A knock on the door brought the arrival of Lily, with Luther, Taran, Eleanor, and Alixe in tow. I hadn’t talked to any of them since my father’s death, other than a few murmured words of thanks as they took turns bringing up food and other supplies.
I couldn’t even look at them. Every pair of blue eyes reminded me of those blood-inked words.
Mortal lover.
Half-breed.
Rebel scum.
I knew none of them would have ever hurt my father. But until I uncovered who had, I was having a hard time not seeing every Descended as a threat.
As an enemy.
I rushed to the pile of gifts presented at the ball from the foreign Descended and pulled out the blade from Fortos, the weapon-proof scarf from Ignios, and the cure-all potion from Arboros.
“Here.” I draped the scarf around Teller’s neck and chest and shoved the other objects into his hands. “Take these. Keep them with you at all times.”
“You’re fussing again.”
“They’ll keep you safe. We don’t know who—”
“D, it wasn’t a kid at school who killed him.”
“We don’t know who it was,” I snapped. “And until we do, we trust no one.”
We stared each other down. Teller must have seen the terror underlying my stubbornness, because he sighed and gave in.
“No weapons allowed at school,” he said, handing the blade back. “I’ll take the rest.”
“Good. I’ll walk you out.” He started to protest, and I raised a hand to cut him off. “It’s on my way. I’m meeting with House Hanoverre.”
He wrinkled his nose at the mention of the Hanoverres, a sentiment I deeply shared.
I attached the Fortos dagger to my own waist, adding it to the arsenal of weapons I’d already strapped across my body. There would be no fancy dresses for this House Reception—today I’d chosen some clothing gifted by Alixe, a regal twist on the armored uniform of the Royal Guard.
It was a message—this was war, and I was prepared to fight.
I took Teller’s arm and wordlessly pushed past the pack of Corbois, eager to avoid being left alone with their sad eyes and pitying words. Someday, I might be healed enough to appreciate their sympathy.
But not today.
Today, my grief was a sharp, pointed thing. A weapon—a mace, covered in poisoned spikes, ready to demolish anyone it swung at.
So I was doing my best to aim it in the right direction.
When we arrived at the sprawling front doors, I turned to Teller and rearranged the spydersilk scarf until it covered all his major organs.
“Be safe,” I ordered. “Don’t take any risks.”
“Don’t kill any Hanoverres,” he muttered. “Not yet, at least.”
We shared a dark look, then he followed Lily down to the palace gates. Despite the absurdly large collection of guards that accompanied them, my hands trembled as my brother walked away from the safety of my side. I stood watch until they were no longer visible, and even for a little while after that.
“Follow them,” I whispered. Across the bond, Sorae pulsed back an acknowledgement, then sprang skyward in a direct line down the path to the Descended school.
When I spun to reenter the palace, the four Corbois cousins had arranged themselves in a line at my back, and I nearly ran straight into Taran’s chest. He shifted to the side to open up a path.
“I’m so sorry about your father, Diem. We all are.”
His use of my name instead of his silly nickname, the tender hesitation to his voice—I nearly broke all over again.
“If there’s anything we can do—”
“Thank you,” I clipped, shoving past him.
Today, I needed strength. Even if that strength could only be found in anger.
None of them said another word as they followed dutifully behind me and we filed into the meeting room. I headed for my throne but stumbled to a pause when my eyes fell on the chair where my father had last sat.
He was gone.
My father, my beloved father, was gone.
We were just here, talking together in this very room. He was laughing with Taran and holding Eleanor’s hand, teasing me about my childhood mishaps.
And now he was so utterly gone that I didn’t even have a body to bury. Just a memory—a name on my lips, and nothing more.
Alixe slid into my father’s chair. The rage that roared through me must have shown on my face, because she took one look at me and went deadly still.
“What are you doing there?” I demanded.
“I asked her to come,” Luther jumped in. “Given the demands made by House Benette, I thought her insight on the army might prove useful.”
I whipped to face him. “More useful than my father was, you mean?”
His face went ashen. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean to suggest—”
My eyes narrowed. “I seem to recall you pushing me to choose Alixe instead of my father. How quickly you got your wish.”
He shook his head with a tortured expression. “I would never wish this on anyone, least of all you,” he said, his voice heartbreakingly soft. “He was a good man and a wise advisor.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Alixe said, rising from the chair. “I’ll leave.”
“Wait,” I hissed. “Just… wait.” I stared at the empty chair and ordered myself to breathe as I yanked on the reins of my temper. I felt wholly out of control, a helpless passenger to my own rage.
“I’m sorry,” Luther murmured. “I only meant to help.”
I’m only trying to help.
The last words my father had spoken to me.
My eyes slammed closed as grief battered its fists at my chest. Strange, how armor could be both a shield and a cage, keeping the arrows out while trapping the monster in.
Hateful, intrusive thoughts poked and prodded at the edge of my mind.
You can’t control yourself.
Your temper ruins everything.
Your father was right—you’re a selfish, useless Queen.
Choosing not to postpone these House Receptions had been a very bad idea.
“You might as well stay,” I gritted out. I turned my back to them all and sank into my throne. “He’s dead, and he’s not coming back.”
The Corbois cousins stiffened as House Hanoverre arrived in noisy fashion with the rest of the Council. Aemonn had Iléana on his arm, the two of them walking alongside Jean and laughing, while Marthe Hanoverre shuffled forward with one arm each on Remis and Garath.
Their merriment faded as they entered and saw me already seated. I didn’t bother to stand or even turn my head. Between my volatile emotions and their place high on my list of suspects for my father’s killer—second only to House Benette—silence was the best I was willing to offer.
I locked my focus on the chair directly ahead as Marthe Hanoverre took her seat, and her own formidable stare slid into the path of mine.
As our eyes connected, I sent every spark of suspicion, every burning flame of hatred, hurtling her direction.
Though she did not cower, there was an apprehension to her weathered face. “I heard the news. My condolences for your loss.”
Vicious, murderous words climbed up my throat.
“I understand it occurred the day after the ball,” she continued. “House Hanoverre had a large gathering at my home that day in preparation for this meeting.”