Page 18 of In the Ravenous Dark
“No, I hear nothing down among the plebeian rabble,” I snap. “We’re too busy putting food on the table or looking out for our families to care whether or not the king’s morning shit went well.” Although therewasthat pageant the day before I was caught, where everyone dressed up in clay skull masks and flower wreaths…
“King Neleus is ill,” my father supplies quickly. “Too ill to live much longer, but at least he’s in his seventy-somethingeth year, so excuse me if I lack sympathy for his plight.” He drags himself over to a chair next to me. He’s in his early forties—too young to look like this, to talk like this, to move like this. “As with all the kings, he has the choice of falling on his sword or drinking hemlock before he becomes unfit to rule. That… event… will happen within the week, and will only be attended by Crown Prince Tyros in the necropolis, whose duty it is to perform the final rites and inter his body. I know you wouldn’t have heard much about the rest of the royal family, but the king, especially his passing, is another matter. There are celebrations in honor of him across the polis, most notably a commemorative banquet this evening here in the palace. Our presence has been… requested.”
I seize a pitcher and a goblet, fill the latter with water, and begin gulping. It’s only after I slam down the empty vessel that I say, “I must decline.”
“I don’t think it’s optional,” my father says gently.
“Why, willheforce me to go?” I don’t look in the dead man’s direction.
“Your presence could be assured in many ways,” my father says. “You’re expected to meet the rest of the royal family. It would be best to play along at this point, for your mother’s sake.”
In response, I tear into a loaf of bread with my bare hands. I alternate bites with stuffing grapes and chunks of melon into my mouth, chewing it all indiscriminately and ignoring the fact that it’s delicious. Penelope and Crisea both watch with marked distaste. I couldn’t care less. They want me to eat to regain my strength? Fine. The better to find my mother, wherever she is, fight whomever I have to, and get out of here, with or without my father’s help.
My father waits for a few minutes, not touching any food, while Penelope and Crisea finish their own meal. I relish the awkward silence.Let them choke on it, I think.
“Rovan,” he says eventually. “Would you accompany me on a walk? I can show you some of the palace, such that I can, and there are important matters we must discuss.”
“Don’t be gone too long,” Penelope says before I can open my mouth. “The royal tailor is coming in soon. He’ll alter one of Crisea’s dresses to fit the girl for tonight.”
“Will there even be enough material to cover her?” Crisea mutters, raising an eyebrow in my direction.
“Mustwe do this?” I burst out, spinning on her. “Are you worried I’m going to take him from you? Since yourrealfather doesn’t seem to be around anymore, you must be desperate not to lose this poor substitute.”
Hurt cuts across Crisea’s face.
“Rovan—” my father starts, but Crisea interrupts.
“He’s been my father for all these years, not yours,” she spits. “Iactually care about him. He was supposed to have been safe, but then you had to show up and start all of this. You should have kept your nose down in the mud, you worthless pig.”
Penelope sighs. “Crisea. No need to insult her breeding. Sheistechnically your stepsister, and a part of this family now.”
I gape. “You people arenothingto me. You’re not my family. And you conniving royals are the ones who did this to my father in the first place, so it’s your fault if he’s in danger. And you know what? You can keep him, if you both want each other’s company so badly. And you can keep your damned dress.” For good measure, I add, “At least Ihavebreasts.”
Never mind that Crisea is perfectly fine, if thin and muscular like she’s boiled all her fat off in martial exercises—and if also a bitch.
The girl twitches like she wants to go for a sword. “I should gut you for speaking to me like that.”
I stand abruptly, causing them all to jump. “Try it. I am a bloodmage, and I willthrowthe next person who—”
I feel a hand on my arm and fling myself around, alarmed that I might find the cold, pale skin of the dead man’s against mine. But it’s only my father, reaching out from his chair, and I realize he’s done it more to warn me than to restrain me.
Because the dead manisstanding right behind me, a looming black figure that looks entirely too substantial, as if he wasaboutto do something to me. I jump an involuntary step back and bump into the table, knocking over a glass. I hear it shatter. I don’t take my eyes off the shade. I glare at him as if daring him to come closer, and he gazes implacably back.
Apparently he doesn’t approve of threats to the royal family.
“I need to get out of here,” I say into the tense silence that follows. “And I need answers.”
“How about that tour?” my father reminds me quickly.
“Sure. As long ashestays behind,” I say, raising my chin at the dead man.
“I’ll be just out of sight,” the shade says, as calm as ever. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
My hand gropes behind my back, seeking a knife or a plate or something else to throw at him, but he vanishes before I have the chance.
My father stands slowly. “Let’s go. I’ll be back, don’t worry,” he adds to Crisea, who sits with her arms folded, giving me a deadly stare.
I tug my shawl tightly around my shoulders and follow him out into this strange new world.
