The king glares at him. “I didn’twantto remove Fairon,” he snaps, to more inhalations from around the table. “He wasjeopardizing the stability of the throne. Trust me, I would have rather kept him in play than face the idea ofyouin line for the crown, Leonidas,” he adds venomously. “That’s why I was willing to give him a second chance when he recovered.”
Respen looks at Fairon. “But now you insist on disappointing me once again.”
I feel something across the mooring, a new emotion emanating from Leon. I frown, trying to identify it as Respen keeps talking.
“I want you to do as I’ve trained you to for your whole lives: think logically about what’s best for Filusia,” Respen says, speaking quickly. “Think about the damage a violent coup could do to the kingdom now, when Trova is about to fall to a fae-hating maniac. If you killed me now, you’d be responsible for putting your country in grave danger.”
The brothers don’t have a response to this. Instead, Fairon and Leon look at each other, something unsettling in their eyes. Leon’s sword falters from its position at Respen’s throat, and I recognize what I’m feeling across the mooring at last.
“He’s using his sensic magic!” I shout. Leon and Fairon were braced for an attack when they first entered this room, but the conversation with Respen distracted them. The king has used the opportunity to start flooding them with fear and paranoia.
I throw my magic out again, grasping at Respen’s inner flame once more, but it’s different this time. Before, my anger was so strong and sharp that I felt like I could snuff the flame out completely if I tried, now I can only stifle it, dimming its light until Respen’s power wavers.
The king stiffens again, sweat beading on his forehead as he tries to hold his magic in place. Butmymagic is putting too much pressure on him, and his shoulders slump.
Leon’s fear dissipates, and Fairon stands up straighter, looking angrily down at his grandfather.
“Enough tricks. Enough fighting the inevitable.” He looks up at the members of the court, at Velrir and his security. “You’ve heard the king confess, but what he hasn’t told you is the nature of Keleus’s supposed treason. He acted to stop my grandfather from invading Agathyre and from breaking the treaty between the three nations.”
“This is ridiculous,” the woman wearing the rubies blusters. “That can’t be true.”
“Your Majesty,” Duchess Serth says with a voice full of sadness. “Isit true?”
Respen says nothing. He’s too smart to admit it, but he’s also too proud to deny his actions. He won’t lie to save himself.
“Prince Keleus was only guilty of trying to keep the peace in Tiearland,” Fairon says. “King Respen murdered my father for it, and my mother. And when I came close to uncovering the truth, he tried to kill me. He speaks of stability for Filusia, of what’s best for the country, but I believe what’s best for our kingdom is to be free of its treacherous, bloodthirsty king.”
No one argues. Even Velrir, looking furiously from behind Hyllus’s thick arms, has enough sense to stay silent.
“Would you like me to do it?” Leon says to Fairon. “I am the King’s Sword, after all.”
Fairon shakes his head. “The time when you had to do every dirty, difficult task for the crown is over. If I’m taking the throne, no one should doubt my ability to do what needs to be done.”
Fairon draws his sword, placing the tip against Respen’s ocher robes, just above his heart.
Respen’s pale eyes meet his grandson’s. He suddenly looks very old and very tired.
“Remember everything I taught you, my boy,” he murmurs. “Hate me if you must, but protect Filusia. Keep it strong.”
“I will,” Fairon says, and there’s a tightness in his voice that I know everyone in the room recognizes. He doesn’t hate his grandfather, not completely. He doesn’t want to do this—even though he knows he must.
“But there are some things you couldn’t teach me,” Fairon continues, “because you never learned them yourself. Perhaps you’ll find them in the next life, Grandfather. I hope so.”
“Be done with it,” Respen says, and Fairon drives his blade into the king’s chest.
Chapter 12
Leon
Fairon lowers his head, the golden wings of Filusia’s throne flaring out behind him as High Mage Masra places the crown upon my brother’s brow. It’s plainer than the one our grandfather wore, simple and precise in its design. Fairon looks like he was born to wear it. Which, of course, he was. He was always meant to sit in this seat; I just hope everyone else can see that too.
I cast my eye around the throne room, taking in the members of court in their finery. We’re all dutifully acting like this coronation wasn’t called out of the blue, as if the old king’s body wasn’t still lying in rest, unburied, in the sanctuary.
Thatceremony will come later and will be more private than most monarchs’ burials. It’s part of the price my grandfather must pay for his crimes.
“Lords and ladies, may I present to you King Fairon II of Filusia,” the High Mage intones as Fairon stands, lifting his head high. “Long live the king!”
“Long live the king!” The room echoes with obedient replies. Barely any of these nobles are old enough to have chanted those words at the last coronation, but I suspect many of them are thinking of my grandfather in this moment. No one could argue he didn’t live long, but none suspected that his reign would end quite so suddenly, or under such a cloud.
