Before I can ask Delphine which room lies beneath the council chambers, the sharp sounds of smashing china and tinkling flatware ring out, followed by a wet, heavy thud.
Then silence.
Complete and utter silence when Besnik should be howling in agony after such a nasty fall.
Alaric flings himself toward the gash in the floor, shouting Besnik’s name, and in that moment, his screams are my screams. His horror is my horror. He’s me, throwing myself across Rowenna’s coffin.
I swipe at the tears filling my eyes just in time to watch Soren catch Alaric around the waist and drag him back from the hole in the floor.
“What are you doing? Do you wish to fall too?”
“Let me go!” Alaric writhes and thrashes against Soren’s hold. “Let me fall! Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Soren says nothing. He simply stands there, dispassionately holding his frantic son, until Alaric eventually sags with exhaustion.
“Now that you’re no longer hysterical and a danger to us both,” Soren says with derision, “you need to see the outcome of your poor decisions.”
No!
The urge to throw myself into the golden scene and stop them is so visceral and overwhelming, Delphine has to stop me again. She digs her nails into my forearm and sternly reminds me none of this is happening in the present, but still I struggle and squirm.
I tell myself it’s because I never want to see another dead body. But deep down, I know it’s more than that. Seeing Rowenna’s battered corpse almost killed me. Those gory images are forever emblazoned on my brain, marring the actual memory of her face. It’s a horror I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Not even the Vanzadorian prince.
Which begs the question—why is Alaric choosing to relive it?
Soren leans out over the gash, Alaric locked tight in his grip, until Besnik comes into view. He lies motionless atop a wreckage of wood that must have been a banquet table. Splinters as long as my arm impale Besnik’s stomach and chest, and one side of his head is malformed and tacky with blood. He must have hit the enormous chandelier on his way down, because the bent frame swings eerily and pieces of broken glass still fall around his body, creating a horrifying mosaic of glitter and gore.
Beside me, Delphine gags and looks away, and I desperately want to do the same. But I can’t. It feels wrong to leave Alaric to face this alone.
“Such a needless tragedy,” Soren murmurs with a grim shake of his head. “The result of your selfish betrayal.”
“No,” Alaric whispers. “I’m not the one who obliterated the floor. I don’t even have the ability to move the earth—and never will as you so love to remind me.”
“But youdidtake the Flesh of Callahan. None of this would have happened if you’d left it in the hands of those meant to wield power. Clearly, I must keep the triad somewhere safer. Away from people like you, who can’t be trusted.”
With a growl, Soren flings Alaric back into the corner—into the same ladder he hit when Besnik saved his life. I expect that to be the end of the argument, but after several painful breaths, Alaric pushes upto his hands and knees, jaw set with determination.
“Are you going to kill me too? Will you leave our people without an heir and protection? Wouldn’t that be far more traitorous and selfish than merely holding a sacred relic?”
“Silence!” Soren thunders toward Alaric, who flinches and looks down, clearly waiting for the ground to fall out from under him. But Soren’s bejeweled fingers crash into his cheek instead.
“Youare to blame for all of this,” Soren shouts as Alaric collapses once more. “And it’s well within my rights to sentence you to a traitor’s death for killing Vanzador’s future king. But as you so kindly pointed out, that would leave me without an heir, so I shall be merciful.More thanmerciful. I’ll forget this heinous crime, and so will you. I’ll declare Besnik’s death a tragic accident. We’ll say he was training in the council chamber and pushed his fledgling power too far. He lost control, and the ground dissolved beneath him. It’s miraculous all three of us didn’t plummet to our deaths.”
“No one will believe you.” Alaric spits out a mouthful of blood. “Besnik didn’t even have power yet. The ceremony wasn’t for another month—”
Soren waves a hand. “I’ll say we did it sooner—because he was showing such promise. No one will question me.”
“Because you don’t let them!”
“Ican’tlet them! This is what it takes to be king! Sacrifices must be made, our own feelings put aside. We will mourn this tragedy and move forward—for the stability and strength of Vanzador.” Soren glares at his youngest son—now hisonlyson. “You’ll see this is for the best once you’ve purged these horrors from your mind. Quickly, now. Help me collect the pieces of the gemstone so we can pray. The guards will be here any second to investigate the crash.”
Soren drops to his knees and uses his large hands to scrape the pieces of their sacred rock into a pile. He motions for Alaric to join him, but Alaric shakes his head and steps back, laughing wildly. “You can’thonestly expect me toforgetyou tried to kill me! Anddidkill Besnik! I would never dishonor him by forgetting how he saved my life.”
“You’ll do as I command.” Soren glances at the door and lowers his voice. “Think of your mother. Besnik’s passing is going to crush her. Imagine if she learnsyouare to blame? The grief and disappointment will kill her. Are you strong enough to carry that guilt too?”
“It isn’t my guilt to carry—” Alaric starts, but both men freeze at the sound of boots in the hall.
Heavy fists pound the council chamber doors. “Your Majesty!” A deep voice calls out. “We felt the tremors. Is the Fortress under siege?”
