Page 135 of Thorn Season
Perla huffed a little breath that might have been laughter if not for her air of defeat.
I couldn’t quite feel guilty about supplanting her, even after what Carmen had suggested about Perla’s father. Marrying the king would’ve been torture for someone like her; Erik’s bow-and-arrow stunt had proved it.
I was doing her a favor.
“I heard what happened with the Ansoran ambassador,” Perla said now, watching me closely. “You must have been very frightened.”
I maintained a blank expression. Whatever she’d once presumed about me and Keil, recent events must have proved her wrong.
“His Majesty straightened things out,” I said.
“I heard he could have been killed.”
“Thankfully, our king is stronger than one rogue Wielder.”
“One rogue Wielder can do more damage than people think.”
I blinked. I’d only ever heard Perla speak with such certainty the night she’d threatened me in the kitchens. Now that my suspect pool had widened to include everyone I’d previously overlooked... her threat seemed to hold a different weight.
“In that case,” I said, smiling tightly, “I was extremely lucky.”
I was walking away when she said, “I hear he’s proposing tonight.”
I stopped, eyes narrowing. “You hear a lot for someone who spends so much time in her chambers.”
Perla shrank back, her conviction lost. “Pardon, my lady. The servants talk. I meant no offense.”
“Oh, I’m not offended.” I stepped closer, and she recoiled. “You should speak your mind more often, Lady Perla. I daresay it suits you.”
I felt her eyes on me all the way into the ballroom.
39
If I’d possessed any doubts about Erik’s intentions, tonight’s decorations would have swept them away. The ballroom glittered like a treasure trove—strung with diamonds and aquamarine and blushing rose quartz, with moonstones beading like dew drops on every surface.
A roaring celebration of my province, the gem of Daradon.
“My mercenaries are ready.” Sabira’s lofty voice coasted over the revelry. She’d dressed in funeral attire: black armored velvet, dark lipstick, fake onyx at her wrists. As if my rise to power tonight would mean a small death for court.
Gracious gods, she was dramatic.
“You understand what they are to do?” I asked.
She recited, in accordance with the second demand I’d made of her, “They will arrive at Vereen’s borders at dawn tomorrow with orders to search the old xerylite mines for sympathizer factions. They shall wait there an hour before I call them off, saying you’ve had a change of heart. They shall return to Parrey”—her nostrils flared—“and I shall pay them anyway.”
“Pinch some jewels tonight to cover the cost. I’m sure Erik won’t mind a few missing pieces.”
Sabira seethed in silence.
For the sake of appearances, my initiative had to be believable up until the last moment. But I couldn’t allow Sabira’s mercenaries to actually enter my province; I’d even given them a fake map of the underground tunnels. If my plan didn’t draw out the copycats as expected—if something went wrong—at least Vereen would be safe.
“Why trick the gentry this way? To show them how cruel you can be, or how merciful?” Sabira stuck her nose in the air. “The game you wish to play requires more skill than you possess.”
“You’re boring me, Lady Sabira,” I warned. “Ensure that your use to me outweighs the effort of hearing you talk.”
“You make a mockery of your noble heritage.” She looked over my shoulder and fear tightened her eyes, wrinkling her beauty marks. “I’m a woman of my word. I hope you are, too.” Then she hurried into the crowd.
Someone seized my arm. I spun, yanking on my specter—
