

Atticus releases his grip and steps away, his breathing uneven. “Your timing is impeccable, but, yes, I suppose I should get to work.” He sighs and adds quietly, only for my ears, “Before things get out of hand here. Until next time.” Casting a lazy salute, he turns and strolls off.

And I release a lungful of air, wondering myself what the next encounter with Atticus will bring.

Kazimir closes in to collect the wooden swords. He holds one out. “Care to go a few rounds with me?”

I’m so flustered by the last few moments, I can only stare at the hilt.

“I promise, I am not as unskilled as the king would suggest.” He winks.

Something tells me Kazimir isn’t talking about swordplay.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I have work I should return to.” And a baby to feed.

And my sanity to regain.

I back away.

He throws his hands in the air. “Why does no one want to spar with me?”

“If you’re looking for a playmate, I’m sure my son will oblige,” I throw over my shoulder as I move away.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR




ATTICUS


“Is this a joke?” I inspect the black-and-silver-flecked wax seal more closely, and the emblem branded into it. “Did my brother claim a cave and name it for a kingdom?”

“That is from Zander?” Boaz’s voice marks his shock.

“Or someone with identical handwriting.” After decades of messages from my brother while dealing with one skirmish or another around the realm, I easily recognize my name in his scrawl. But it’s the intersecting crescent moons branded into the hard wax, the same symbol that Wendeline marked those mortals with the night of the royal repast, that is most jarring.

“What does it say?”

I shake my head, not having read past the first line of address. “‘Dear Atticus, I know we are presently at odds”—I snort—“but for the sake of Islor, I share my knowledge and pray you heed my guidance. Much has happened since we saw each other last. Hopefully, there will be time for harsh words later. But now, you and I must unite in the face of the coming trouble, some of which you cannot begin to fathom …’” My voice fades as I read the rest of the sobering words quietly. There are two different hands writing to me on this page, the top one Zander’s, the bottom with a feminine touch.

Romeria’s.

The tension in my limbs grows as I read each line.

Is this another one of my brother’s ploys? A scheme he has spun to win favor and control the narrative for his means?

Not fifteen minutes ago, I was standing around this map, scouring my mind for what reason Zander could have to go into those mountains. Now it’s all laid out for me in black ink, by his hand, and I could not have imagined it had I tried.

“Anything vital I should be aware of, Your Highness?” Boaz is practically dancing from impatience.

I’m not sure yet. I clear the worry from my throat. “Zander and Romeria are deep in the Venhorn Mountains, at Stonekeep.”

“Stonekeep.” Boaz shakes his head. “What kind of protection your brother thinks to find within those deadlands, I cannot fathom.”

“It is curious.” I reread Romeria’s alarming words at the bottom. “You’ve been alive longer than most, Boaz. What do you know of that place?”

“Only that it is not a place. It is a nymph relic far older than I. Older than anyone alive, I hazard. Nothing more than a stone wall with scripture.”

“The nymphaeum is a stone wall with scripture, and yet you and I breathe because of it,” I remind him.

Boaz’s brow furrows. “Why do you ask this?”

“Because Zander claims they have found a hidden city there, with the help of the caster.”

“A city that no other caster has known about for thousands of years?” He shakes his head. “An attempt to lure you there to see for yourself.”

“Perhaps.” The rest of his claims about this place, I will keep to myself. Boaz will think I’ve gone mad for even uttering the word prophecy. “They also claim that Queen Neilina has amassed a powerful army of Ybarisans and Mordain’s strongest and intends to cross the rift on Hudem, to take our lands while Islor is in turmoil. It has always been her plan.”

“Reports from the rift have said as much.”

Tyree attempted to steer me from this idea. “Zander wants me to send Telor and his men back to the rift, along with as many soldiers as can reach it before Hudem.”

“So he and his Ybarisan traitor can attack Cirilea while it is unguarded?” He scoffs.

“From all reports, he has only a few legionaries remaining, so I don’t know how effective he would be. Though he has found the Ybarisans stationed in the mountains. According to this, he plans on marching to the rift alongside Telor.”

Boaz’s eyebrows arch. “With the Ybarisans?”

“It does sound doubtful.” Legionaries would rather lie with a daaknar than fight alongside a Ybarisan. “But desperate times call for desperate alliances.”

“This is a ruse, Your Highness. A tactic to turn our focus north and weaken our city’s defenses.”

“Our defenses are already weak.”

“And this would make them weaker. What else does the letter say?”

“That the Ybarisans used our trade routes to move the vials of poison, with instructions for the mortals to wait until Hudem to ingest it.”

“Clearly, the mortals have not heeded that,” he mutters.

“Some have not. The poison will have circulated to all corners of Islor by now, and he says there is far too much of it. He wants me to declare this coming Hudem a day of abstinence rather than celebration.” My hand cramps with the thought of all the letters I would have to write to even attempt that.

“Impossible. Hudem is next week! Mere days away!”

Boaz is right, I can’t so easily stop two millennia of ritual. Yet, I know his counsel is laced with hatred for Zander, which is fueled by guilt for his own shortcomings, losing one king to poison and another to treason against the crown. He’s no longer capable of seeing what we both know—that despite my brother’s mistakes, his words should never be disregarded.

“Let’s hope everyone’s apprehension to the poison will make them think twice about following tradition, regardless of whatever declarations I may or may not make.”

“Some are already planning to abstain, I’m sure. And then there are those who will refuse to be held hostage by fear.”

“Then they make their own beds.”

“And of your betrothal to the Lady Saoirse? Is he aware of that?”

“He is.” I imagine Rengard informed him. “He says I’ve made a poor choice for a queen, and I must renege immediately.” I can practically hear my brother’s voice in my head, chastising me for the coming centuries of misery. If I survive even a week.

Boaz harrumphs. “That is rich coming from him. I would not trust any of his claims, Your Highness. After all, they arrived by the Ybarisan queen’s messenger.”

“The taillok?” That fierce-looking iridescent thing? It delivered messages to Princess Romeria several times on our trek south from the rift. I swore I’d put an arrow through it if I ever saw it again.

“Exactly. And guided by the casters, I’ve heard. Mother and daughter are likely scheming together against you.”