Page 29 of A Reign of Roses
“Eryx is dead.”
The already cool stone home dropped in temperature. Perhaps it was my new, mortal constitution, but I fought a shiver.
Amelia. Capable of deceit, betrayal, and now patricide. Some queen Peridot had earned.
“When our convoy arrived at Fedrik’s ship in Sandstone, to send the king to Citrine as we’d planned, Eryx was found poisoned in the back of the carriage.”
“And Citrine?”
“Broderick and Isolde think we tried to frame Fedrik for Eryx’s murder. It’s…”
“Absurd,” I growled. “They’re imbeciles.”
“Maybe we sail there once more. See if begging on our hands and knees changes anything. I’m not above it.”
“Ha,” I said without humor.
“We should find out.”
Griffin had been my closest friend since childhood. My only real friend, the past few decades. Not only that, but a loyal, self-sacrificing, and trustworthy commander of my army. He’d been there for me through everything. For Arwen, too.
And I knew it wasn’t fair to saddle him with this. I’d be leaving him with nothing. Worse than that—a legacy of loss and broken alliances. An unwinnable war on the horizon. But the people out there who had knelt before me—the people of this entire continent—they needed Griffin. They deserved a leader who was moral and steadfast. Who was good.
“Youshould find out. I’m going to Lumera. It’ll be your problem either way, Griffin. When I’m gone…I want you to take my place on the Onyx throne.”
“Don’t.” He sighed, lowering his head to rub his temples. “Don’t say that.”
“You’re the only one I trust.”
When Griffin’s gaze met mine, it was mournfully grim. “I have no interest in ruling a kingdom.”
My smile was faint. “That’s why you’ll be great at it.”
“What if—”
“There are no what-ifs. I’m either going to succeed in finding the blade and kill my father, which will grant my death as well, or I’m going to die trying.”
“So, what…?” Griffin swallowed audibly, the barest hint of emotion flashing across his face. “You’re saying this is it?”
My gaze found the stony floor, safe from Griffin’s eyes. “Yeah. This is it.”
8
Arwen
I’d never attended a ball.
The closest I’d come was probably the banquet Kane had thrown at Shadowhold for King Eryx and Princess Amelia. My memories of that night were dusty and drenched in birchwine, but some remained etched into my psyche nonetheless, impervious to time or drink or grief: Kane telling me I looked beautiful in my black silk dress; his body caged over mine as he protected me from a hail of wine barrels; the way, even then, he knew exactly how to distract me from my panic…At the memory of his words—death by bird—a laugh broke from me.
“Something funny?”
Maddox wore his usual silver armor, but the steel mask affixed to his face mimicked the bones of some sort of primordial predator and only served to amplify his brutality in the spare candlelight of my suite. He hummed a haunting, dismal tune that reminded me of a wheezing organ.
“What’s the purpose of the masks?” I asked instead of answeringas a tired-looking handmaiden strung a loop of diamonds tightly across my neck.
Behind me, Wyn answered, “Legend requires we hide our faces from the Fae Gods so they do not grow envious of our plentiful harvest.”
I swore his words were laced with irony, and I peered down in an attempt to meet his eyes through the mirror. They gave nothing away, hidden beneath a bronze mask with curved horns and slight ears like those of an antelope. I looked over the dimly lit suite behind him through the glass. A red glow from the candle’s reflection on the duvet, and the thick curtains and crimson settee…it was a room bathed in blood.
