Page 39 of A Court of Masks and Roses
“Perhaps you should remember your place,” says Trace.
“Perhaps you two need a drink,” drawls Luca, exchanging gazes with Wil. “Or several. And perhaps well apart from each other. At least, that would be most beneficial tomyhealth.”
That evening,I find myself back in Firehorn’s study, examining the king on the other side of the desk. My dress, a silk number in pale blue, is a beautiful mockery of my thoughts. Watching Trace’s cheeks color when he escorted mehere was downright entertaining, especially when the silver chain along the curve of my hip drew several lingering glances from the male courtiers.
The mirth of that short stroll is long gone now.
“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” I say more forcefully than I mean to. “Perhaps the intended outcome was the one that happened: Injure our negotiations with Everett. Or else convince you that the cost of a continued negotiation with Everett is too high. Viva Sylthia has attacked the crown’s assets before. This may be a natural escalation.”
“First my niece, with the next stage being one of my children?” says Firehorn, his voice deathly calm.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.My chest tightens. It’s my bloody job to know. I was supposed to be Firehorn’s defense against Viva Sylthia, and I’m damn bait instead. “Are you considering calling off the negotiations?” I ask.
“If I do, Dansil will fall within five years.” I freeze, staring at the king. Firehorn sighs. “Such is the grimness of mathematics, Kalianna. Dansil lacks the people to sustain itself. With the Drought, most of the generation of children who’d be of age now to farm and build and bear their own offspring never came to be. And the precious few that survive do so only to die on battlefields or birth beds. We need more than peace—we need Everett blood to mix with ours, and we need Everett’s goodwill to aid us in discovering the Drought’s end.”
Fear coats my tongue. “Stars take me.”
Firehorn nods. “Why do you imagine Bishop Bahir has a seat at my dinner table? I’ve little love for the man myself, but Dansil’s survival thus far is in large part thanks to Bahir’s preaching. The promise of a bright future and a goddess’s love gives hope and purpose to those who have nothing left. Still, hope goes only so far.”
Hope served with a side of hate. “Bishop Bahir blames whisperers for the Drought. Yet Everett has whisperers and the babes there are born healthy.”
Firehorn waves my words away. “Desperate people need someone to blame. The suffering of a few to give hope and strength to the many is acceptable.” Except it isn’t. Not to me. But I’m smart enough to shut my mouth before the king’s candor turns to choler. “With regard to the assault on Lianna,” Firehorn says, and I brace myself for the reprimand. What the king says instead stops my heart. “Perhaps she should depart. Kal too.”
“Sir?” The word comes in a whisper.
“We are no closer to safety than we were prior to your arrival.” He holds up his hand. “Not for any lack of effort on your part, I believe. But simply for the fact that imagining one person might make a difference was too great a folly. I do not see the need to risk your life further, not when your skills might be needed another time.” He smiles with exhausted eyes. “I’m releasing you and Leaf back to the estate.”
My fingers curl around the edge of Firehorn’s desk. The king is granting me everything I want—a return to the shadows, an end to the farce with Trace and Wil and Luca, an old master who takes me at my word even when the news I bring is difficult to believe. All I must do is nod. Thank him and accept the fact that I failed. Go hide behind others’ backs like Trace thinks a woman should.
“Give me one more chance,” I hear myself say, my voice thin. “Discovering Viva Sylthia’s intentions falls squarely in my line of expertise. I will find what we need.”
Firehorn shakes his head. “I’ve seen you work, Kalianna. If you tried any harder, you’d turn night into day. Sometimes... sometimes the wisdom lies not in driving someone harder, but in knowing when to stop pushing, whenprotecting a resource is better than using it. Sometimes we must know when it’s time to yield.”
“One week.” I’m on my feet. My heart pounds, my hands opening and closing at my sides. “I’ve tried fitting myself into someone else, but now let me try it my way, sir. Give me one week and enough reins to use my own tactics. If at the end of that I fail to deliver, do as you must.”
Firehorn weighs me with his gaze. “What would you need?”
I swallow. “I presume the prisoner knew nothing about the source of his orders?” I ask, waiting until the king confirms the assumption before continuing. “Then all I need, sir, is for Kal to be granted a bit of liberty without raising suspicions.”
22
VIOLET
Violet strode across the palace grounds to a True Family meeting with her face raised high in the bright afternoon sun. It was a good day. Everywhere her eyes fell, she saw scarlet uniforms of the Holy Guard, Dansil’s true protectors. Brother Joshua had been right—last week’s attack was a codex. More importantly, the attack had been necessary to enable the Goddess’s soldiers to take their posts. And the Goddess managed it all without actually harming the princess.
Witnessing the results of the Goddess’s work firsthand, Violet had trouble understanding her own previous confusion. But looking forward was more important than looking back, and now Violet was on her guard. Her sisters had warned her that the Dark God would fight hard now to get Violet’s soul back, and she was prepared to defend it.
“Vi!” Violet halted as her brother jogged to her from across the courtyard. Only one guard, Luca, trailed behind the prince, making Violet wonder what Wil had done this time to lose the other two. Or to drain away Luca’s usual happiness.Wil stopped beside her, panting lightly. He was pale, a haunted look in his eyes that Violet hadn’t seen since their mother’s funeral. Something was wrong.
The Dark God works through the ones we love,said Zalia’s voice in Violet’s memory.Be careful, sister.
Violet checked the sun’s position. If she lingered too long, she’d be late.
“Where have you been hiding the last week?” Wil asked, looking Violet up and down. He made a face. “And what in stars’ name happened to your hair?”
Violet ran a hand over her short tufts. She still missed the shining golden locks she’d given up to show her devotion to the Goddess, but the self-imposedconditionfortified Violet’s internal core. She knew better than to tell Wil as much though.
The Dark God twists the truth into his own weapon. Keep it to yourself, lest you give him ammunition.It was another of the Order’s teachings.
