“Then what?” she hissed as anger heated the hollowness inside her. “You think I should just let the guards have her and be done with it?”
“No, Highness.” He reached up to her face and brushed away a tear that she hadn’t realized had fallen. “But you might want to consider other options. When a battle is being lost on one terrain, sometimes an army must draw back and find new ground to fight on.” He stared into her eyes for several long moments, then said, “I will get word to you when the package is safely delivered.” He took the dress out of the basket, put her stilettos back in, and shoved a bunch of hay on top before handing it to her. “Now, Princess, you should go.”
She hurried back to the castle the way she’d come, shivering as the wind gusted. The windmills seemed louder with every step. A guard stopped her at the gate and pulled her cap off her head to check the color of her hair.
Carys held her breath and tightened her grip on the basket as the man walked slowly around her. Sweat trickled down her neck and she tried to guess how long it would take for her to reach inside the basket and pull out the stilettos if it came to that. Finally, he gave her backside a squeeze and told her to come to the guardhouse after her kitchen duties.
“Me and my friends will pay you well for your time.”
Carys bit back the angry words that sprang to her lips and instead smiled. “I’m worth more than the few coppers you have in your pockets.”
“Name your price and if you prove you’re worth it, we’ll pay it.”
“A lord once said I was worth a sack of gold.” She smiled. “But I’ll take a sack of silver since you asked so nice.”
Swaying her hips, she hurried away from the guard. Then, ditching the basket behind a hedge in the courtyard, Carys jammed the cap back on her head, clutched the stilettos at her side, and kept her face tilted down as she passed servants and nobles stumbling back to their rooms after the ball.
Nowhere did she see Imogen or any of the Elders. Nor her brother. She would look for him after she changed and steadied herself. She needed just a bit of the Tears to stop her thoughts from tripping over one another.
When she reached her floor, she plucked the cap off her head, shook out her hair, and then walked around the corner as though her attire were typical. A young guard was stationed outside her door—the same one who had walked her from the North Tower. He glanced at her gray gown but said nothing as she let herself into her rooms and sagged against the door after it closed behind her.
Larkin’s scared warning.
The boy’s head falling with a sickening thud onto the polished floor.
Andreus’s expression of pride when he was declared the winner.
Errik’s warning and his smile.
The images swarmed in her head. Her fingers shook as she unfastened her dress, jumping when the fire in the hearth crackled and when the wind howled outside her window. Everything in her tensed and clenched as she pulled a simple-to-fasten dress out of her wardrobe and slipped it on. Then she knelt down next to her wardrobe and dug in the back with unsteady hands for the red bottles and the answer to the anxiety that was getting worse with every passing minute. She needed more of the Tears. Just a little would make it better—smooth everything out so she could find a way out of all of this for her and her brother, as she had always done.
Only when her hands opened the small panel at the back of the closet and she reached inside, she felt nothing.
Carys pushed herself to her feet. She grabbed armfuls of fabric and threw dresses to the floor until the wardrobe was empty and there was nothing blocking her view to confirm what she already knew.
The red bottles she needed were gone.
16
Andreus turned the empty red bottle over in his hand, then set it next to the line of other bottles on the table before going back to the window and closing it.
Perhaps he should get rid of the bottles so Carys would be forced to wonder who was responsible for taking them. Rarely did he deliberately provoke her anger. After all, he had always needed her to work with him to protect his secret. His curse.
Now that Elder Jacobs was bringing the Council to Andreus’s side, he didn’t need Carys to protect him anymore.
Still he stared at the bottles, marveling at how far they had come in only a week. Carys working to orchestrate an assassination attempt. Him ordering an innocent boy put to death.
The boy.
Andreus shook his head against the memory of the blade slicing through Varn’s neck. The sounds the head and the body made when they hit the floor.
Those sounds proved he was strong, he told himself. They proved he would be a king people feared and respected and would not cross.
He shifted his gaze from the bottles toward the bed where his mother slept before stepping out of the dim room and into the light.
Oben stood and asked, “Did the Queen stir at all when you spoke to her, Your Highness?”
“I’m afraid not, Oben,” he said with a sigh. “Whatever Madame Jillian gave Mother has her in a deep sleep.”
Oben shook his head and clutched his hands together. “Your mother seemed more lucid the last time she was awake. Madame Jillian was hopeful that this last dose would clear the rest of the darkness from the Queen’s mind and return her to us as she was before the King and Prince Micah died.”
“I hope that is true, Oben,” Andreus said, turning for the door. “You will send word if my mother’s condition changes?”
“I will, Your Highness. When it does, the Queen will be glad to hear you and so many others have come to spend time at her side.”
“Others?” he asked. “What others?”
“Several of the visiting dignitaries and High Lords have come to ask after the Queen. I have refused them all, but at one point I stepped out and when I returned Elder Ulrich was exiting the Queen’s room. He apologized for not waiting for me to allow him entry, but insisted it was of the utmost importance for him to see the Queen’s condition for himself.”
Andreus stilled. “Did he tell you why?”
“Only that it had to do with the Council’s duty to the safety of the realm.”
“Did he stay long?”
“Quite a while, Your Highness, and he spoke with her. I thought I heard the Queen’s voice while he was in there, but Elder Ulrich swore she never woke.” Oben shrugged. “I must be hearing things.”
Or not. Andreus looked back at his mother’s closed door. “What did you imagine you heard?”
“Nothing really, Your Highness. Elder Ulrich was speaking too quietly for me to make out the words. There was only one I thought I heard clearly.”
“What word was that?”
“Curse. Not long after that Elder Ulrich came out of the Queen’s room looking disturbed.”