Page 127 of The Court of Venus

“You two must think yourselves so clever now that you’ve managed this clumsy ascension. This little coup.” Balthasar swept a hand through his dark hair. “You must think you’ve succeeded. How did you manage to get him—” He inclined his sharp chin toward Roland. “—out of the Archimago Tomb?”

“How did you know he was put there?” I asked.

Balthasar’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The Tomb is Saturn-built.”

“No. You have other sources in Alvion, don’t you? Fulke Roet.”

Balthasar nodded. “Of course Fulke Roet. Fulke is my emperor’s nephew, too, just as he is nephew to your king. Do you think the emperor would let you accuse his own blood of treason and throw him in the Tomb? Do you think the emperor would let you deny Fulke what is rightfully his?”

“Where is the emperor, Baz?” Roland asked. “Does he loathe your company, too?”

The Saturn’s lip curled. “With his wife.”

“His dead wife,” Roland clarified.

“Do not be mistaken. He has still instructed me in this matter.”

“Fulke will never be—” I paused at the triumphant look on Balthasar’s face. The Tomb is Saturn-built, he’d said. “You have him. You took him.”

Balthasar smirked, as if he couldn’t fathom how it took us so long. When Roland clenched his fist, I stroked a finger along his knuckles.

Balthasar took particular interest in where we were joined. He said, “There is no place out of bounds for me, Bianca Mortlake. There is nowhere you could lock a man up where I couldn’t find him. I opened a portal in his cell. Yes, even the Archimago Tomb is a cobweb to me, so easily brushed aside. Fulke is here, safe, in Bastian. Oh, your guards thought he simply vanished.” He laughed airily. “I’m sure they will be arriving soon to tell you. I’m sure you forgot that once the king died, the rule over the Tomb would pass to Fulke, the rightful heir.”

Roland snapped his fingers. “Ah. Are you sure about that? The king’s new will, Mercury-sealed just yesterday, declares that any heir who intends any harm against His Majesty King Richard forfeits his claim to the throne.”

Seams of worry appeared on Balthasar’s face. “You truly think a Planetborn can rule without royal blood beside them? The people will riot in the streets before they allow it.”

“No,” I said. “I am like you. I understand that the true power is the shadow behind the man. I’ll be the shadow for the rest of my life.”

“If you stand in the way of Fulke,” he bit out, his patience waning, “the emperor’s armada will sail for your shores. His army will sweep through the doorways I will open into your kingdom. I am a dangerous enemy to make.”

“So you have Fulke,” said Roland, pushing off the wall. “We have control of Alvion’s court, our own army, our armada—shall I go on?”

“Roland Daymour, you have demonstrated a complete inaptitude for international politics. We are not negotiating.”

“We aren’t?” Roland’s eyes flared with power. Balthasar slammed his own head into the wall. “Then why aren’t we using magic? I had assumed we were being civilized.”

Blood dripped from Balthasar’s brow onto the granite floor. He laughed to himself, then his fist disappeared inside a pocket of space, colliding with Roland’s cheek, over ten feet away. Balthasar grinned. “Now we’re playing, aren’t we?”

Roland stumbled, nearly fell. Balthasar wrenched his hand back through the window he’d created.

“Do you know what is strange about desire?” Roland said, rotating his jaw. “Sometimes we cannot comprehend the things we want or the things we want to do. They have no explanation, no reason. They are base. Primal.” He shrugged. “For instance, why is it you long to slam your head into a wall? You must crave pain.”

“Stop!” I cried. “Stop it, Roland.”

I placed a gentle hand on his chest. He heeded me with a sigh and a final glance toward Balthasar, still working his jaw.

Balthasar slid through the air again, emerging on his throne, brow still gushing blood. He dabbed his finger into it. Licked it. “So, that’s it?” he baited. “What tremendous power she holds over you, the infamous Roland Daymour.”

Roland snorted. “Was that intended as an insult?”

Balthasar’s dark eyes crawled to me, more curious than ever. “The emperor will not return Fulke, even if you manipulate me so deftly I turn my own blade to my heart.” His smile widened. “Oh, yes. Your king told me the story. ‘She was a terror,’” he mimicked. “‘A pale, wraith-like demon.’” He chuckled to himself. “Oh, how he was distressed.”

“Why would he speak with you?”

“Like most new specters, he was desperate to recount his death and the role you played in it. All dead, wherever they come from, whoever they were in life, have stories to tell. They whisper them all to me.”

“Why would you put your reputation behind Fulke?” I said to Balthasar, raising my voice. “Tell the emperor the truth. You read star charts as well as we do, and I’ve read Fulke’s. It is not destined. He has a feeble, twisted mind. A cruel disposition. Nothing in his sky says he is meant to rule.”