“How did you… why did you…” Amarande’s voice died out and that smile increased. So pleased he’d made her stumble.
His eyes glittered, landing on her brother. “Won’t you introduce us, Princess?”
“Queen,we just made her queen,” Ferdinand corrected, eyes tracking this new threat while still angling toward Geneva and her double swords. “And you will refer to her as such.”
As always, Taillefer found humor in something that wasn’t funny. He let out an audible laugh as he stepped over Satordi’s dying body. He didn’t explain what humor he saw, and he also didn’t come farther into the room, both his dagger and sword still stowed in their scabbards at his waist.
As it was, that put him in literal alignment with Geneva and her weapons—facing the rest of the room from either end of the oval-shaped council table.
Amarande stared at her mother and the prince.
Were they a team? Some sort of loose alliance? Or was this another of Taillefer’s clever tricks? Whose side was he really on? Her mother’s? Hers? Or simply his own?
“What are you doing here?” This from Luca. Amarande hadn’t believed Luca had the capacity to hate Taillefer as much as heshould, but the harshness in his tone said otherwise.
Where was Koldo? Ula, Urtzi, Osana? It was too much to hope for the resistance fighters. Not yet. But they needed reinforcements. With Luca and Ferdinand and herself facing Geneva and Taillefer,their odds looked good. But someone had clearly taken care of the guards and it was impossible to tell who else was in the hall. Worse, Taillefer had arrived from the antechamber behind the council room, outside the cell in which she’d been imprisoned. What else was back there? Who else? And how had Taillefer arrived inside the Itspi wearing the uniform of Pyrenee without being stopped by their soldiers down below?
“I am here to attend this delightful reunion, same as you, wolf cub. I do apologize for my tardiness, and the regret is my own as I see I’ve missed the portion of the programming where you try to put aside your differences long enough to unite to face a common enemy.” Taillefer made it a point to examine the mess of the room. Plans discarded, bodies strewn on the floor, lifeblood in various stages of release. Lines drawn in marble rather than sand. He inspected it the same way a governess would look down upon a particularly messy child’s room. “Couldn’t find it within you to join forces against my mother?”
“Negotiations are still in progress,” Geneva answered, her swords unwavering.
“Well,the good news is that she and I also could not rally together to beat you. So, I took care of her.”
Silence smothered the room at the implication. Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and Amarande’s teeth ground together. Never plainspoken, this boy.
“Taillefer,” Amarande spit, “did you kill your mother?”
“KingTaillefer, and yes. There will be no clash of the queens.” He bowed in a deep, mocking way. “You’re welcome.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed. “How can we believe you?”
Taillefer took another step closer. “Oh, wolf cub,” he answered, almost lovingly, “you of all these people should believe me. I spared you when I said I would. You’re welcome for that, too.”
Amarande addressed Taillefer again, almost hopeful. “Are you here for a truce?”
“He is here for me,” Geneva replied. She’d been standing back, watching with her blades, but now she took another step forward, so that again she and Taillefer were aligned. “His Highness and I have been allies for quite some time.”
Amarande’s mouth went dry. “That can’t be.”
“Can’t it? Is it really easier for you to believe that a boy youattempted to murder would stand with you and not against you, darling daughter?” The skylight blue of her mother’s eyes flashed. “Tell me, again—how did your daring escape come to pass?”
A weight settled in Amarande’s stomach as she ran through that night’s events again. The timing. The location. All the intangibles. Finally, she swallowed, watching a smile creep across her mother’s face. Amarande’s voice rang hollow in her ears. “You knew where I was being kept—not because you’re so clever but because my mother told you.”
In confirmation, Taillefer arched a brow. “It is quite possible that I do not know everything, Queen.”
“You are playing us both,” Ferdinand accused.
“Yes, that is what smart players do—you’ve done that yourself somewhat. Applause to you, little Sendoa. There is always more than one side of play, and I have played them all. Your mother. Your sister. The Torrent. Ardenia. Myrcell. I have alliances with every player, my finger in every pot. There is nothing particularly special about either of yours—” Taillefer turned to Geneva. “Though I daresay alignment with the Warlord’s cause is a much less enticing proposition than previously, given the Otsakumea has risen and is standing in our midst, and your supporters are fleeing with the wind or rotting into the sand.”
Geneva wheeled upon him.“Excuse me?”
Taillefer ignored her and sent a questioning glance in Luca’s direction. “I assume you were successful, if you’re standing here.” He winked and gave a thumbs-up. “A stableboy as the long-lost heir to an extinct throne certainly is one for the songbooks.”
Geneva’s whole body pivoted toward Taillefer now—her blades and fire and spite. “As long as I stand, the wolf cub has won nothing. And you stand with me, boy.”
“No, I think not.” Taillefer turned to Amarande. “My mother is dead. I now rule Pyrenee. Arm-wrestle your mother for Basilica and Myrcell for all I care. I only want what is mine.
“My offer is this: Recognize me now as king and my ships will disperse. No war at your door.” Taillefer glanced from Amarande to her mother and back, his lips curling. “Well, unless you consider thisnegotiationof yours to be civil war, in which case you work it out and just send me a scrap of parchment with the winner’s name when it’s over, will you?”
