“He is supposed to remove the Duchess’s veil with his clean hand,” Amethyst hissed. “The bloodshed is over. The people need to see their new Duchess. Why is he not moving?”
My heart pounded in my throat as I looked from Derrick to Brietta. Brietta’s hands slowly pushed the veil up to reveal her rosy face and the crowd gasped.
Brietta pushed her shoulders back and dropped the veil on the scaffold, blood consuming the crumpling white gossamer.
General Hyton pushed down on Derrick’s shoulder to get his knees to buckle and Derrick finally sat on the throne of Lycaster. Brietta gracefully followed suit.
The crowd was adoring, but Annalisa kept sobbing. “He is gone…he is gone…”
Derrick was gone—only Alastar XII remained.
I wrapped my arms around Annalisa and buried my face in her curls. I gritted my teeth and choked down a sob.
No matter what I had to do, I would force Alastar XII to release Fraleigh’s collar. Not just for Fraleigh, or Brietta, or Riyan, or Freya’s memory, or the women of Lycaster…but for Brandt.
No more blood would spill because of my failure.
Tears rolled onto my cheeks as the song in the back of my mind got louder, its low notes weaving themselves into words:
“Still with me somehow.”
I drowned my turmoil the Hyton way—with a drink in my hand.
The celebratory coronation ball lacked any real celebration, and not just because the guilt from Brandt’s death weighed on me. The Barons and other nobility spoke amongst themselves with hushed voices and darting eyes. Hissed questions of the new ruler cut through the bright music no one danced to.
“He would not let go of the spear. What does that mean?”
“I overheard the servants say he screamed in the tower all night.”
“He can howl at the moon like a dog so long as he keeps the Darkest Night going every year.”
I ignored the gossips and quietly sipped from my glass—at least I did not have to worry about anyone poisoning me.
Derrick, however, paid no notice to the worrying dissent. He was little more than a grim statue as he sat on his throne with a shadow over his eyes. A servant offered him a golden goblet, but Derrick’s deadly glare sent the poor man scurrying away.
Brietta was quelling the fog of uncertainty, flitting from Baron to Baron and charming them with her glittering jewelsand a wide smile. She kept her mask of genteel grace even though we all felt the ground cracking beneath us.
Annalisa nudged my elbow. “Stop looking so sour! Everyone is watching us.”
My sip of wine turned into Brandt’s blood on my tongue. I froze, but I forced myself to swallow it.
“He was my soldier, Anna,” I whispered. “He died because ofme.”
Annalisa raised her goblet and her low voice echoed off the metal. “He was the one who talked, not you.” She took a sip and lowered her cup. “No one is more paranoid than Uncle Ragnar. As soon as he caught him talking to Erik, Uncle Ragnar would sparenothingto wring the treason out of him.”
And yet Brandt had still withheld the truth and kept my secret safe.
I stared at General Hyton across the ballroom. He stood next to Baron Elvar amongst a flock of purple capes and dresses and flashed a smile that made my blood run cold.
General Hyton knew I was a sorceress. He had every right under the law to drag me up on the scaffold instead of Brandt, so why did he stay his hand?
The uncertainty clawed at my stomach. If “answer for an answer” was our game, I had to keep playing just to know what I was dealing with.
I tossed back the rest of my liquid courage and faced Annalisa. “What do you say we do some charming on behalf of His Excellency?”
Annalisa laced her fingers with mine. “Thereis the Hyton spirit.”
The heels of our slippers clicked on the tile as we crossed the empty dance floor to the Elvars.
