Page 30 of Lera of Lunos
River
Bitter cold bit River’s face as he leaned against a great oak in the palace gardens, watching the king’s standard flutter in the wind. He’d expected his father to appear within a day of sending up the challenge.
That was over a week ago.
Eight days of checking and rechecking wards, sending out fresh patrols, going over the plan and then going over it again. Eight days of constant vigilance. Vigilance laced with boredom. Coal had broken every post in the training yard. Shade had spent more time in his wolf form than fae, if only to fend off the anxiety.
And now the Slait subjects were starting to ask questions; demand audiences with Griorgi, who they believed was truly in residence; bring by goods the king favored. Even the well-trained palace staff, who knew better than to discuss what was—or was not—truly happening in the palace, were starting to whisper. Yes, on occasion King Griorgi had sequestered himself in his chambers for days—but a week? How could River explain that?
Rumors of an illness would work in the short term, but they were dangerous. Still, better to have servants whispering of a cough than the truth—that Griorgi wasn’t there at all. That the prince of Slait had challenged his father’s rule and the whole kingdom stood at the edge of turmoil.
The serene gardens were an almost eerie contrast to the tension permeating the air, with their gently rolling lawns, neat stonewalls, and trickling fountains. Weeping willows and broad oaks presided over intimate nooks with moss-covered benches. Vibrant red and orange leaves covered the ground, awaiting the groundskeeper’s rake.
River fingered the sword he wore at all times now, as well as the tiny crossbow hanging beneath his coat, a poisoned dart already locked into place. He hoped he didn’t shoot his own foot with the damn thing, but it seemed the lesser of the risks.
“I’ve always considered wars difficult enough on a killing ground,” Coal said, leaning beside River on the tree trunk. “Fighting one while pretending no war is happening adds a bit of a new dimension.”
River ran a hand through his hair, then stopped, remembering that Leralynn called it a tell of his. “I little want all of Slait taking up arms and killing each other in the name of whatever side of the throne they support. That’s the one bloody thing Griorgi and I probably agree on. Where is Leralynn?”
“Attempting to evict Shade from her bedchamber so she can bathe. Last I saw, she was threatening to dump a pitcher of ice water on the bastard’s fur.”
River nodded, forcing himself to keep his thoughts private. Striking the balance between keeping Leralynn safe and keeping her prisoner was proving... difficult. The last time River tried suggesting that she remain with a male at all times, the girl actually removed a set of castration shears from a satchel and silently laid the instrument on the table between them.
Kora was not having any easier time keeping tabs on Autumn. That was the other problem with this weeklong wait—no one could stay at the height of vigilance all the time. Restrictions and precautions that had been followed to the letter on day one were now stretched to accommodate the needs of life.
“River,” Coal said.
“I know. I’mtryingto balance her safety and needs, but—”
“Quiet.”
Coal’s suddenly hard voice gripped River’s chest. Straightening, he followed the direction of the warrior’s gaze to a shiny gold pennant that now flew beside the king’s standard.King open to receive petitioners.
“Get the others, but stay clear of the throne room,” River said, already striding to the palace. “We don’t want to spook him.”
* * *
Despite the long,anxious wait for this moment, a cold hand still gripped River’s throat as he strode into the throne room to find King Griorgi sprawled on the great chair. The long hall was empty but for the male. Between them, the white marble floor where petitioners usually waited gleamed in the sunlight streaming through two-story-tall arched windows. Vases of fresh flowers formed a corridor toward the dais, the bright petals filling the space with perfume. Usually, the smell would help balance the scents of dozens of bodies. Today it simply fed the tension.
Seeing River enter, Griorgi sat up, steepling his hands beneath his chin. As tall as River himself, with broader shoulders, hawkish features, and cold gray eyes, the king was dressed in finely cut blue wool and brown leather. With golden trim and tiny ruby buttons, coupled with an intricate vambrace encircling one muscular forearm, Griorgi looked every inch the ruler he was. Besides the jewelry, the only other change to the male’s appearance was a fresh scar carving a jagged line down one cheek all the way to the edge of his right nostril. Leralynn’s handiwork. River felt an odd twinge of pride—before remembering where he was.
Years of training made him relax his shoulders and stride toward the dais with the casual confidence expected of a prince. Getting close to the king was vital for the plan to work, making the throne room a better location than River had dared hope for.
“Welcome home, Father,” he said, stopping at the dais’s edge, just paces from the throne. “I trust both you and your new ally escaped none too scathed from Karnish?”
Griorgi’s eyes flashed, his gaze cutting from River to the floor.
Face schooled to stone, River went down on one knee, fist touching his left breast.
Beneath his thick velvet coat, the tiny crossbow was easy to feel, and the small bump made River’s heart pound against his ribs. He had to do it now. Get the weapon and fire, leaving no time for discussion, no chance for a magical duel that would bring the palace down around their ears. Anything but a clean shot and people would die. Servants. Innocents. River couldn’t allow that. But the male on the throne—he was a rabid dog who needed to be put down before his disease killed more than it already had.
With a tiny motion, River pulled free the knot holding the weapon in place and felt it start to slip down his coat, one inch, two inches—before getting stuck, stars take him.
“That little outburst in Karnish destroyed a good deal of the town, you know,” Griorgi said, shaking his head mournfully and gesturing for River to rise. “Warriors buried alive. Limbs crushed. Blood running down the streets.” He lowered his voice. “Between you and me, the qoru who weren’t adding themselves to the body count were quite pleased—for a short time though. They have little use for corpses.”
“And the emperor?” River said, shifting slightly to dislodge the crossbow. The smooth metal handle dropped like ice against his wrist, and River’s heart stuttered as he pressed the small weapon into his hip, holding and hiding it with nothing but friction. With painfully tiny motions, he shimmied the crossbow toward his pocket, the image of the thing dropping onto the floor or catching a bit of light making his mouth dry. “Did he find the feast to his satisfaction?”
“The coward stepped into the Subgloom the moment things got ugly. Have you been there, River?” Griorgi shuddered. “If you think the Gloom is dark, the next level down is worse. You feel as if you are beneath water in the dead of night, fighting black liquid each time you move. It’s a miracle one can breathe in the Subgloom at all, though the qoru have little trouble. Different anatomy. It was a one-way trip for Jawrar, unfortunately—he can’t come up from the Subgloom in Lunos, so back to Mors it was.”
