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Konegin pursed his lips, his beard closing over his mouth. “And yet you ignore it so easily, if you allow me to advise you at all.”
“You have not been ignored.”Only men can speak all day long and still think themselves silent.“But the choice is my own. You swore an oath to my father to see that through.”
“I did,” he answered sharply. “And I regret it.”
A spark of anger flared in Erida’s chest. Any word spoken against her father was a word against the crown, the kingdom, against the blood in her own veins. She wanted to throw him in the stocks for even daring it.But what good would that do?she warned herself.His son is pathetic, but his lands are many, his reach long. There are many more loyal to Konegin than they are to me. It is better to wait, to fortify myself, to grow strong before trying the snake pit.
Erida kept walking, her pace slow as to not be rude. But enough to keep her party moving, the feast close on the horizon.Balance.
Konegin fell in next to her.
“You think him too lowborn for me, I know that,” she said evenly. For not the first time, Erida wished she had inherited her father’s height so she could look her cousin in the eye. “I see that. But trust me when I say I’m thinking of Galland, of the crown, of our country, in every second I live and breathe. He is the right choice for all of us, for what we canbecome.”
Konegin scoffed. “I believe in flesh and blood, in what is real, Erida.”
Ahead, a door loomed.Sanctuary.The passage, the great hall, the future. Freedom from loathsome cousins and false betrothals, from dreams unrealized and impossible.
“So do I,” Erida replied.More than you know.“But, Cousin, you’ve spent all these years sitting my council, naysaying every name upon my list. Blood princes of Kasa, Ibal, Rhashir, Trec, every kingdom upon the Ward. The wealthiest heirs of Galland, the great princes of Tyriot. Men of means and power. You’ve never favored any of them, nor supplied a name yourself.” She surveyed him with a stern eye. “Suggest a suitor, Cousin, if you have one. Or accept who I have chosen, for the good of us all.”
Lord Konegin turned sour. He chewed his thin lips, resisting as long as he could. This was a corner he had long avoided, a card he didn’t want to play yet.But your hand is forced. Lay it down and let me see,Erida thought, almost greedy. She felt victory in her teeth.
“My son is unwed,” he ground out.
The Prince of Toads, Lord Troll, a thirty-year-old boy with his father’s temper, his mother’s weak constitution, and a walrus’s gut. I’d just as soon marry a corpse. It would smell better.
Even so, it was a consideration. If only to keep the crown from her cousin’s head.I would not be the first woman to wed for spite.
“Your son is a valued member of my family, a beloved cousin as you are.” Both the Queen and the lord nearly laughed at the bold, bare-naked lie. They shared a smirk, like adversaries smiling over crossed blades. “I would think he has an embarrassment of princesses and wealthy heiresses clamoring for his hand.”To their detriment, poor women.
“He does indeed,” the lord said, offering nothing else. “But Heralt would put them aside to serve Galland, to serve our noble and majestic blood.”
Ahead, her knights flanked the double oak doors, and then wrenched them open to show a passage of antechambers. They were all dark wood, lacquered and polished, carved to intricate perfection. Each archway was the mouth of a lion, fanged and snarling. Erida imagined them snapping shut as she passed, barring Konegin’s way.Or biting him in two.
“It’s good he doesn’t have to make such a sacrifice,” she said as she stepped into the passage. Her knights pressed in, their armor jangling in the closer quarters. All of them were broad and muscular, chosen for their strength and skill. Not to mention their tact. Shoulder to shoulder, the knights kept formation, effectively pushing her cousin away.
Lord Rian Konegin settled back on his heels, his cloak spilling over one shoulder. Framed by the doorway, by the passing flutter of her ladies, he seemed a rock in the sea, unmovingas the waves crashed all around. The Queen turned away, satisfied with her own performance.The sea will conquer even mountains, given the time. And you will grow old long before I do, your power dying as mine blooms.
Her voice was light, musical, girlish, a costume as much as her scarlet gown.
“Enjoy the feast, Cousin.”
13
THE NOOSE
Corayne
Dom brushed dust and dirt from his cloak, cleaning himself off after the debacle with the tunnel gate.Even though his appearance should be far, far down his list of priorities,Corayne thought, watching him rework the braid at the back of his head, gathering half his hair into a severely neat plait as he walked the now-dry tunnel.At least he’s effective.The cracked gate far behind them was testament of that.
Though it felt like an eternity, winding through the heavy darkness, barely twenty more minutes passed before Sorasa’s torch illuminated the bottom of a spiraling staircase.
“Finally,” Corayne said. She drank in a gasp of fresher air, tasting the difference.
Dom glared at the steps. “You first, Sarn,” he growled low in his throat.
The assassin sneered, ascending the steps. “An immortal Elder, hiding behind a woman and a child. How noble.”
He didn’t rise to her needling, but a muscle feathered in his cheek.
