“I know. And I’m eternally grateful.”
That also wasn’t a lie. She alone was responsible for putting me in this position. Not just living in the palace with all its benefits, but in a role where I could hold so many strings—strings that held our two courts in balance and kept everything under control.
“I’m the one who should be grateful to you.” A sadness flickered at the edges of her smile, and I wondered if she thought of the daughter I’d killed for her.
If I dwelled on it, I could feel her blood on my hands—royal blood—mingling with my father’s. I could hear the thud of her head landing on the throne room floor and rolling, the collective gasp in response. I could smell her fear before I’d struck—so overwhelming it had blotted out every other scent.
That was why I didn’t dwell on it.
Instead, I watched the queen I’d given so much to as she smoothed a lightly scented oil into her bronze skin. “Have you made any progress with your investigations into the changeling?” she asked, not looking up from the floating hand-mirror.
“I have a few threads I’m pulling at, but the Hydra Ascendant business is taking up most of my time. Kat was able to give me some useful information about unCavendish, though, and—”
“Un-what?”
“UnCavendish. That’s her name for the changeling.”
Braea’s eyebrow rose, sharp as a blade. “Is it, now?”
Even in small ways like this, Kat’s influence had crept under my skin. As sweet and sharp and insidious as her poison.
Despite the sting when I gave her that first touch of the day, I would gladly lick the stuff from her fingers and beg her for more. Fuck antidotes. Fuck everything else. Fuck—
Good gods, Bastian. Control yourself.
I swallowed down the rising madness and cleared my throat. “She’s been very helpful. It’s just a shame she burned the note I recovered from their spies.” Decoding it would’ve given us information about what Dawn had really been up to in Lunden. It wasn’t as though Caelus had made any real attempts to woo the human queen.
“Hmm.” Braea’s expression soured. “I suppose there’s nothing we can do about that. Now—”
She yawned, wide and uncontrolled. The dressing screen showed the brightest point of night, moments from the sun breaking the horizon.
“It’s time.”
She grumbled and hunkered down in the bed, her mirror landing on the side table. “Of course it is. I’ve only been doing this for centuries.” Another yawn smothered the end of her sentence. “Good morning.” She waved me away.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.”
When I reached the door, seconds from dawn, her voice drifted over. “Thank you, Bastian. For all you sacrifice for my court. It doesn’t go unnoticed.”
I paused in the doorway, a tightness in my chest, but she didn’t say anything more.
On the dressing screen, day had broken.
9
Kat
It had started off as all my evenings in Elfhame had: reading and drinking. But I’d run out of books, so now I was just drinking.
It didn’t dull the pain of my loneliness though.
I’d spent years on my estate with just two other people, and much of that time working alone. It had never bothered me. But Ella’s friendship and whatever I’d believed was happening between me and Bastian had left a hole.
The books had gone halfway towards filling it, and normally drink would top up the rest, helping me sleep.
But it turned out I couldn’t get drunk anymore, as the half empty decanter attested to. This magic was stopping the alcohol. Had to be. I didn’t feel the slightest bit fuzzy. It certainly hadn’t silenced the memories that came now I was alone.
Losing control of my body as I shook and stumbled through Riverton Palace, poison creeping along my veins. The pain. The numbness in my fingers. The world turning grey and fading in and out of existence.
And underlining it all—the knowledge that the same poison lingered in my system, ready to claim my life if Bastian forgot to come and give me the antidote.
It was a week since the debriefing and I’d barely seen him. Every day I left a note to remind him about the antidote. Dutifully, he would appear while I was in the middle of eating lunch (invariably while my mouth was full), touch my wrist, then disappear before I had a chance to say a word.
Aside from the servants, that was the only time I saw another soul. I tried to speak to them. One of the women who brought me meals had caramel-coloured hair like Ella’s. I’d hoped she might have something of her personality. I’d been disappointed.
There was only one Ella.
This woman was polite and answered some questions but deflected most. The other servants were the same.
The only other face I saw was in the mirror, and I didn’t recognise that woman anymore. She hadn’t even summoned much of a smile when a message had arrived from Elthea telling me to come for an appointment tomorrow.
Instead, I’d found people in the books on his shelves—or their facsimiles, at least. Good enough to quiet my mind. They carried me on their adventures, a silent observer sitting on their shoulder, sifting through their thoughts, seeing patterns and experiences I recognised, even though I’d never been in the same situations. They saved me from my loneliness. For a while.
Many of the stories were in Albionic, thankfully. But I finished those too quickly. One was in Frankish—the first chapter was a struggle, like pushing a wheelbarrow with a rusted axle. With perseverance, it wore off, though, and I found myself enjoying the tale of a girl who dressed as a boy in order to join the ranks of the king’s famous guard. But it was over too soon.
A handful of the books were in a script I couldn’t make head nor tail of—it used a slashing alphabet I’d never seen before. Several were in a language that wasn’t quite Latium. The verb declensions were completely different—much simpler, thankfully—but most vocabulary seemed the same. Perhaps a precursor? Still, it was close enough for me to understand, and I read those books falteringly.
I’d finished the last one just after dinner.
And now I was alone.
For a while I’d paced, trying to distract my mind with movement, but I found myself picking at the seams of my gloves.
So, here I sat, a useless sack of bones.
A fucking gloomy sack of bones.
I downed the rest of my drink, barely tasting it, and poured another.
He couldn’t mean to keep me locked in here forever, could he? I tried to ask when he appeared at lunchtime, but I’d barely managed two words before he disappeared again.
Of course. He had work to do.
Maybe he’d been in such a rush, he’d forgotten to lock the door.
I lurched to my feet, not even swaying despite how much I’d drunk. Once I reached the antechamber, I held my breath and tried the door.
Still locked. And magically, so my rudimentary lock picking skills were a waste of time. (I’d broken a few hairpins finding that out.)
I needed…