Page 14 of Crown of Darkness
* * *
The tents arered and gold.
Horses shift and whicker at their moorings, and guards stand to attention beside them, gleaming as brightly as the gemstones that linger in my mother’s vaults. She’s always insisted her personal guard wear armor coated with thin gold scales for appearances sake, though a single blow will leave a dent that requires days of buffing.
My mother’s banners snap in the wind, and I catch a glimpse of a golden throne hidden within the main tent, though there’s no sign of her.
Every inch of it is planned.
It says: Did you think you had won at the Queensmoot? I let you live, and now I will crush you, as was my intention all along.
“Subtle, Mother.”
The silk parts as Thiago strides toward it, and he ducks within, leaving me to suck in one last fortifying breath before I face her. This is no time for nerves, but I can’t quite extinguish the breathless feeling inside me. Nor can I fight the urge to rest my hand on the hilt of my sword. I’m dressed for war in a brown leather corset that’s hard enough to turn away a glancing blow, and a mulberry-colored cloak over my shoulders, but the skin between my shoulder blades tickles.
The last time we met, I drove her back with the power of the Hallow.
My mother doesn’t forget such insults.
And the Ruthvien Hallow is far enough away that I can barely feel the quiver of it. With our recent arrival, it won’t be ready to use again until another hour has passed, at least.
“Excellent,” I mutter under my breath. I’m practically defenseless, except for the sword.
“Princess?” Finn murmurs.
“Nothing. Just enjoying my last moment of non-judgmental air.”
“Relish it. I’m sure she’ll manage to suck the wind out of our sails somehow.”
Then I’m inside, the lack of light abruptly plunging me into a moment of disorientation. A lantern gleams within the tent, platters of sweetmeats and figs spread across a black and white lacquered table. The scent reminds me of summer days and fields of golden grain whispering in the wind.
Not the musky perfume of a well-lit brazier that my mother prefers.
Curse it. I knew this was a fucking trap.
“Your Highness,” Thiago says, recovering from the surprise well. “You appear to have shrunk.”
A tall, straight-backed figure reclines before us, her long, lean legs laced over each other and both hands resting negligently on the arms of the throne. Every inch of her is poise, from the braided coronet of hair that settles like a crown on her head, to the slick golden silk of her cloak, pinned at one shoulder with a ruby as big as my palm.
“Hello, Sister,” says Andraste, meeting my eyes.
* * *
“Andraste.”The word trips over my tongue.
The last time I faced my sister, I’d felt alone. The revelation of the truth—that I was Thiago’s wife with my memories stolen away from me—had been a recent blow, and I’d been trying to find my feet in this new world.
I’m no longer alone.
A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, Thiago’s thumb stroking there with gentle reassurance.
I stare into her face, and I see a little girl lying in the grass of the meadows with me as we slice our palms and press them together.
“I will always protect you,” Andraste had whispered. “You’re my little sister. We will always watch each other’s backs.”
I don’t know where that girl vanished to, or even why.
My stepbrother, Edain, reclines at her feet in silken robes the color of a night sky, that reveal a healthy expanse of his chest. Rings glitter on his fingers and his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut as he reaches for a grape. It’s rather like having a leopard at her feet. Edain might be mother’s little trinket, but I’m one of the few who knows the truth of what else he is.
