“Do you not think that such a show of force would weaken the prince’s image in the minds of the people …”
“What image?” Zephyr slammed his hand down, jarring the diagram. “Enough of your thwarting and excuses, Huxley! Asherton didn’t kill Julian, and it’s time you accepted that. I will have my guards, and you cannot stop me. Do you understand?”
A flicker of worry crossed Huxley’s face. “You didn’t give him the amenite, did you, Magdala? You saw a position of power for yourself, and you took it.”
Magdala sank into a chair. “You meant for me to hang for murder. My loyalties have changed.”
“Your father will be ashamed of you,” he spat. His boots clicked across the floor, but Magdala kept her eyes fixed on the little diagram of the staircase. She wanted to hurl it out the window.
The door slammed. Alone, Zephyr and Magdala sat in heavy silence.
“I need to get back to him,” Magdala said. “I’ve already been away too long.”
Zephyr laid his hand on Magdala’s shoulder. “Perhaps your trick with the flour will work. Perhaps the shotfire won’t fire.”
“Where is the money coming from for the mercenaries?”
Zephyr sat across from her and tapped his knee with his finger. “I was bluffing. I have no money.”
“But don’t you get a salary as Asherton’s valet?”
He shook his head. “I took Asherton in of my own accord, because no one else wanted him. I am not paid for it.”
“Why don’t you tell him that?”
Zephyr lifted one shoulder. “I don’t want him to think I felt sorry for him.”
“But everyone in his life is paid to be with him. Even me. He needs to know that you love him, just for him. Because, in a way, you’rehis father.”
“I’m not his father. His father was an immoral alley cat who seduced that stupid woman who just left the room and then cast his son away like an old shoe. I am much better than a father.”
“Tell him.”
“Not now. There’s already too much on his mind. And you know how loud his mind can be. We need him to be focused tomorrow.”
The moon shone through the tall casements, casting silver patches on the carpet as Magdala passed down the hall, checking the windows, behind the curtains, inspecting doors and behind portraits. Her skin itched from anxiety.
Assured that the hall was secure, Magdala slipped into Asherton’s room and lay on her cot to wait out the night.
But her covers were too heavy, the room too warm, Asherton’s breathing too loud as he slept. The coronation tomorrow was a field she must run through in a lightning storm. What if she froze? What if her father noticed the flour in the powder horn? She pictured Asherton sprawled on the stairs, his blood dripping down the steps, and she pictured herself standing helpless and stunned, a fool and a failure.
The door creaked and Magdala jerked up with a gasp, snatching her shotfire from the windowsill, but it was only Zephyr with a new shirt from the tailor.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “The tailor brought his clothes, but I doubted you would let him in.”
“You were right,” Magdala said, wiping her hands down her face.
Zephyr took a horsehair brush from the dressing table. “I know you have grown …” He brushed the coat slowly. “I know you have grown closer than is typical for a bodyguard and their charge, but I did raise him to be quite charming, so I can’t fault you for that.”
Magdala offered him a wan smile. “He loves you very much.”
“I wish I had done better. I wish I had been softer. I wish …” He let out a tremulous sigh, tightened his lips, and left the room.
Magdala lay down again and tried to sleep. She needed to be at her best tomorrow. But every sound in the corridor sent an electric shock through her. Twice, she went into the washroom and was sick in the sink. Finally, she padded softly to Asherton’s bed. She hesitated a moment before quietly climbing into the empty space beside him. He stirred, and she lay still so as not to wake him, watching his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. She noted the brush of his eyelashes on his cheeks, his smooth, tanned skin, and his hair curling over his brow.
Love was cruel, and Magdala hated it
The room faded from cobalt to gray as the sun rose, and found Magdala still awake, still watching Asherton, trying to somehow memorize him. Dark clouds rolled in the sky, and a steady rain pattered against the windows. Magdalanoted it grimly. Rain made everything worse—reduced visibility, slippery ground, everything.
