“If that were the case, your sister would have a very different life,” she corrected. “But tonight, I will make sure everyone sees their royal family together—united and confident here in our kingdom.”
Andreus understood the command beneath the carefully chosen words. If Micah or Father made comments goading Andreus or Carys, he was to help his sister laugh them off. No confrontations. Not today. “Yes, Mother.”
She pursed her lips and studied Andreus before taking his arm. “Oben tells me you were key in fixing the orb and the other lights so quickly.”
“The Masters—”
“You were the hero of the night,” she snapped. “The Masters failed. Their system broke down because of a mistake they made, and it was the Prince who recognized the problem and restored the light. That is what the Council will proclaim to the city tomorrow. And to all those who hear, that will be the truth. People will speak of how your wisdom pushed back the dark. Do you understand?”
No one would speak of the sabotage. It would be as if it had never happened.
“Yes, but the Masters—”
“The Masters know their place. Oben has already made sure they have all been suitably encouraged to hold their tongues, and any who might not have been dealt with. And tomorrow you will instruct the Masters in what you found in order to ensure this kind of thing never happens again.”
Andreus pulled his cloak tighter as they approached the gate and the people clustered around it. Dozens of Eden’s citizens regularly turned out to greet the King. No doubt they were right now praising Micah for the number of soldiers he had beheaded on the field of battle.
Andreus scowled. War was barbaric—and so often pointless with little achieved. So easy to applaud and glorify from a safe distance. He doubted any of his father’s sycophants would cheer so loudly were they sent to the front.
Only as they approached, Andreus realized there were no cheers or bursts of laughter. Just low murmurs beneath the sound of the gong strikes announcing the return of the King.
The people near the gate soundlessly parted for them as they grew near. None could meet his eyes. He felt his mother tense beside him as the gongs went silent. When he saw his sister kneeling on the ground and spotted his brother and father staring up at the stars with unseeing eyes, Andreus understood why.
“What is the meaning of this?” His mother looked at Chief Elder Cestrum, who stood clutching his cloak with his iron claw.
“I am sorry, my queen,” Elder Cestrum said, lingering on the S of sorry. “They should have sent word ahead to warn us . . . to warn you that tragedy has struck.”
Tragedy.
People around him muttered as Andreus stepped forward. For a moment, Andreus could hear nothing other than the sound of his own heart beating. Not his mother, who was pointing at the bodies on the ground. Not Chief Elder Cestrum, who had stepped to the Queen’s side. Or Elder Ulrich, who had his one good eye trained on Andreus while saying . . . something. All of it was drowned out by the thudding of his heart growing faster and louder. Everything inside him tightened and ached. This couldn’t be. He wanted to turn and walk away or, better, wake up because this was clearly some kind of nightmare. His father and brother couldn’t be dead. Kings and princes did not lie on the palace stones dirty and cut and . . . dead.
Then Carys turned and looked up with him, her amber eyes shimmering as a tear streaked down her cheek.
That tear.
His sister never cried in public. Not when she broke her arm when they were seven. Not when their father had her lashed for one of her outbursts. Not ever. She wanted—she needed—people to believe that she could never be broken. She said shields were strong. And she believed that her job was to be his shield.
But that one drop made it real. That shield was broken now. And half their family was gone.
“No,” a voice shouted from behind him. Everyone turned as Imogen, the hood of her purple cloak falling away, pushed through the crowd. “This cannot be.” She staggered forward and stopped when she caught sight of Micah’s body. “This is not supposed to be.” She swayed as she stared at Micah’s dirt-streaked face. “This is not supposed to be!”
“Imogen.” Andreus stepped forward and put a hand on her arm—the first time he’d touched her since that night. He told himself it was touching her that was causing the tingling sensation in his arm. Nothing more. “Micah would want you to be strong now.”
She shook her head and looked up at Andreus. Her dark eyes swam with confusion. “The Crown Prince wanted to rule. I was supposed to be at his side. I saw it in the stars.”
“You saw nothing.” His mother spat the words at Imogen and the seeress flinched with each one. “You are useless—and because of your weakness my son is dead.”
Imogen pulled away from Andreus as his mother yanked her arm away from Oben, who had appeared at her side to steady her. She stepped around Imogen with a glare, then stormed toward the members of the King’s Guard, who were standing not far from where the bodies lay. “How did this happen? How did my husband and son die?” Pointing to the King’s Guardsmen, she turned to Elder Cestrum and demanded, “And how is it that these men who swore on their own lives to defend my husband and son survive while their king and crown prince were hunted like animals?”
Andreus looked at the men standing at the top of the steps just behind the bodies of his father and brother. Five members of the King’s personal guard. All one hundred had accompanied the King to the battlefields along with fifty of Micah’s guard and another thousand foot soldiers and knights. The foot soldiers and knights would have stayed to bolster the war effort. But the personal guards would have traveled home with the King and Crown Prince. One hundred and fifty men would have had his father and brother surrounded. And still they fell.
The men shifted and looked toward Chief Elder Cestrum and the rest of the Elders who stood behind the head of the Council.
“Answer your queen,” Andreus said. Each word took more effort than the last. The tingling in his arm was turning to icy pinpricks. His heart was pounding even louder in his ears. Carys stood and came to his side, watching him carefully. Did she hear the tension in his voice? She must have. Carys had been around almost every time he’d had an attack. She knew the signs as well as he did. But sometimes the symptoms were minor.
This was minor. It had to be. He couldn’t afford for it to be otherwise.
Carys stood next to him, her chin raised. Her eyes clear and determined. His sister was back to being strong. No more tears fell as she stood beside him, her back straight as a board.