The Fragile Threads of Power (Threads of Power, #1)

Over the years, Lila had explored most of the soner rast, from the five ballrooms to the secret halls that ran between the royal chambers, the sunken baths and the training grounds, and the courtyard. But there was one place she always went out of her way to avoid.

The queen sat at a table in the middle of her workshop, her back to Lila and her head bowed over a notebook, and yet, as Lila slipped, silent as a thief, between the counters piled high with papers and pieces of half-formed spells, Nadiya Loreni cleared her throat.

“Delilah Bard,” she said without looking up. “What brings you to my chambers?”

“Well,” said Lila, running her hand over half a dozen stoppered jars. “You keep inviting me. I thought it was time to take you up on the offer.”

The queen stopped whatever she was doing, and rose to her feet, turning as she did to face her. “Is that so?” Her voice hovered on the line between distrust and curiosity.

Lila shrugged, continuing toward her. As she did, her hand slipped into the pocket of her coat.

“I heard Tes’s work on Kell was a success,” said the queen. “I would have liked to see the process for myself.”

Lila’s fingers closed around the metal pooling in her pocket. “Yes, well,” she said, drawing out the two gold chains, “it turns out she and I have something in common.”

Nadiya’s eyes dropped to the glinting metal. “And what is that?”

“We don’t like you very much,” said Lila, letting the chains pour from one hand to the other. “And we trust you even less.”

She held out the gold chains, but as Nadiya reached to take them, Lila’s hand closed over the top, and they glowed, and then melted, dripping between her fingers.

“No,” yelped the queen, lunging forward, too late, but instead of stepping out of her path, Lila stepped in to meet her, free hand vising around Nadiya’s throat.

The queen tensed beneath the grip, tried to pull back, pull free, but Lila took hold of Nadiya’s bones and forced them still.

“How does it feel?” she growled. “To be helpless? To be bound? At the mercy of someone else’s will?”

“I’m sorry,” gasped Nadiya.

“You’re sorry?”

“Alucard told me,” rasped the queen, struggling for breath. “About Berras. What he did.”

“Someone gave those chains to Berras Emery.” Lila’s grip tightened on the queen’s throat. “Was it you?”

Something flashed in Nadiya’s eyes, then. Not guilt, but righteous anger. “I would never.” Lila scowled, but didn’t let go. Nadiya’s face colored. Her pulse raged beneath Lila’s hand. A heart, like a candle, so easy to snuff out.

And then the queen met her gaze. “So keen to do—” she gasped, “—the Hand’s work—for them?”

Lila sighed and flung the queen away. She crashed back into the table, caught herself there. She lifted a hand to her throat. Her fingertips were shaking.

“You and I may not see eye to eye,” said Nadiya, “but I am not your enemy. The chains were stolen.”

“By who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit,” hissed Lila. “Nothing happens in this place without your knowing.”

Nadiya scowled. “Someone betrayed my trust. Believe me,” she said. “I want to find out who.”

“That’s the problem, Your Majesty,” said Lila, the wind picking up around her as she spoke, sweeping clear the tables and emptying the shelves. “I don’t believe you. I don’t trust you. And the next time you even think of creating something like those chains, I will turn you to stone and use your lifeless statue as a coatrack.”

With that, Lila turned and left the workshop, the wind dying in her wake as the remnants of paper and spell fluttered down like ash around the queen.



* * *



Alucard forced himself down the prison steps, one by one by one, steeling himself for what he’d face when he reached the bottom.

Of the four cells that composed the royal jail, three again were empty. There, in the last, where Tes had briefly been, was Berras. He sat on the stone floor, his back against the wall, his face in shadow. A heavy bandage was wound tight around one hand, where the fingers were missing. The cloth was red where the blood had wept, a patch of wall stained too, as if he had been hitting the same place, over and over, wondering which of them would crack first.

There were no soldiers standing guard. Alucard had sent them all away. His brother had already poisoned enough minds against the palace. He would not get the chance to ruin more.

The first thing Alucard had done last night, upon leaving the Emery estate, was order it torn down. He’d gone that very morning, to make sure it was done. And as he stood on the bare spot where the house had once been, he’d felt an overwhelming peace. A burden finally set down. A weight released.

Staring at his brother now, he felt no such relief, but the same grim resolve. Alucard straightened his coat as he crossed to the cell. He had chosen to dress in red and gold that day. Not a hint of Emery blue. His hair was pinned back with a chalice and sun, and at the sight of it, Berras sneered.

“I thought it would please you,” said Alucard, “that I wear these colors instead of yours.”

“No matter what you wear,” said Berras, rising to his feet, “it won’t change what you are, little brother.”

“And what is that?” asked Alucard blandly.

His brother approached the bars. “A disgrace.”

Alucard smiled. “Once upon a time, those words would have cut, as surely as a blade. Now I see them for what they are. The last punches of a man who’s lost his fight. What would Father say, if he could see you now? His oldest son, arrested for treason. Would he be proud, that you tried to overthrow the empire? Or simply disappointed that you failed?”

Berras’s good hand gripped the bars, squeezing until his scarred knuckles went pink, then white.

“What do you think will happen to your followers,” mused Alucard, “now that you’re gone? Cut off the head, and the body quickly crumbles.”

Berras’s mouth twitched. “But I am not a head,” he said. “I am a hand.” His eyes darkened. “Do you know why we call ourselves the Hand?”

“Because you clutch at other people’s power?” ventured Alucard.

Berras grinned. It was cold, and hateful, and mocking. “Because even if you lose one,” he said, releasing the bar, “there is another.”

Alucard wasn’t sure if the words were a bluff, or truth, but they sat ill. Not that he would give Berras the satisfaction.

“So you weren’t the leader, then?” he asked. “Just a pawn? A tool being used by smarter people? A blunt weapon, to be wielded, and then got rid of? If that is true, why?”

“I already told you.”

“That’s right. To take the throne. To show me what a real Emery is. But the thing is, Berras, I don’t believe you. I think you did it because you are small, and petty, and cannot bear a world where I am stronger.”

His brother’s smile slid, becoming a feral, humorless grin. “Come into this cell and face me. Let’s see how strong you are with nothing but your fists.”

“Tempting, but I’ll pass.” He turned, and started for the stairs.

“How dare you turn your back on me, little brother.”

Alucard stopped. “Oh, I’ll come back,” he said. “It’s not like you’re going anywhere. But I have places to be. My husband is waiting for me. My daughter, too.” He looked up at the ceiling. Through it. “You see, it’s dinnertime. I want to know which animal Ren has tried to sneak under the table. She’s been very into rabbits lately, but really, there’s not a single living thing she does not love. She’s like Anisa that way.” He swallowed, their little sister’s name scraping his throat. “Before bed, she’ll need a bath, which is always an adventure, and Rhy and I will read her a story, and the queen will shine a lantern into every corner of her room, to show her that every shadow is nothing but a lack of light. You see why I must leave you? There is so much love up there.”

His eyes fell back to his brother.

“I sometimes wonder if you would have been so hateful, had we lived in a kinder house.” He shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

V. E. Schwab's books