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Erida’s stomach turned as the shape stumbled forward. He fell over himself, hands bound, a sack over his head, his clothing torn and crusted with mud.
But for the surcoat, she would not have recognized him. It was gold, emblazoned with a green lion. The reverse crest of Galland.
The crest of Lord Konegin.
She felt that same lion leap up inside of her, roaring, triumphant. It was like another conquest, another jewel in her crown.No, she realized, laughing to herself.This is better.
One of the assassins pushed him again, and Konegin fell to his knees. He gave a muffled yelp beneath the sack.
Erida stared down at him, mouth parted, the air tingling on her tongue. It tasted like victory.
“My lord, this is a mighty gift indeed.” Her hands shook, her skin burning. “What will it cost me?”
To her delight, Mercury gave another bow. As he moved, a chain around his neck fell forward, catching the torchlight. The jade snake dangled from it.
“The price is already paid,” he said.
She felt Thornwall’s eyes on her face, and the attention of his soldiers behind him. They looked, not just at her, but at the Lionguard held at knifepoint.
The Queen raised her chin, remembering herself. “My knights.”
With another flick of Mercury’s fingers, the Amhara drew back in unison, moving like a school of deadly fish.
The Lionguard knights sprang away as fast as they could, scrambling out of reach of the assassins.
“What of Corayne?” Erida said, turning her attention back to Mercury.
He shot her a dark look.
“The Amhara Guild does not tolerate failure,” he hissed. “Nor betrayal.”
Satisfaction welled up in Erida, and What Waits purred at the back of her mind.He wants Corayne and Sarn, she thought, delighted.He’ll kill them both.
“Lord Thornwall, prepare a tent for Lord Mercury and his company,” she said, her eyes shooting back to Konegin.
Her cousin seemed larger in her memories, clad in fur and velvet, always looking down on her, even when she sat the throne above him.
Now he would never look down on her again.
Erida’s hand closed on the sack over his head, the fabric rough in her grasp. Slowly, she pulled it off, revealing the broken man beneath. And Konegin was indeed broken.
A gag rubbed the sides of his mouth raw, his teeth fanged around it. Gone was his luxurious blond beard and mustache, his face red and cheeks shorn. His golden hair was no more, all turned to gray. He was thinner, older than she remembered. His eyes welled, red-rimmed and bloodshot, wavering over her face. The last time she saw him, he’d put poison in her husband’s cup, and ran when that poison failed.
Once, he was the spitting image of Erida’s father. It haunted her, to look into his face. To know grasping Lord Konegin lived while her father was long dead. Now he was no better than a corpse in Taristan’s army, white-faced and hollow, wrung out. Gone was the man who tried to seize her throne and murder her husband. Gone was the last hope of her traitorous lords, simpering men who could not stomach a woman’s reign.
Barely a spark remained in his blue eyes, the last bit of fight left in Lord Konegin.
“Hello, cousin,” she whispered.
Below her, he trembled, and the spark guttered out.
The knights carried him into her tent. She heard the thud of him hitting the floor, along with a yelp of pain. Taristan went in first, a greedy look on his face. Erida felt the same, her mouth twisted into a devilish smirk. She made to follow, Konegin’s heart already in her teeth.
Erida nearly snarled when Thornwall stopped her at the door. Immediately, she dropped her eyes, feeling the telltale burn of flames.
“And what will this accomplish, Your Majesty?” he asked hastily, wringing his hands. He still wore only a long nightshirt, an odd sight under the circumstances.
“Are you joking, my lord?” She hissed back at him, her eyes squeezed shut to hide her rage. “If there are traitors in my court, I will know of them. And deal with them as I see fit.”
