Page 95 of The Castle & the Cloister

Beneson nodded fervently. “I’m already gone.”

And he was. The boy tore out of Ariana’s rooms as if it would be his own life on the line in an hour. For her part, Fia gathered up Justus and tucked him into a cloth sling she’d begun wearing—the boy was growing heavier, and inconvenient to shift from one arm to the other. As she settled him in, he looked up at her with his wide night-blue eyes, and for the first time, Justus’s face crinkled into a delighted, toothless grin.

Catching her breath, Fia raised both baby and sling to press kisses to the small boy’s face.

“You’re worth the trouble now,” she murmured to Orden Inver’s son. “You’d beststayworth the trouble once you grow into your throne.”

Fia found the Priest in the audience hall, where the rite of conquest would take place. It was the same room where Ariana had bled onto the floor, what felt like a lifetime ago. The Priest was alone there, seated on the edge of the dais that held Orden and Ariana’s vacant thrones.

“You look half-dead already,” Fia said on her way across the hall to him. “Have you slept more than two hours together since Orden died?”

“I made a stupid mistake,” the Priest said as Fia sat beside him. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I pushed Lucian too hard and left him no other way out. We’re both going to pay for that—I don’t doubt he’ll live, but I’ll sell my life dear. He won’t make it out of this unscathed. Neither of us want what’s coming, but there’s no way around it, now I’ve brought Hadrian to the castle. He loves a fight and thinks this is the right way to settle a succession.”

Fia took the Priest’s hand in her own, twining her fingers through his. “You’re not going to die. I pushed you into this, and I refuse to have your death on my conscience.”

“You understand that it wasn’t actually Orden who killed most ofour family and my father’s councilors?” the Priest said. “Orden took care of our father himself, and sacrificed one of our sisters, but Lucian did the rest of his dirty work for him. The witchsmoke that blinded me was Lucian’s doing—I’d sidestepped a dozen assassination attempts by then, and Orden wasn’t creative enough to come up with something like that.”

A sudden thought struck Fia. “Did OrdenaskLucian to help him? Or did Lucian begin it himself? Was it Orden’s choice to take the throne, or did Lucian push him into it?”

“Neither,” the Priest said with a shrug, his posture going suddenly tense. “My brother had spoken of claiming the throne since we were small. Our father’s favorite, Carian, was cruel. If he’d become king, we’d all have suffered a great deal more. I believe Orden considered it a kindness to his family, rising to the throne and dispatching most of us efficiently along the way.”

“It seems to me that everyone on this cursed mountain is trapped by expectations,” Fia said. “Orden couldn’t escape the idea that he must murder his way to the throne. We’ve been at war with Vesper for two centuries because it’s what’s always been done. And now you and Lucian are bound by this rite of conquest. None of you are truly free.”

“Do you consider yourself free?”

Fia thought that over. “No. But when you’re regent and Justus is king and Ariana is safe, I will be. And I will walk out of this castle without a backward glance.”

“Given that I’m about to take my life into my own hands,” the Priest said with a humorless smile, “the least you could do is paint a picture of a future Iwantto live in.”

A small knot of eager courtiers filed into the audience hall at that point, casting surreptitious glances at Fia and the Priest. With a roll of her eyes, Fia left the dais and went to stand against the wall, respectful space left around her as more courtiers arrived and she glowered at any newcomers. Justus began to make small, discontented noises, and she paced with him, five steps forward, five steps back. Anxiety unfurled within her as time wore on and the audience hall filled. There was a crowd now, four or five people deep, lining the walls and leaving the center of the hall empty in anticipation of what was to come. The Priest sat, silent andentirely self-contained, on the edge of the dais. But he looked tired. He looked defeated already.

The terrible vision Fia had been granted before leaving the cloister hung before her, and she gritted her teeth. No. She had rejected that dream out of hand and worked against it ever since. Orden was dead, in opposition to what she’d seen, and Ariana and the Priest would live. She would accept no other future.

Fia kept up her furious pacing, as much for herself as for Justus. There was still no sign of Beneson and Nikolau. If she was honest, she’d have told the Priest she hoped for their arrival—that she’d planned a reprieve for him. But it would be difficult for Beneson to manage the errand in time, and Lucian would certainly refuse any request to delay the rite, knowing that the introduction of an adjutor would only put him at a disadvantage. No point in getting the Priest’s hopes up. Better he be prepared within himself for the worst, than weakened by thinking help might come.

At last, Lucian stalked in with Gaius and Hadrian in his wake. If the Priest was quiet and self-contained, Lucian was a snake coiled to strike. He radiated suppressed energy and stood aside as Hadrian climbed the dais.

“In the absence of a king,” Hadrian said, clearly enjoying the opportunity to speak from a position of authority without suffering any of its risks or responsibilities, “I’m here to announce a rite of conquest, this one regarding charges of treason. Both the Priest and spymaster have leveled accusations against each other. The survivor of this rite will be cleared of all charges, and their rival deemed guilty posthumously.”

Hadrian paused for a moment, raking the gathered crowd with his sharp gaze.

“I will admit I’m disappointed such a rite isn’t being held to settle the succession,” he said with a frown of displeasure. “It shames all of us, that Orden’s lain dead for days and no one has yet claimed the throne he left empty. None of you have the pride or power I’d expect from an Inver.”

Fia couldn’t help herself. She disliked the old man on principle, for backing the barbaric rite of conquest and castigating all of Inver court for failing to grasp at the throne when he wouldn’t try for it himself. And she needed to stall for time.

“If you’re so disappointed,” she called out, “then why not claim the throne yourself? I see two men bold enough to brave the rite of conquest for less, and one antiquated statesman with nothing to offer but idle chatter.”

A ripple of shocked and delighted laughter ran through the gathered crowd, and Hadrian’s aquiline face flushed darkly. Fia gave him no opportunity to respond—rather, she strode onto the dais herself, with Justus peering curiously out from his sling.

“If no Inver grown and titled and empowered will claim the throne,” she said in a voice that echoed back from the ceiling, “then I claim it on behalf of Orden’s son. Unless someone else can take it—which none of you seem inclined to—it belongs to Justus by legal right.”

“An infant can’t govern Honoria,” Hadrian shot back.

“No,” Fia said. “Not yet. So should the Priest survive his ordeal, let him serve as regent—he’s nearest to Justus by blood. When the little king reaches his majority, it will be for the two of them to decide how the succession is dealt with once again—whether the Priest will step aside willingly, or, as is tradition, if Justus must kill him in order to claim the throne.”

Murmurs ran through the assembled court. They could see the sense in Fia’s words. They needed a sovereign. And few of them were eager to take on the risk that came with Honoria’s crown.

“Who are you,” Hadrian asked, “to address this court, or to speak on Inver matters at all? Dolenza’s rabble have no claim and no voice here.”