Chapter 13
Liana
It was dawnwhen Liana left the tiny attic room and went in search of Amron. She headed straight for his chambers on the second floor; she felt a puff of chilly air touch her neck in the warm corridor, and the shadows deepened as if someone had extinguished half the oil lamps. Shivers running down her spine, Liana dashed into a dark alcove and held her breath, waiting to see the cause of the sudden darkness.
A moment later, a young woman turned the corner, her footsteps soft and quick, and walked by Liana, oblivious to her presence. The woman was wrapped in shadows as thickly as the long-forgotten objects in the attic were wrapped in cobwebs. It took several long, shocked moments for Liana to recognize Melia. The icy touch on her neck crawled under her skin and chilled her blood until her heart slowed to a sluggish lurch.
She had seen people touched by Morana’s shadow, but never so clearly. Old and sick people nearing the end, a day or two removed from their death. Or sometimes during the war, a blood-curdling shadow foretelling doom. She’d always averted her eyes and kept her mouth shut, for it was a haphazard, unreliable omen, and there was nothing useful she could say or do about it. It had usually been nothing but a short breath of ice, a sudden shift of the light, nothing she could point her finger at.
Melia was different, though. As Liana quietly followed her, the shadows wrapping around her looked gauzy and tangible like a fine cloak woven from darkness. When they reached the open courtyard, Liana slowed down, reluctant to be spotted. Onlywhen Melia turned a corner and no one else appeared did Liana follow her wintry trail. It led her to the main garden, the one situated behind the palace and surrounded by a high wall.
She stopped by the potted oranges and lemons and peered at Melia, who moved fast through the lush greenery. It was easy to disappear among the tall shrubs and winding paths of the garden, so Liana rushed after her until she reached a small cherry orchard in the shadow of the wall. A dark figure stepped from behind a tree when Melia called, and for a heartbeat Liana believed it was a trick, some new spell the gods had put on, for Melia’s companion wore the same cloak of shadows as her.
Liana wished she had been taught about divine spells and curses. But she’d been too little when her mother still cared about her, and afterwards, there was no one to teach her.
With so much darkness upon them, they should have been dead, but this was obviously not Morana’s goal. No, they both seemed young and healthy and strong. Beneath the shadows, Melia’s companion was a striking dark-haired woman. She stood still while Melia paced on the grass.
Liana drew closer, silencing her breathing, becoming invisible as if she were hunting deer in the forest.
“Your father thought it would be good to stir a bit of trouble before the main event,” the woman told Melia. “A group of Seragian mercenaries attacked Prince Amron last night.”
Something about her voice and the way she held her head rang a bell. Liana had seen her before.
“Is he alive?” Melia asked.
The woman raised one exquisite dark eyebrow and Liana barely managed to swallow a gasp when the realization struck her. It was one of the Seragian attackers, the leader.
What was a Seragian mercenary doing in the Elmarran quarters?
She’s not Seragian, you fool.
Liana sank into the tall grass, nauseous. Melia was a traitor. Seragians had nothing to do with the skirmish last night.
The few facts Liana knew about Amron’s wife made her think Melia had changed sides after the war started. No matter how hard she searched her memory, she couldn’t remember anything that told her Melia had betrayed the royal family before the wedding. And yet, the proof was right in front of her now.
“He was snuggling with a girl in a dark alley. A stunningly beautiful girl,” the woman told Melia, and Liana shut her eyes, cursing in silence. She didn’t want Melia’s focus on Amron, she didn’t want her murderous companion following him around.
She had to warn Amron that his wife was a traitor.
“It’ll all be over soon anyway,” the dark woman said.
Liana had no idea what the Elmarrans planned to do. She hoped Melia would discuss it with her companion, whose name—Liana discovered—was Ferisa, but the women talked about the border skirmishes and politics instead, about the death of Melia’s brother and their hatred for the Empire. Listening to them, Liana almost understood the urge to stop the wedding, their rage at the idea that a couple of signatures on a piece of parchment could erase centuries of fighting. What they didn’t see—and what Liana couldn’t tell them—was that the bloodshed they planned to cause would be far worse than anything they’d seen in the border skirmishes.
Or perhaps they did understand that. As they embraced in the blooming garden, they were little more than shadows, relics of the night, emanating the foul stench of death. Dread rushed through Liana’s veins, cold and caustic. This was bigger than her goals, bigger than her desires. This was a game set by the gods, and she stumbled right into the middle of it.
• • •
The last timeLiana had seen Amron before his death, the last night he’d spent in Abia before leaving to do the king’s dirty work, he and Liana quarreled.
It was late, and they were in his room, with its soft carpets and blue tapestries and windows overlooking the sea. It should have been calming, but Liana was not calm, pacing around like a caged lynx. Amron had sent Telani away and was packing the last things—paper, ink, quills—doing his best to ignore Liana’s angry sighs.
“I don’t understand why you have to go,” she said. “If Vairn wants to rebel against the king, then the king should be the one talking to him, negotiating, or fighting, or whatever it takes to solve it.”
“For the last time, I’m doing it as a favor, not because he commanded me to.” Amron knelt on the carpet, tying a stack of paper with a blue ribbon and shoving it into a saddlebag. “Vairn is an old war comrade. He’ll tell me what he won’t tell the king. There still might be a peaceful solution.”
“You’re not the only man who fought alongside that mangy old dog, you’re not the only man who knows how to negotiate. You’re not entirely irreplaceable to the king. But you’re entirely irreplaceable to me.”
She was irrational, she had abandonment issues, she knew it. Amron had never given her a reason not to trust him—and she did trust him—but she didn’t trust the world. She didn’t trust the gods not to play their depraved games and hurt him and take him away from her.
