Page 45 of Her Cruel Redemption

‘Thank you,’ she said as she gingerly accepted the offered arm.

‘Minister Gedelli,’ I said as I sized him up carefully. ‘Minister of what exactly?’

‘Oh, this and that,’ he replied as he steered Gwinellyn through the doorway. He paused at the threshold to turn and drop a wink. ‘But you can call me Vic, Mrs Soveraux.’ Hearing that name again hit me like a punch to the stomach, though one I absorbed without retaliation this time.

‘Then repay the favour. Rhiandra, please.’ My tone was icy. I didn’t want to be on a first name basis with him, but I wasn’t going to endure being calledMrs Soverauxwhile I was here. What would I do instead? I could insist on reverting back to Beafort, the false name I’d used before marrying Linus. What I really wanted was to demand they all continue to call me Your Majesty. I was, after all, still technically a queen, at the very least a dowager if not still a regent.

Or maybe I was none of those women I had once been at all. None of these names or titles seemed to fit me anymore, and my real name,Tiercelin, had never truly felt like it belonged to me in the first place, with all its ties to my mother’s estranged noble parents. I wasn’t sure who I was, really. I was a long way from the woman on that rainy street corner Draven had seduced into a deal.

Almost unconsciously, I reached for the thrum of magic in my veins, that prickling vibration ready to be drawn into my hands. What did I care for the phony authority of political titles? I had more power in my bare hands than any of them.

I could hardly wait for the moment they all realised that.

‘Vic’ led us through a series of winding hallways and stairwells in our trek to one of the elevated towers of Bright Keep. The place was a testament to indulgence masquerading as grandeur—walls adorned with tapestries depicting long-forgotten victories, their edges frayed and mottled with age. The sconces lining the corridor, fashioned from tarnished gold, burned with an anemic light, as if reluctant to illuminate the decay around them. There was little magic to be seen.

‘We’re nearly there,’ Vic cheerfully shot over his shoulder.

‘Good. I’d hate for anyone to think we were trying to waste time,’ I muttered.

The door to the Astronomy Tower loomed ahead, a heavy thing of oak reinforced with iron bands. Vic pushed it open with some effort, revealing a chamber perched high above the keep, its domed ceiling a lattice of steel and glass, the cloudy sky visible above. A long table stood in the centre, strewn with maps and scrolls.

The chatter of everyone milling about the room ceased as we entered, dozens of eyes fixing on us. King Esario strode forwards wearing a broad smile and another ensemble of glinting buckles and rich fabric.

‘Come in, come in,’ he said, waving his hand. He offered an arm to Gwinellyn and led her into the room, all but ignoring me. I swallowed my indignation and followed along behind them as he swiftly introduced her to a bevvy of men, some I assumed were his own advisors and ministers, others I recognised from the Brimordian court. The watery-eyed Lord Faucher had somehow made it over the border, it seemed. He was regarding me with a much less friendly air than I was used to from him. There were a few others who’d once sat with me at the table of my own High Council who were now stewing in thick hostility as they muttered to each other. Not that they’d ever been the most welcoming as far as I was concerned, but there seemed to be a distinct increase in the amount of suppressed violence in the room.

‘And, of course, you’ll recognise your Grand Weaver. Dovegni has been making himself very useful to us.’

My stomach churned as the sallow, reedy man stepped forwards, eagerly crossing the room, eyes fixed on Gwinellyn. He’d never been a beacon of robust health, but now he looked worse than ever. His skin seemed to cling too tightly to his skull, revealing his eye sockets and the hollows of his cheeks, and there was a yellow tinge to the whites of his eyes. Exile wasn’t suiting him well, then. Of all the insects in the Anthill, why did he have to be the one who escaped Draven’s reign of terror? Was the self-styled Blood King really so ineffective that he’d letDovegniget away? And here I’d been thinking that the one thing I could rely on my pseudo-husband for was being ruthlessly lethal, but apparently I couldn’t even trust him to dothat.

‘Princess.’ Dovegni took Gwinellyn’s hand and kissed it. ‘What a miracle to see you standing before us, alive and in good health. We’re grateful to Aether and Madeia for this blessing. We all despaired you long departed.’

I curled my lip as I watched this spectacle of devotion, entertaining the idea of smacking him away from her, if only to see him turn red with rage. When he straightened, his gaze flickered to me. I could almost see him measuring actions against their consequences. Would he pit himself against me? He’d want to know how I fit in with Gwinellyn first.

‘I think… my travelling companions have more to do with it than the gods…’ Gwinellyn said quietly, her cheeks reddening.

‘Yes. I had heard you arrived… accompanied.’ He inclined his head in my direction, his expression carefully blank. No decision on whether he’d side with or against me yet, then.

‘Please take a seat, Princess,’ King Esario said, gesturing to a chair that had been left vacant at the foot of the table. A place of honour, but Gwinellyn glanced at me nervously as the rest of the table returned to their seats. Ah. There was only one vacant space at the table. Which left the oddly-placed chair against the wall as the one for me. I gritted my teeth but held my head high as I made for it, doing my best to ignore the hostile attention of my countrymen as I flicked out my skirts and settled myself with as much dignity as I could while being seated like a servant. Gwinellyn took my lead and accepted the seat offered to her. I wished she could keep better control of her facial expressions. The look of concern she cast my way amplified the humiliation of the whole exercise.

‘I apologise for leaping on strategy talks so soon after your arrival,’ Esario began in his big, booming voice.

‘Please… don’t apologise. We’re in the middle of a war,’ Gwinellyn replied graciously. Which I could live with, since she was technically disagreeing with his sentiment.

‘We’ve been debating the best path forwards ever since we heard the rumours of your survival,’ he continued, smiling kindly at her, as though he could smooth away the fact that they had all sat at this table and done nothing but talk while they left her to make her way to Oceatold without assistance. ‘We will, of course, cement an alliance between Oceatold and the rightful heir to the throne of Brimordia, and publicly declare our support of your claim. We’ve been reviewing the terms of your marriage to my brother in order to consider the new situation, as those terms were agreed on with your father—’

‘My—my marriage?’ Gwinellyn spluttered the words, her face set with confusion.

‘Of course, Princess,’ Lord Faucher said in a tone he might use with a small child. ‘To comply with the wishes of your dear father, as much as to solidify an alliance. We’ll take on these usurpers as a united front!’ He swung his fist with some passion as he spoke the last phrase, and I wanted to roll my eyes. He may as well have beat his chest.

‘But… but I—’

‘Where is Tallius, anyway?’ The king interjected, cutting off whatever weak protest was about to spill from Gwinellyn. Aether’s teeth, was she not going to say anything? Already they were completely flattening her. ‘He should be here for this conversation. We’re determining the date of his own wedding after all.’

Gwinellyn had turned pale, as white as the flower she was nicknamed for. Her eyes were going glassy. She licked her lips, tried to speak again. ‘I hadn’t thought to… you see, what I was planning—’

‘You needn’t worry about the details, Your Highness,’ Dovegni said, oozing his smile all over his chin. ‘We’ve seen to it that the terms are fair and will engender the greatest support for our cause of seizing the Brimordian throne. A strong alliance will entice more of your supporters across the border, since then they’ll see we have a fighting chance of success. People are far more likely to support a cause with higher odds.’

‘Well, yes, I understand. I suppose that’s true…’ She held herself rigid, her hands in her lap, presumably clenched tightly against the onslaught of people who thought their opinions counted more than hers. She didn’t make the gesture as we’d agreed on, the one that would let me know she was in the danger zone for a fit, but I didn’t know if that was because she didn’t need to or because she was too panicked to remember. I’d had enough of the whole spectacle, in any case. I rose to my feet, snatched at the chair and began to drag it across the floor. The room quieted down at the sound of the legs scraping against wood, and every set of eyes was fixed on me as I pushed the chair into an awkward position next to Gwinellyn’s, jostling with the corner of the table.

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