“The first thing we need to do is process the bagrava to preserve its potency. Then I can churn the beds and replant. I’m sure I can cultivate enough to experiment with the dosages—especially if it’s combined with the tributes my people send.”
“Can’t we just take the crop straight to the healers?” Alaric asks with a frown. “Why process it if it doesn’t have to be transported across the Tomb Flats?”
“The fruit can be used right away, but the leaves and flowers must be pressed and baled in damp conditions to help the cuttings retain moisture. Otherwise, they’ll quickly lose potency.”
Lies. All of it. The leaves and flowers are useless, but Alaric doesn’t know that.
“I didn’t realize the cuttings could be used in addition to the fruit,”Alaric muses. “You’ve never sent them as tribute.”
I shrug. “Your father only demanded the fruit. So that’s what we sent. But now that we’re truly unified, I’m willing to give everything we have to offer.”
More lies. I just need an excuse to get Alaric away from the palace and his guards. Somewhere remote and secluded—like the mountaintop where Soren died. It seems fitting both father and son should face their reckoning there.
Alaric glances around the blindingly bright solarium and frowns. “Damp conditions will be difficult to find. The air in the palace is drier than a bone from all the hearth fires.”
“Thatisa problem.” I furrow my brow and pretend to think hard. “What about the caves up the mountain? They are spacious and damp, and no one will disturb us there,” I say, as if the idea just occurred to me.
Alaric peers out the window, at the pelting wind buffeting the cliffs with snow. “It will be a difficult hike, especially carrying all of this bagrava, but if you think it’s best…”
“I do.” I bend over and begin gathering the sheaves into my arms.
“You want to gonow?” Alaric asks. “In this weather?”
“The sooner the better. The sick are counting on us. We can’t let a little snow slow us down.”
Alaric blows out a breath and helps me gather the cuttings. Every few minutes, I catch him looking between me and the bagrava with the same perplexed expression he wore during our dance at his coronation—and every time he’s visited me here. I know he senses a shift, but he can’t pinpoint what it is because I’ve been careful not to say or do anything that would make him think I’ve lost faith in our plans—or each other.
As Alaric is packing the last of the bagrava cuttings into satchels, Delphine bustles into the solarium.
“What’s all this? Can I help?” She takes several packs from the pile near my feet, and I’m too surprised to stop her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in a panic. “? I thought thequeen mother needed your help preparing the ballroom for the gala tomorrow?”
I’m the one who whispered the idea in the queen’s ear, insisting she should host an event of her own, to personally prove her loyalty to her son over her husband. It was absurd, given the coronation festivities just ended, but of course Queen Tessa jumped at the chance to host a party of her own and nodded eagerly at my suggestion to let Delphine help. I needed to ensure she and the rest of the palace staff were busy and distracted.
Yet here she is, pulling another bag of bagrava over her shoulder and refusing to meet my eyes.
“Elodie offered to take over the party planning. She was very excited about some feathers she planned to use in the centerpieces.” Delphine rolls her eyes. “So I thought I’d see if I could be of use here. What exactly are we doing?” ”
“Great,” Alaric says, handing her another sack, “we’re going up to mountain to process this bagrava.”
“Which is really only a two-person job,” I interject.
Alaric’s brow crumples with confusion, but I pretend not to notice. Just as Delphine pretends not to notice my insistent stare.
She knows me so well. She must have suspected I’d have something planned. Something she can’t have anything to do with.
I can’t outright tell her she can’t come. It unfortunately, I can’t forbid her from coming, as it would instantly raise Alaric’s suspicion. So, even though I’m screaming on the inside, I have no choice but to swallow my frustration and follow them out of the palace.
Delphine leads the way up the frosty switchbacks, followed by Alaric, with me at the rear. I wanted to lead, but Delphine refused. I’m certain it’s to stop me from sending her away or demanding to know what she’s doing here, when I tried so hard to shield her from this part of my plan.
The wind is hellacious, stealing each breath as it ghosts from my lips. I’m shivering as much as I did when I first arrived on the mountain, despite being the only one wearing a cloak. I have a feeling I’d be shiveringright now even if it was as scorching hot as summer on the Tomb Flats.
When we finally reach the caves, I set Alaric with the meticulous task of laying the bagrava cuttings out in an intricate, and wholly needless, pattern, while I snatch Delphine’s wrist and pull her to her knees beside me, so it looks like we’re discussing the satchels.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
I know you’re up to something, and I can’t let you do it by yourself,” she says resolutely.
