Page 37 of Between Fear and Favor

I should have known better than to leave my sister with Declan. She had insisted, but I shouldn’t have listened to her. Ismene’s blood was on my hands, just as Elora’s was. But Ismene was gone forever.

Elora and Shivani lingered in the corridor, looking at the portraits from her other side of the family, and I backed into the room to make myself comfortable. I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a long while. Though I had thought it was another guest room, when I turned around, I realized I’d found a storage room instead. Furniture was stacked around the room with white sheets covering each item to protect them from dust. In the back corner, near the window, a couple portraits leaned haphazardly against the wall. Uncovered, I wondered why they were there. With the meticulous care given to everything else in the room, why were the paintings not given the same attention?

Picking my way across the dusty carpet, weaving in between two towering stacks of dining chairs, I only bumped into one thing on my way to the window. The vase I disturbed wobbled, but I was able to use my shadows to catch and settle it. I’d grown more adept with them during my time here, and I wondered just how long it would be until I came into my full divinity. I hoped soon, so I could leave.

Because I didn’t want to claim my throne.

The moment I was capable of defending myself, the best choice was to flee. Folterra could be absorbed into Vesta, or Honor—the novice my brother had sired—could take the throne. Though Folterra passed the crown through the male line, if there were none to speak of, what could be done?

All of the babes born from Declan’s rampage of assaults were girls. I’d checked when I lived at the dormitory. Desperate to not have anything to do with the crown, I’d hoped for a single infant to pawn the responsibility off onto. Anyone would be better suited than me.

I was a king without a family and without the desire to rule. I was also certainly lacking sense. Why else would I have relied on the Vestanas to protect me? Why else would I accompany Elora, the only person I cared about? I ought to have kept her far away from me.

I traced my fingertip through the dust on the frame, wrinkling my nose when I saw just how much had accrued. The portrait was heavy, and when I turned it, I had no idea who the woman could be. She had auburn hair and a kind face. Bright green eyes and a soft jaw made her less fearsome than most of the other portraits in the halls. I’d only sat for one, and I was never interested in seeing the results because of how boring it was. I was certain my face looked rather sour.

Sliding the portrait aside, I came face to face with another woman, and I dropped to my knees to better look at her. For a moment, I thought it was Elora, or perhaps her deceased aunt. But it didn’t make any sense for either of the portraits to be shoved into a dusty, unused corner of a storage room. Only when I saw her eyes did anything make sense.

Larke.

King Soren’s first wife, younger sister to my father, looked back at me with the Umbroth hazel eyes. Stark white hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, and her lips were tilted in a half-smile. She appeared uncertain—or perhaps sad. She wasn’t plain, but she also wasn’t what I expected. Considering an endless war had been fought over her, I had expected a great beauty to rival that of the gods.

There were far more stunning women. I tried very hard not to think of one in particular.

My father had rarely spoken of my aunt, and Declan refused to answer any questions I’d had about the woman. Dead long before I was even thought of, this was the face which had caused every bit of distress between our kingdoms in the last five centuries. She resembled both me and Declan, I thought. Fine-boned and long-limbed, Larke seemed tall. Her hands rested atop the back of what I recognized as the throne which now belonged to Emmeline.

When she was sent to Vesta, had she been a lamb at the mercy of her father’s enemies? Had she felt just as out of place and ill-prepared as I did? Did anyone know the true Larke Umbroth?

Portrayed as an evil influence in Vesta and an innocent martyr in Folterra, I was certain the answer was somewhere in between, especially after everything I’d learned. Forced into a marriage she didn’t want, she’d had to leave behind her friendship with the Supreme and studies in Lamera. I snorted when I realized how similar we were. Her older sister was supposed to marry Soren, and my older brother was supposed to be king. But they both had to go and get themselves killed, didn’t they?

I didn’t let my thoughts linger on Declan. Every emotion I had about my brother felt complicated and wrong. Instead, I thought of the different path Larke had taken, though the ending was no less tragic for her than it would be for me.

Where I betrayed the only girl I’d ever loved, Larke made do and fell in love with two men. Or so it seemed. Tannyl, the elf-prince, and Soren, the king of Vesta, had clearly been extraordinarily important to her. So important, it seemed Soren might have doubted that he was the father of the babe she’d carried in her belly when she died.

Larke inherited responsibilities she was never intended to have before meeting her bitter end. Countless more died because of it. It was likely myself and many more would die as well if I took up my supposed duty. I didn’t care about my own life, but there was one I couldn’t stand the thought of losing.

Everything I touched withered. I was a weed that needed to be pruned before I took over the garden and destroyed it all. Though she was of Declan’s blood, and as a female technically unable to inherit the kingdom, Honor couldn’t have been worse than me. Suddenly, I realized my solution.

As king, I could do away with the nonsense of male primogeniture. It wasn’t as if it had given us a thriving and prosperous kingdom. I laughed, unburdened by my swiftly approaching future for the first time since my brother died. My first act as king would be to declare Honor Umbroth as my heir. And then, I would abdicate. Everyone else was better suited to sort out the rest, while I disappeared for good.

“I’m loweringthe wards tonight, and I need you to come with me,” Elora murmured, leaning over me to point at the diagram of her ancestors I’d drawn. Louder, “You misspelled Vestana here. How, I don’t know. You’d think it would be impossible after writing it seven thousand times.”

“I did not,” I said, leaning forward only to get away from her sunshine citrus scent. She always smelled so gods forsaken fresh—like summer. It was the most pleasant form of torture. I was certain it lingered in her hair. Perhaps Aonara had blessed it; as long as it grew white, touched by her divinity, it would intoxicate those around her. Elora sat beside me, nudging my knee with hers.

She took what she had said to heart. Wanting things to start anew between us, our interactions changed profoundly. Gone was her awkward discomfort and her fleeting glances. Instead, I became victim to a barrage of her attention and kindness. How could one possibly convince themselves to stay away when her keen interest felt like the warm light of the sun?

Weeds were persistent in that way—given the slightest amount of sun and water they’d invade. I needed to pull myself out at the root.

“Reminy, I think I will take you up on your offer. I would like a romance novel most like The Discovered Dragon.” The man only looked at her with a raised brow. Across the table, Reminy sat behind a pile of books about the legend of Shika, trying to find out more about her husband’s identity. He appeared to be on the verge of telling Elora to get the book herself, but I wondered if he had the nerve to do so. It was unlike her to use her royal status to intimidate, and I couldn’t help watching the interaction with a barely hidden smile.

“Please? You have such a beautiful shop in Astana, with so many titles. I couldn’t possibly know better than you,” she exclaimed. I bit the inside of my cheek as she batted her eyelashes. Reminy’s cheeks pinked, and he pushed his spectacles up his nose. I shook my head in disbelief when the flattery worked, and he marked which page he’d stopped at before standing to do as she asked.

“He isn’t used to that kind of attention from someone with such beauty,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. Stammering, I tried to walk back my remarks. “You should see him with Thyra. You’d think she told him her deepest fantasies all involved him.”

I winced, not sure what I’d said had helped at all. My ears grew hot, and I swallowed. Elora shook her head, but I could tell my words rattled her when she let out a small sigh. Rolling her lips inward, she glared at me, but said nothing.

“I’m going to Brambleton tonight, and I don’t want to go alone,” she whispered. I was grateful she didn’t have a retort for me, but that relief was short-lived when I realized what she said.

“I am almost certain there is a history of very bad things happening here when the wards get taken down. Maybe I’m not remembering correctly, but I think it had something to do with the Beloved and my father? Your...who was it? Aunt Lucille? Lucinda? I believe she was murdered?—”

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