Ximena greeted the pair smoothly. If Felipe hesitated a split second before turning his smile on Terilyn, one could forgive the man. Eimarille well knew the rumors that followed in Terilyn’s wake and had since they were children. Blades were trained and deployed out of Daijal, adhering to a secretive branch of the Star Order that existed in that country. Some people called them zealots; others labeled them assassins. Both would be right.
“Lady Terilyn,” Felipe said while his wife greeted Kote.
Terilyn’s smile was cool and polite, though she said nothing, ever Eimarille’s silent shadow. She’d never quite lost her Urovan accent and been horribly teased for it in the Daijal court before Eimarille had consolidated enough social and political clout to make people think twice about letting insults leave their lips. These days, Terilyn’s silence heard much around her, and she always had such interesting things to say after evenings like this.
Eimarille glided down the receiving line that extended into the hallway leading to the ballroom, Ximena facilitating every introduction. Eimarille committed faces and names to memory, noted those whose smiles never reached their eyes and those who looked at her as if she were their savior. When she finally swept into the ballroom, it was to a flare of music from the quartet orchestra and a round of applause that lasted over a minute.
When the applause died down and the last musical notes faded away, Eimarille greeted those gathered before her with a dazzling smile. “I am here tonight to celebrate the efforts of the Daijal army fighting against the rebellion entrenched in the eastern provinces and, most importantly for all of you, keeping the revenants at bay from Haighmoor’s city walls. High General Kote Akina continues to lead with exceptional skill, and I am pleased with his efforts of leading us toward the reunification of our countries.”
Eimarille turned toward Kote with a smile, leading the applause for his war efforts. He came to attention and saluted her, looking nowhere else. “I live to serve you, my queen.”
“You do it so well, High General. With your steady hand, we’ll take the eastern provinces before the year is up.” More applause followed her words, and she turned her attention to Ximena. “And to our gracious host, for opening up your home on this grand night, I thank you.”
Ximena curtsied smoothly, the skirt of her gown fluttering around her. “No thanks is ever needed for you to grace our home, Your Royal Majesty.”
Eimarille smiled at that and took Felipe’s hand for a waltz when he approached. The music picked up, and she let herself be spun around the quaint ballroom, the pair of them the center of everyone’s attention. That focus never wavered from her as the night went on. Eimarille danced with no other, despite the men and one blushing young woman who asked.
She drifted through the conversation circles instead, sipping from the wineglass Terilyn had fetched for her. The servants discreetly sliding through the crowds with their silver platters of finger food always attended her. Eimarille enjoyed several bites to help soak up the wine, letting herself and Kote be drawn into conversations about the war efforts with various people inside the ballroom.
The clock on the wall ticked later and later, until it chimed an hour tone, calling for everyone to end the festivities in the garden. Ximena found her again, holding on to Felipe’s arm, and the pair escorted Eimarille outside.
“We thought to celebrate our queen with a fireworks show,” Ximena said.
Around them, guests received glasses of sweet wine or brandy from the servants, chattering about what was to come. Eimarille kept her eyes on the night sky with its blanket of stars scattered across that inky black. “I’m flattered you think of me with such kindness when your husband does not.”
Ximena froze, thin brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean. The Beltre bloodline favors Daijal and believes in the road you are building.”
“Yes, but your husband is not of your bloodline, and I’ve decided his betrayal is his own.” Eimarille dropped her gaze from the sky and turned her head to look at where Felipe stood rigidly beside his wife. In the gas lamp light that brightened the courtyard, backlit by the glow spilling out of the ballroom doors, Felipe appeared washed out to a sickly white. “Is that not correct, my dear little cog?”
Ximena stared at her husband with a sort of disbelieving horror in her eyes. In the low light, Eimarille couldn’t tell if it stemmed from Felipe’s betrayal or the impending loss—whether she knew it or not—that she was about to endure.
“I don’t know what you speak of,” Felipe said, his voice quiet and tight.
Eimarille arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you? All these trips you take under the guise of business have you assisting the Clockwork Brigade in secret meetings. Come now, did you think your chain would remain intact forever?”
“I am no cog.”
It was the worst thing to be with Daijal’s occupation and propaganda spreading through Ashion. The Clockwork Brigade had spent decades working to undermine Daijal’s permissive use of debt bondage and debt slaves. People who tried for a better life mortgaged their own with banks, and if they couldn’t pay, their indentured servitude became the price owed.
Eimarille had allowed many debt slaves to be fed to the death-defying machines in the lead-up to crossing the central border between Daijal and Ashion. Debt collectors had worked overtime to fill that need, but many more debt slaves still existed in Daijal in their original capacity, toiling away under banking contracts that would never be fulfilled. The bank numbers tattooed on their necks marked them forever.
Despite his betrayal, Felipe would never receive one.
“I’ve been breaking chains for quite some time,” Eimarille said, her words heard by only their small circle as the fireworks erupted overhead. “I’m not cruel, you must understand that. I do what I do for the sake of two countries that should have never split. The Clockwork Brigade has always stood in the way of that.”
“Felipe,” Ximena begged, reaching for him. “My dear, tell me you didn’t. You risked ourchildren?—”
“Your children will be fine,” Eimarille interrupted. “I could no more harm them than harm my own son.”
Which was true, to an extent. The Beltre children were young, barely older than Lisandro, incapable of being indoctrinated by their father and assisting the Clockwork Brigade. If they’d been older, if Eimarille had records of them traveling with Felipe, then things would be different. Ximena could forgive Eimarille the execution of her husband but not her children, and Eimarille still had use for the highest-ranking noble lady in Haighmoor.
Which was why Terilyn silently appeared behind Felipe and not Ximena, one slim hand gripping his hair and forcing his head back. The slender stiletto in Terilyn’s other hand flashed in the gas lamp light as the Blade carved a red line through the man’s cravat and throat from ear to ear. Blood poured out of the wound, and Felipe jerked his hands to his throat, eyes wide in agonized disbelief as blood bubbled at his lips.
His dark suit hid the sickly crimson of his lifeblood as it flowed from his neck. Felipe staggered toward his wife, white-gloved hands drenched in blood, reaching for her, but Ximena stepped back, her expression twisting with grief and regret, voice aching from it. “Oh, Felipe. My love, you chose the wrong road.”
The guests nearest them finally realized something was wrong when Felipe’s knees hit the cobblestone courtyard, hands scrabbling at his ruined throat. Eimarille took a half step back, twitching the skirt of her gown away from the pool of blood growing on the ground. Loud gasps echoed in the air, drowning out the booms from the fireworks. More attention was turned toward the death of a lord than the celebration of war.
Terilyn glided around Felipe’s body, her stiletto nowhere in sight, and came to stand next to Eimarille. Ximena’s eyes shone with a wetness she couldn’t hide as she lifted her gaze to Eimarille. “I swear, I had no knowledge of his betrayal, my queen.”
