Page 72 of Promise of Darkness
But it’s Queen Maren that leans forward with glittering eyes. “Have you any proof?”
“None beyond what I’ve seen with my own eyes,” he replies.
“So we’re to take your word for this?” My mother sneers. “The word of a prince who murdered his queen’s rightful heirs?”
“The word of a prince who dueled those heirs for his throne,” he corrects. “My word has been good in the past. Or are you calling me a liar?”
The pair of them stare at each other like cats contesting their turf.
Instantly, I can see this meeting deteriorating until it’s nothing more than accusations and insults.
“I saw it,” I call.
The room stills.
Four pairs of eyes turn to me, and my mother’s hold murder.
“I saw it too,” I repeat. “The Hallow stones are nearly all standing. Angharad had tribes of captured goblins working pulleys, and a couple of enormous trolls. The entire city was guarded by banes wearing her sigil, and her banner flew over her tent.”
“Did you see Angharad herself?” Queen Maren asks.
My mother’s fingers drum, one by one, on the arm of her throne.
I tilt my chin. “No. But Isem was there.”
“How close did you manage to get?” Lucidia demands, her blind eyes staring straight through me.
Not close enough. I know what she’s asking. “We were half a span away. On a rooftop. But it was there. The Hallow was risen.”
“When you say you saw the Unseelie queen’s tent there,” Lucidia murmurs, “was the banner over the tent waving in the wind?”
What?
“Why does that matter?”
“Illusions are the prince’s gift,” Queen Maren murmurs. “How are we to know if what you’re saying is the truth? If you were closer, then you may have been able to see if the scene was real.”
“Illusions are difficult to control on such a large scale,” Queen Lucidia adds. “It’s the small things that slip. A banner standing still in the breeze. The lack of scent of rank, unwashed troll. The echo of a bane’s howl.”
A muscle in Thiago’s jaw pulses. “First, I’m toying with her mind, and now I’m conjuring illusions to fool her. What an elaborate scheme I have planned.”
“What you’re suggesting speaks of war,” Queen Maren replies coldly. “We merely wish to ascertain the truth before we commit to an action that will drag the entire alliance into a bloody battle that none of us wish to fight.”
“You also speak of Mistmere, and those territories have long been disputed,” Queen Lucidia adds. “The game is already afoot between you and Adaia. It ends in a few brief months, which makes this the perfect time for a distraction.”
“Angharad has signed the treaty,” my mother adds, “with her own blood. To break it means instant death. So why would she encroach in lands not her own?”
“As I recall, she turned away to slice her wrist,” Thiago snaps. “I certainly didn’t see if it was her blood that dripped into the cauldron, or her servant’s. I’m not the only one with the gift of illusions.”
“But you have an interest in Mistmere,” Lucidia says.
“What possible cause does Angharad have to raise the Hallow?” My mother arches a mocking brow. “The Old Ones are trapped. And she has her own Hallows in Unseelie lands if she wishes to travel.”
“Nor did she serve the Mother of Night,” Maren adds. “She was bound to the Horned One.”
It seems as if they’re working in tandem against him.
Realization dawns: they are.
