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“They let King Jericho’s troops into the city and helped them root out the Grand Duke and his family,” Auberon finished quietly. “They had planned to publicly execute them for failing their subjects, but the building caught fire, and the Grand Duke and his family were trapped inside. They burned to death.”
“Afterward, when the nobles were fighting over who would take the throne, King Jericho supported my father. The others quickly fell in line, and my father has been the Grand Duke ever since.” Valerian studied him, clearly impressed. “I thought you didn’t know much about our history, Your Highness.”
“My tutors taught me the basics, but it’s quite different to hear it from someone who actually witnessed the war.”
“I was only five when it happened. Most of what I know is from my father’s stories. Some call him traitor, but he did what was best for our people. He refused to watch more innocent civilians die.” Valerian glanced at the window. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange. “I should leave you to rest. Before I do, there is just one thing I would like to share—something that often brings me comfort. It’s an ancient saying from Old Kentari:Rijat du’omo, Iei sao. ‘Until the end, I fight.’”
“I’ve never heard it before.”
“One of our old heroes, a knight who spent his life in service to the Grand Duchess during the Year of One Night, wrote those words in his journal the evening before he fell in battle. His sacrifice allowed the duchess to escape and give birth to their son, who rebuilt the country from its ashes. It has become a motto for our men in the army,” he said. “A few years ago, during my first trip to Kostos, my driver lost control of the horses and our carriage crashed, shattering one of the bones in my leg. I was bedridden for weeks in a dirty tavern in the middle of nowhere, stranded, agonized, and alone save for my guards. Whenever the agony became too much to bear, I repeated the words to myself until the pain subsided.Rijat du’omo, Iei sao.Something to think on while you’re stuck in this room.”
The duke stood and clasped Auberon’s shoulder in what he assumed was intended as a friendly gesture. Coming from a near perfect stranger, it felt more than a little awkward. Something else caught his attention, however. Even through the fabric of his tunic, he could tell that Valerian’s hand was hot—much more so than it should have been. He jerked away from the duke’s touch as if he’d been scalded.
“What did you just do to me?”
The guards stiffened, their hands going to the swords at their hips, but Valerian merely smiled and started toward the door. “I hope your recovery goes well, Your Highness.”
“No, wait—” Auberon pushed off his blankets and leapt out of the cot, swaying with the rush of vertigo that followed the sudden movement. He braced a hand on the wall to steady himself. “Stop—”
He doubled over and coughed, pain shooting through his battered lungs. The copper tang of blood filled his mouth as the guards rushed forward to help. Behind them, Valerian silently slipped into the hall. Auberon tried to order the guards to stop him, but he couldn’t stop coughing, couldn’t catch his breath. All the while, his shoulder throbbed as if it had been branded by a hot iron.
“Stop—” he finally managed to gasp. “Stop him.”
“Call for Healer Barra,” one of the guards snapped to the other. The man ran into the hall, shouting for the healer and his assistants.
“Stop the duke,” Auberon insisted, pointing to the door. “Don’t let…him leave.”
“The duke?” The guard’s brows furrowed. “The only person who has come to see you is your brother, Your Highness.”
Auberon barely had time to comprehend the absurdity of the statement before Healer Barra rushed into the room, his weathered face pinched in concern. “What’s the problem? What caused this?”
“I don’t know. He just jumped out of bed and started coughing up blood. Could the poison have affected his wits?”
“No, no. Hold him steady now—I’ll need to give him a sedative.” Barra hurried over to the desk and shuffled through several drawers before turning back, holding a syringe. Auberon struggled to free himself from the guard’s grip on his arms, but it wasn’t much of a fight. He could barely breathe.
“The duke…” he protested as the guard forced him onto the cot. The heat in his shoulder throbbed, pulsing in time with his frantic heart. What was happening to him? Why were they acting as if Valerian had never come?
“You’ve undergone a lot of stress, Your Highness, and your body is still weak,” Barra said as he jabbed the syringe into Auberon’s arm and pressed the plunger. “Some rest will do you good.”
“No…” Auberon shook his head as the sedative flooded through him. “The duke…”
Within moments, spots of darkness bloomed in his vision, and his body gave in to unconsciousness.
ChapterSeventeen
The Lady
Riona stood in the hall outside the treasury, watching through the open doorway as several royal guards searched for any documents that may have survived the burning. As far as they could tell, Cathal had destroyed everything: there wasn’t so much as a scrap of paper left on or inside the desk, and all the bookshelves contained were dry texts on economic theory and treasury records that were too old to be of any use.
Nothing made sense. Cathal had served the crown faithfully since before King Domhnall ascended the throne. Clearly, he’d been trying to hide something, but what? What had been so secret, so terrible, to warrant burning all the treasury documents? To warrant hismurder?
Had he discovered something unsavory in the records? That was easier to accept than the theory Prince Domhnall had suggested before leaving for an emergency council meeting: that perhaps Cathal had been helping another member of the court steal money from the crown. With forty-odd years of experience in the treasury, it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to manipulate the numbers. Perhaps his partner had decided to kill him to cover their tracks. Even so, Riona didn’t believe him capable of betraying the crown’s trust. Cathal had earned a reputation in the capital as a good, honest man, and she didn’t want to consider the fact that it might have been a lie.
Nicholas Comyn was one of the most respected generals in the history of Beltharos,a doubting voice whispered.No one ever expected him to turn on his king, and yet he didn’t hesitate to do it.Is it really so hard to imagine that a man like him existed in your uncle’s court?
She turned away from Cathal’s office. Men would do terrible things if they grew desperate enough, but Cathal had lived comfortably in the wealthiest part of the city, and he’d had no family to support after his wife passed before she could give him an heir.
Corruption festered within the heart of her uncle’s court; Riona knew it instinctively. She refused to believe that the man who had teased her and joked with her, who had snuck her treats from the kitchen, who had stood up for her against Lord Farquar’s cold judgment, would betray his king.
