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Stated with the perfect balance of esteem, authority, and discretion. Collectively, the members seized the opportunity with relief and ducked their heads. “Daughter of Autumn,” they replied, stunted but with a gratified light as they reappraised her.
Not Princess. Not Highness.
Still, it was a start. Somehow, we’d find a way for Briar to regain her title.
In the meantime, we took our seats and started causing a shitload of trouble.
Over the following hours, we dove headfirst into matters of priority, including the public’s response to Briar and how best to reintroduce her to the court, all of whom had been casting her glances that ranged from resentful, to admiring, to uncertain. According to reports and basic common sense, the castle residents stood divided on what to do about her, how to react, and what to believe.
It came down to pacing. Every court session and soiree needed to be navigated skillfully, to bridge the gap between kinship and leadership.
Briar held her ground during the conference, her words gaining momentum and confidence as time passed. For my part, I behaved. Except when provoked to sarcasm or mild death threats regarding the subject of potential assassins who might act against the Crown.
We listened to everyone’s contributions, then took charge with Avalea about the solutions. Regardless, it hadn’t slipped our notice that a handful of members refrained from talking at all. Now that they’d recovered from Briar’s appearance, misgivings lingered amid some.
Each time one of them gave her a dubious look, a hiss rolled up my throat. My fingers strapped around the stem of my chalice and squeezed, since it was better than going for the person’s neck. With Briar and Nicu’s fates at stake, not to mention the future liberty of every born soul in The Dark Seasons, committing another felony wasn’t an option.
Also, I might be overreacting. ’Twas second nature when it came to my son and my thorn.
After the council adjourned, the queen retired with us to the same private room where Rhys had blackmailed me and Briar. History volumes lined the walls, wingback chairs bordered a coffee table near the fire, and thankfully Summer’s stench had vacated the premises.
There, we summoned additional members into our huddle. Aire, Eliot, Cadence, Posy, and Vale strode into the room. In hushed tones, we debated confidential problems, starting with the bane of my existence.
“Rhys,” I nearly gagged.
Our group theorized about Summer’s intentions regarding the secret tunnels, including potential allies who might be serving him. On that score, the most obvious suspects were the castle residents.
The council? Not bloody likely. I’d spent enough time with them to conclude their flustered quirks and ethical mannerisms were legitimate rather than bullshit.
As for the nobles? More plausible.
“What about Rhys’s spies in Spring?” Avalea broached. “And in Winter?”
“Feasibly, those spies are still dispatched across the continent,” Briar stated. “Rhys may have no conflict with those courts, but he also has no reason to dismantle his informants. Not if Spring and Winter remain unaware of the betrayal.”
“It could be leverage against Summer,” Cadence suggested, waving her palm in the air. “Blackmail on you worked for him. Why not give the man a taste of his assholery?”
From his end of the room, Aire frowned. “Blackmail would make us no better than him.”
“Besides, he’ll see it coming,” Posy said. “Sometimes people like to assume everyone else is capable of the same manipulation.”
“In which case, he’ll have a contingency plan,” Vale added.
“In stories, the pricks always do,” Eliot remarked. “Not that this is a book, but archetypes come from somewhere real.”
Briar studied the flames. “We have no evidence. Nonetheless, not telling Spring and Winter puts us in a guilty predicament. We are bound by oath to inform them. Imparting this information is the right thing to do. Otherwise, our silence makes us traitors as much as Rhys.”
“Pacing, sweetings,” I reminded them. “Without proof, Rhys will twist whatever accusation we throw at him.” I plucked an unlit candle from the mantel and flipped the taper between my fingers. “He requires a precarious balancing act. One that fucks with his short fuse, so he gets clumsy. In the meantime, predict your combatant’s next three moves before you make one.”
Everybody agreed. We maintained that if Rhys acted, it would be during Reaper’s Fest. This, provided he felt confident of success.
That afternoon, we indulged in more time with Nicu. However, by early evening, the mood turned from blissful to tragic.
***
Beneath the earth, the landscape changed. The abundance of foliage vanished, replaced by a hellish pit void of light and color. Here, it was enough to convince even the most optimistic soul those things didn’t exist.
The dungeon reeked of several stenches, from mildew in the rushes to the ammonia of old piss. The bare minimum, a few meager comforts such as latrines and high but shallow windows admitting fresh air between the bars, did nothing to forgive Autumn for its crimes. Any semblance of the Season’s renowned compassion and benevolence disappeared, reducing Autumn’s reputation to a grand farce.
