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“I suggest that we grant them the peace treaty and a stake in the mines. And I will agree to become Drystan’s bride.”
Pain flashed across his face, but he quickly smoothed it away. “That’s assuming Emperor Hyperion won’t renege on his deal and send an army to claim the Mountains for himself.”
“It’s a risk we must take. King Domhnall’s men know the mines better than anyone, and Hyperion will have to cooperate if he wants to avoid wasting precious money and lives. Plus, with foreign armies certain to march on our land, we’ll have our hands full fighting threats from without. We cannot stand against our enemies if we are fighting amongst ourselves.”
Her father studied her once again, his expression somewhere between pride and sorrow. “Spoken like a true courtier,” he eventually said. “I should have taken you far from Innislee a long time ago. If I’d had my way, you never would have set foot in this wretched city. It has changed you.”
Riona smiled, her heart aching. This court, this kingdom, had changed her for the better. It had forged her into the woman she’d needed to become in this world of polished smiles and silver tongues. If she had to, she would go to Erduria and carve out a place for herself in the Emperor’s court. She would do what she could to serve her kingdom from afar.
“The blood of kings flows through our veins,” she said softly, repeating her uncle’s words from so many weeks ago. “That blood comes with a cost.”
“One we will never be finished paying,” her father breathed, shaking his head. He rose, and Amaris stood, as well. “You seem to have thought everything through. When do you plan to confront the king about all you’ve learned?”
“Tonight, at the banquet. I need some time to rest and make sure everything is prepared.”
Her father rounded the low central table and kissed her temple. “I’ll be right at your side when you do, my love. I’ve kept my silence long enough.”
“We owe it to Cathal to see this through,” Amaris added, nodding. “What do you need us to do now?”
“Act as if nothing is out of the ordinary. You don’t know who was attacked in the theater nor why, and you have no idea who might be behind it. And Amaris—stay safe. Stick close to Prince Domhnall’s side, no matter what.” Riona wasn’t sure why Amaris hadn’t been targeted last night, as well—perhaps the king thought her meek enough to be intimidated into silence, or perhaps he simply wanted to wait until a more opportune time to kill her. Whatever the reason, she wouldn’t risk Amaris’s safety. “My cousin would die before allowing you to be hurt.”
“I will. Let’s pray that it doesn’t come to that.”
Riona nodded, the weight on her shoulders lessening at the determined expressions on their faces. For so long, she had felt alone in this city. Her father and Amaris loved her—she had always been certain of that—but their loyalty had always been to the kingdom and court first. Now, she knew that she could trust them completely.
Her father thanked Valerian for his aid and the protection of his guards, and then he and Amaris left. The second they were gone, Riona slumped back in her chair. She was utterly exhausted. It would have been easier to speak with them in the bedroom, but she hadn’t wanted them to see how weak the attack had left her. She knew better than anyone the importance of keeping up appearances.
“You did well,” Valerian said. He looked as tired as she felt, the shadows under his eyes stark against the vivid green of his irises. Thankfully, her father had been too distracted with talk of the mines to question how the duke had saved her life, and why she’d been brought to him instead of a healer. “But I still think it’s unwise to confront the king tonight.I’mbarely strong enough to stay on my feet, and I’m not the one who nearly died last night.”
Riona forced herself to stand, grimacing as the blood magic flared in her chest. Under the bandages, she could feel the heat pulsing, throbbing, as if someone had pressed a red-hot iron to her flesh. She gritted her teeth and started toward the hallway that led to the bedroom. The world tilted beneath her, and she caught her balance on the archway just as Valerian caught her elbow, shooting her anI-told-you-solook.
“I have no other choice,” she said, carefully making her way down the hall. Her head swam from the blood loss. “If I don’t go to the banquet, my uncle will announce my betrothal and have me tossed onto a ship bound for Kostos before the night is over. That’s assuming he hasn’t arranged another attempt on my life.”
“Still, you must give yourself time to rest.” He glanced back toward the sitting room, toward the guards, and then added in a low voice, “Blood magic is powerful, but it has limitations. You can’t heal through willpower alone.”
Riona shot him a look over her shoulder. “Try me.”
Valerian followed her into the bedroom and helped her onto the bed. Once she was settled, she nodded to the folded piece of paper on the bedside table. “Can you seal that and have it delivered to an elven servant named Ophelia?”
“Of course.” Valerian tucked the note into his pocket. “Thank you for including me in the discussion of the mines back there. Creator willing, with Rivosi aid and eudorite weapons, I may just be able to free my country from Kostori rule.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling. “It’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.”
The duke dipped his head in respect. “Rest now, my lady. Tonight, all of this ends.”
ChapterSixty-Six
The Liar
He had promised Drystan he would remain in the house until the banquet. He hadn’t promised he would behave himself once he left.
Auberon stood in the center of the hall a few corridors away from the banquet. After bathing and resting, he had changed into a fresh doublet the deep crimson of Erduria’s royal sigil, a red so dark it was almost black. Golden threads shone along the cuffs of the sleeves and up the line of buttons that spanned from his throat to his navel. His sword hung at his hip, freshly sharpened.
He pulled a piece of parchment no larger than his palm from his pocket. It had been attached to a larger sheaf of papers that had been delivered by one of Riona’s helpers earlier that afternoon, lines of elegant, feminine cursive detailing exactly how she planned the night would go. He had read her instructions carefully twice over, then dropped the papers into the hearth and watched the words blacken and crumble to ash. Only the note he had kept. Two words were scrawled across it.
Be ready.
Footsteps sounded behind him, echoing off the stone. A voice laced with victory and arrogance called, “What do you wish to discuss, Valerian? Are you hoping to make one last bid for Lady Riona’s hand?”
