Page 79

“Everything’s going to be fine,” I said aloud, but doubt clouded my mind. Beric wouldn’t kill anyone, especially not a harmless drunkard with a loose tongue. He had talked the king down, I was sure. Went on as if it was a joke between the two.

We were escorted to a sitting room, where a few other ladies who had been sent away were waiting. Anise and I stood by the window, which had a clear view of the entrance to the garden. She didn’t want to let go of my hand, and I didn’t want to miss when Beric returned. Soon, some of the ladies coaxed my cousin away from the vigil with a card game, but I couldn’t be so easily distracted. It was five minutes of Faline trying to get me to sit and offers of tea before I saw a few nobles quickly begin to exit. I watched for another few minutes, until they had all trickled out—but neither Beric nor the duke appeared.

Don’t start worrying now, Cali. The king wasn’t going to do anything to hurt Beric, especially with how important he was to the running of the crown. No. He was fine. He hadn’t killed anyone. The king hadn’t killed him. Of course he was fine.

Faline finally made me sit, but I hated that I no longer had a view through the window. So this time I did accept the tea, if only to ease my nerves. Finally, I couldn’t bear the wait, and took out Vi’s journal as a distraction, careful to keep it tucked close.

They have employed a stonemage to lock me away. I have observed that the halls are changed every three nights, but I am too tired to determine the pattern. I am tired of everything. I want this to be over.

I paused. Beric had told me the stonemage was only for security, to keep the king safe. But it was … to keep me in?

No. Of course not. Just as Eliza didn’t report my movements to the king, the stonemage was used just as Beric had said. He wouldn’t lie to me.

But I could relate with Vi on one thing—constantly living on edge this way was tiresome.

There were a few blank pages before the next entry like before. It wasn’t dated, and the writing was a bit more frantic and difficult to read.

Beric is sixteen now and has finally taken all my beatings to heart.

I rested the journal on my lap, for fear my shaking hands would drop it. It felt as if I’d stopped breathing. I knew she hadn’t been kind to him—in fact, she’d been awful. But beatings? The thought of that woman beating Beric since he was a child was unbearable.

I forced myself to appear calm, glancing around at the other ladies to see if they could tell I’d hated every word of what I’d just read. They were still at their embroidery, books, and cards. Ann seemed relaxed, now, and her lack of concern annoyed me more than ever.

I took a breath and turned back to the journal.

He’s smarter now, but still strange. And he’s growing into a man without my permission. He fights often, and comes home with bloodied knuckles. Sometimes I think he might hurt me, too, but he never does. He’s a good boy at heart, but I’ve taken to breaking his spirit, just in case. He is truly terrifying when left to his own devices. I’ve created a monster, and I must be a different kind of monster to compete.

I shut the journal, disgusted by what I’d just read. If I was uncertain before, this was the proof I needed to never trust a word of what Vi’s journal said. The woman was paranoid, clearly. If Beric was fighting, it was because he was lashing out from being beaten for so many years. He was young and hurting, and didn’t know what to do.

And yet … and yet, if he killed that man in the garden …

But of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was a sweet soul who could never hurt anyone.

And yet all of court fears him.…

The doors opened abruptly, and Albert entered. I pocketed the journal and rushed to him, decorum be damned.

“Beric?” I asked, taking his hands.

“He’s fine,” he said, but his expression didn’t match his words. He lowered his voice to say, “But perhaps you would like to be the one to tell your cousin.…”

He didn’t finish the sentence before I squeezed his hands tighter. Didn’t have to. “The king followed through?” I whispered.

“What’s going on?” Anise demanded, standing and storming toward us. “Is there an update, or isn’t there?”

For once I wasn’t annoyed by her bullying tone, she had every right given the circumstances. I just wished she wouldn’t have done it now, in front of so many onlookers. I daresay she wouldn’t take the news well, and that was an understatement.

“Ann,” I said, carefully. “Your fiancé—”

“Well?”

“He didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?”

“He’s dead,” I blurted, before she could interrupt again.

It was tactless. Rude. Unnecessary, and yet wholly necessary. Because Ann did so love to twist words to meet her narrative, and I needed her to understand the dire situation she found herself in.