Page 84 of Court of Vipers (The Lady of Innislee)

ChapterFifty-Seven

The Liar

Riona didn’t attend the banquet that night. Auberon would have worried over her safety—imagining all the terrible things the king might have done to ensure her silence—if not for the subtle nod Amaris had given him when she’d claimed her place at the head table. Riona was safe, likely resting and recovering from her injuries.

Auberon ate the food the servants set before him, every bite tasting like ash. Hatred curdled in his stomach as he stared down the table at King Domhnall. He had detested the Rivosi king long before he’d ever set foot on Rivosa’s shores, and that sentiment had only grown since arriving at Innislee. How Riona, a woman so unwavering in her sense of morality and justice, could share blood with a man like Domhnall was inconcievable. Domhnall had lied and killed to keep his kingdom’s secrets, yet now he sat at the center of the head table, seemingly without a care in the world, laughing and conversing jovially with his son and Prince Eamon. The rest of the court mirrored his shift in mood. The chatter was louder, the laughter easier, and the wine flowing freely.

At his side, Drystan watched the Kostori prince with a scowl. Auberon hadn’t had a chance to speak with him all day; when he’d arrived at their house earlier, he had been informed that Drystan was meeting with Lord Winslow to discuss the terms of a treaty. Judging by his foul mood, the meeting hadn’t gone in the direction he’d intended.

Conscious of the guards and servants surrounding them, Auberon leaned in close and whispered, “Eamon should have waited to celebrate his impending betrothal untilafterthe papers were signed. By this time tomorrow, you will have won Riona’s hand in marriage.”

Drystan glanced at him sharply, the harsh line of his mouth softening. “You discovered something when you went after her?”

He grinned, despite the way his chest constricted at the thought of Riona and Drystan marrying. “I discoveredeverything.”

A smile broke out across Drystan’s face. “Tell me the specifics at the guest house tonight.” He clapped a hand on Auberon’s shoulder. “If you’re right about this, Father is going to heap reward upon reward on your shoulders. You’re not going to be able to stand under the weight of all the titles he’ll grant you.”

He grimaced. “I prefer my rewards in monetary form.”

“Why, so you can drink yourself to death before the week is out?”

“Yes, and what a glorious week it will be.” Auberon turned his head toward the court so Drystan wouldn’t see his smile fade. “But don’t worry about me—you’ll have a beautiful new wife to comfort you in your grief. I’m sure you’ll hardly even notice my absence.”

His heart thundered in his chest for the few seconds it took Drystan to respond. When he did, he spoke in a soft, unbearably sympathetic voice. “Since the night you left, I’ve wanted to apologize for the way I spoke to you. I am truly sorry. It was cruel of me to throw your feelings in your face like that, especially when you’ve done nothing but try to help me.” Drystan paused, then added, “I’m sorry that this will not end the way you wish, but I hope you know that I will do everything in my power to be the husband she deserves.”

Auberon reached for the goblet of wine in front of him. “She deserves you, and she deserves the throne. There is no other way I would have the negotiations end.”

The words felt hollow before they even left his tongue, but Drystan had the grace not to comment on it. As the servants cleared away the last of the plates, Auberon descended the dais steps and asked the first noblewoman he found to dance, eager to distract himself from thoughts of Riona and mines and murder. He wouldn’t be able to leave the banquet for a few hours yet, so he might as welltryto enjoy the night.

As the night dragged on, he danced with woman after woman, each more beautiful than the last. One with jet-black curls and a silk gown cut low across her cleavage, a ruby large enough to anchor a ship hanging at her throat. Another with golden-brown skin and golden-brown eyes, a dusting of freckles across her cheekbones. Another who hailed from the Selannic Isles, with the same willowy build and long braids that Riona and Amaris shared. One after another after another.

Two hours later, Auberon extricated himself from the grasp of the noblewoman who had latched herself onto him—her painted lips leaving a red smear along the edge of his jaw—and pushed through the throngs of people surrounding the dance floor. He wiped his face with his sleeve and snagged a goblet of wine from a passing servant, quickly draining it. His doublet felt too tight, the air too thick. The ladies with whom he’d danced were beautiful, but they paled in comparison to Riona. He’d been ruined by that first night in Innislee, when he had held Riona close and elicited the first genuine laugh he had ever heard from her. From that moment, he had been hers.

We didn’t even get to finish our dance,he realized as he swapped his empty goblet for a full one. It was the last bit of alcohol he would drink—he wouldn’t repeat the mistake he’d made the morning Eamon’s lackey accosted him. All he needed was something to calm the furious storm of emotions that raged within him at the thought of Riona’s impending betrothal.

Yet when he caught a glimpse of a familiar face among the crowd, a long braid trailing down her back and a tray of goblets balanced on one shoulder, he found himself approaching her, reaching out to grasp her upper arm. Ophelia turned to him, a carefully neutral expression on her face as she said, “Your Highness.”

“I need you to send a message to Lady Riona,” he breathed, keeping his voice so low that only she would hear through the music and chatter. This was stupid, impulsive, but he told himself that they would only discuss the mines. That he would not act on the desire that raced through him every time Riona was near. “Tell her to meet me at the Royal Theater at midnight.”

A drunken noble staggered into her, and she deftly maneuvered the silver tray away before he could send it tumbling to the ground. The elf cast an appraising gaze over him, her polite expression turning cold. It made him wonder just how much she knew about his partnership with her lady. Had one of her little birds overheard their argument in the hall after he’d punched Eamon? Did she know just how deep his desire for Riona ran?

Finally, Ophelia dipped into a shallow curtsy. “It shall be done, Your Highness. Good evening.”

She walked away, quickly vanishing into the sea of dancers and revelers. He could see why Riona trusted the girl so much: she was quiet and clever, and easily overlooked. She moved like a wraith through the castle; in the weeks he had been here, he had seen her acting as a server, attendant, maid, and messenger. She slipped from one role to another with the ease of an actress donning a costume.

“Thank the Creator you’re here,” someone said, and Auberon turned to find Valerian approaching him, a troubled expression on the duke’s face. He grasped Auberon’s elbow and led him over to one of the stone pillars that lined the room, buying them what little privacy he could in the crowded hall. “Now we can end this disastrous attempt at negotiating and go our separate ways. Please tell me you’ve found a way to pry Lady Riona out of that Kostori snake’s hands.”

Auberon didn’t bother to ask how Drystan had explained his absence to the court. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I believe I have.”

“Good.” The duke’s green eyes lifted to something over his shoulder, and Auberon followed his gaze to where Eamon stood on the dance floor, spinning Amaris under one arm. A shadow passed across Valerian’s face. “If there is anything I can do to help you, please tell me. It’s not likely I will leave Rivosa with a wife, but I must leave with the promise of military aid—whether it be Rivosi or Erdurian, it matters not. I will not return to life as a slave of a foreign king, Auberon. I will not continue to watch those Kostori bastards bleed my country dry.”

Images of Kostori soldiers marching through Kenter’s lush valleys, stealing food from the fields and people from their beds, filled his mind. They had devastated the countryside during their invasion, and from what he had heard, they hadn’t ceased their destruction in the years since.

Still, he crossed his arms. “You want Drystan to promise you Erdurian support? I came here to end the fighting between my country and Rivosa. Why do you think I’d advocate for sending more of my countrymen to die in a war that doesn’t benefit us?”

“Because in exchange, I will give you all of my research into blood magic.”

Auberon glanced back to make sure none of the guards or servants had wandered into earshot, then hissed, “Have you lost yourmind?”

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