Page 82 of In the Ravenous Dark
The smile he gives me is sickly, but it’s a smile.
I gesture with the dagger toward the door before I flip it around in my hand, ruby pommel flashing, and tuck the blade up my sleeve. “Lead the way, then.”
Ivrilos tries to stop me one last time, a tortured look on his perfect face. “Don’t do this.”
I ignore him.
Kineas walks ahead of me, stepping far more gingerly than his usual confident stride, arms crossed carefully against his stomach under the folds of his himation. Ivrilos stalks behind me, resignation sharpening him, one of his half-moon blades drawn. I keep upmy shield against Ivrilos and a subtle pressure on the crown prince to remind him to behave.
Even so, we don’t make it very far.
There are about a dozen guards already outside, weapons drawn, as we step through the broken-in doors and out into the palace hallway. It makes sense: I left a mess at the entrance to Kineas’s apartments, not to mention the corpses of his guards, and the fleeing girls no doubt raised the alarm.
“Oh, thank the goddess,” I say breathily, “and thankyoufor getting here so quickly! Someone attacked while the prince and I were chatting. We were waiting for reinforcements before we came out.”
The guards all stay back, at the ready. The one in charge says, “We have a report thatyouattacked.”
“That’s absurd! I’m the crown prince’sbetrothedand a loyal subject.” I pluck at my death shroud. “I was just paying respects to Old King Neleus in the necropolis. Besides, my guardian would never allow that. Our attacker must be spreading these lies. Right, dearest?” I ask Kineas, increasing the pressure on him.
He nods quickly, his face coated in a sheen of sweat. It looks like he has to stifle a gag. “Yes! Yes, that’s correct.”
Subtlety is definitely not my thing. Marklos was right about that. If I see him again, I’ll be sure to thank him, especially for what he did to my father.
The lead guard squints at the crown prince. “Are you all right, Your Highness?”
Maybe it’s good that Kineas’s appearance is drawing all the attention. It distracts frommine.But he still needs to play the part.
“I’m fine,” Kineas says, giving his sickly smile. I want to elbow him.
“It was just a bit of a shock,” I say. “We’re going to go report to the king now.”
“There’s no need for that,” says a commanding voice that traces a cold trickle down my spine. “I’m right here.”
I hear footsteps approaching from down the hall. And then the group of guards parts down the middle, bowing their heads, to make way for the king.
26
Down a marble hall infested with gold and choked with flowers, King Tyros comes striding purposefully. A gold-embroidered, deep blue tunic drops heavily around his legs, and a gold laurel crown glints in his salt-and-pepper hair. He has even more guards in tow, led by General Tumarq and the Princess Penelope in bronze breastplates and leather pteryges. Lady Acantha, whom I haven’t seen since my trial in the Hall of the Wards, and Captain Marklos head up a few bloodmages, all of them in black and red uniforms and silver helms. I thank the goddess Lydea isn’t among them.
I can see the guardians perfectly clearly. All in black, they look less like their wards’ shadows and more like looming captors, ready to bring them to heel—or even kill them—at a moment’s notice. A pox on flesh. And maybe it’s my strange eyesight, but the king is a dark stain at the center of them all, despite his bright embroidery, almost like a guardian himself. The worm in the apple.
All of this death mixed with life, I think somewhat deliriously—in the end, all you get is rot, whether it’s in this city, in the outer blight-covered world, or even in my own body.
My game is up already—I know as soon as I see the look of panic that crosses Kineas’s face when he sees his father. He’s more afraid of the king than he is of me. The loathsome squid won’t do what I say. Not even for the sake of his tenderest parts.
But maybe his father will.
I slide behind the crown prince, grab a fistful of his pewter hair,and bring the sharp edge of the dagger that was hidden in my sleeve to his throat. He tries to struggle, but the movement makes him nearly crumple in pain. Not only that, his neck gets nicked by the blade for his trouble. I try to ignore the trickle of blood.
“Trust me, I don’t want to be this close toyou, either,” I mutter in Kineas’s ear, and then I raise my voice. “One move and your heir will no longer be able to make heirs. And then I’ll slit his throat just for fun.”
The blade is redundant, since I could splatter Kineas’s guts on the floor with little more than a thought. But it’s a good visual clue for the guards who might need to see the threat plainly to be dissuaded from any heroics. The ruby winks at them for good measure. And yet I’m regretting it because of the blood.
I cansmellit, and it’s like the scent of everything my body has ever thirsted or hungered for, all at once. It makes my love of wine seem like child’s play. Through an act of sheer will, I don’t drag his throat down to my mouth to lick it.
Tyros halts in his tracks, throwing out a hand for everyone with him to stop. They do, with varying expressions of alarm. Tumarq is calculating. Acantha stares at me aghast. Marklos downright seethes. The king’s face remains stony.
“What is the meaning of this?” he says, eerily calm.
