Page 36 of Court of Treachery

“The academy and the keep are as yet untainted.” The school of dragon riders and the stronghold of soldiers lay across the mountains from Tournai. New stock for Raedon’s ranks, if all else failed. “We have time yet to see how this plays out. One step at a time, General. First, secure the court. Secure Tournai.”

Dimitri made to leave, but Raedon stepped before him. “What will you do?” There was a slight glint of desperation in his eyes, Dimitri was pleased to note.

“Stay in the shadows, as always, and make sure this doesn’t blow up in our faces.” Dimitri walked away, enjoying the grim worry in the high and mighty general of the Winged Kingsguard. It is almost like playing a game of chatura. Except with living people, not wooden pieces, Dimitri thought. He rather enjoyed it.

On his way back to his quarters, Dimitri almost jumped out of his skin as Princess Rosella appeared from the shadows, blooming like a ghost in the shadowed halls.

“Oh, thank goodness. There you are, Dimitri.” Rosella staggered forward and clung to his forearm.

He stared at her, quite dumbfounded as he took in her appearance. She looked ghastly. Her beauty had dimmed, her light extinguished. She was a rose no longer. Rosella’s once shining sheet of golden hair hung lank around her shoulders. Her perfectly tailored dresses now sagged from her skeletal figure. He took in the jut of her collarbone, the twig-like fragility of her wrists, the high cheekbones that now protruded below shadowed, hollowed eyes which darted around with a hint of wildness.

Dimitri could not comprehend what she had been reduced to in mere weeks. “What do you want?” he said without thinking, yet she did not berate him, humiliate him, punish him, as she once would have for such impertinence. Instead, she clung harder to his arm.

“You must help us!” she hissed, winding her arm through his and pressing close. “Mother and father waste away. Father is quite out of sorts, and I worry I am ill, too. You must help!”

Dimitri untangled her arm from his and pressed her hand down to her side, away from him. “I cannot help you.” His wordswere colder than he had anticipated, but how could he treat her any differently? She had been heartless to him over the years—he was never her lover, only her servant. And now she asked him for help? As she gazed up at him, aghast that he had dared turn her away, he smiled cruelly, turned, and stalked into his quarters, slamming the door behind him.

For once, he would not chase her, not hurry to meet her every demand, not pander to her every desire. For once, he turned her away. For once, he had the upper hand. Yet in the pit of his stomach lurked something quite unfamiliar toward her wretchedness. Something he could not quell. Pity.

29

DIMITRI

Even the stench of the city of Tournai was a far sweeter perfume than the rot of Afnirheim, clogged with carrion and goblin filth, but Dimitri did not show it as he bowed before Saradon, who had installed himself upon a giant, stone throne above thepaschaand his seat of bones in the jarlshalle of the dwarven city—like a king. It was an unsettling feeling to Dimitri, watching him own that throne. Technically, Saradon had the right of blood to rule, for the royal blood of Pelenor ran through his veins, but a throne upon the bones of Afnirheim was nothing less than perverse.

Dimitri did not want to rule over this with Saradon. Not a kingdom like this. An empire of ash and bone. He clung to the thought of Pelenor—the open skies, the green lands. The vision Saradon had promised him. It would not be like the devastation, the blood and death in the dark mountain halls.

“What happened here?” Dimitri asked Saradon, his voice hollow. He knew he did not need to ask. The once thriving dwarven city was no more.

“The goblins wanted to advance their domain.”

Dimitri eyed Saradon. “And you assisted them.” The goblins, even with their numbers, had never before managedto overpower a dwarven dwelling. Dimitri had little reason to believe that had changed.

“It was the price of their alliance.”

Anger curled in Dimitri’s stomach. “You sacrificed an entire city?” Disgust and horror wrestled within him.

Saradon regarded him steadily. “It will be worth the cost.”

“To whom?” Dimitri snarled. He clenched his fists beside him to stop his hands shaking.

“For us all. I see you find it difficult to stomach such warfare, but such is the price of peace.”

“We did not need the goblins’ alliance. The dwarves did not deserve this. Tournai and Pelenor are ready to fall without their help. The guilds will rise, and the Kingsguard will take control from the king.”

“I am most glad to hear of it. You have done well, Lord Ellarian. The goblins are merely abonus, shall we say.”

Dimitri stared around the great hall. Columns soared into the dark heights. The banners that once adorned them were now piles of ash at their feet. It was utterly empty and silent, devoid of the dwarven life that ought to have had the very air thrumming with talk and warmth. Their blood still stained the floor, and Dimitri had seen the bodies piled outside. Saradon had not suffered to reign over corpses.

“Do you seek to reign over Valtivar, too?”

Saradon laughed. “Not yet. However, thepaschacertainly aspires to do so.”

Doubt curled in the pit of Dimitri’s stomach. It was one thing to ally with the goblins—and, of course, change came with a price—but this was not what he had envisioned. Nowhere did he think a city full of innocents would be slain for the wanton greed of goblins.

Saradon had confirmed his worst fears. The green and pleasant land that he had shown Dimitri in his vision was a lie.But what would the truth be? Would it be as bad as he was growing to worry?

“The court is falling then?” Saradon pulled him away from his thoughts.

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