And there, upon the floor, shrouded in an unnatural quiet, lay Geneva.
Dried blood stained the front of her tunic and the floor surrounding her, both the stone and the straw rushes black with blood.
Amarande gripped the bars in disbelief. Her eyes caught Ferdinand’s. “Is she…?”
Her brother nodded, solemn. That blood on his tunic wasn’t his—it was hers. Ferdinand pointed unmistakably to the king.
“Dead by his hand. Not mine.”
Something cold slid down Amarande’s spine. She whirled on the king, her breath catching, and her stomach clenched as she balled her trembling fingers to her sides.
“Where is Luca?”
The king took pains to appear quite unconcerned, straightening his ivory doublet. “Perhaps Dunixi got lost. He is rather new to my service.”
Amarande bared her teeth. “If your plan was to separate us so that stupid pirate could defeat Luca, you will be sorely mistaken because Dunixi has overstated his fighting skills.”
Renard clasped his hands gently in front of his body, and met her with cool calculation, his blond hair a brassy living thing in the flickering torchlight.
“Oh no, Amarande, the plan was never to defeat him. It was to defeatyou.”
That unnatural cold hardened within Amarande.
Renard slowly took in her stance—strong legs rooted into the stone, arms tense at her sides, posture bent slightly forward as if she were about to leap—and grinned that misshapen, storybook-prince grin that he now wielded as king.
“What I did not expect is that you would defeat yourself.” He held up the slip of parchment he’d just received and gave it a taunting little shake. “At this very moment, my harbormaster has detained five hundred Ardenian troops in the Port of Pyrenee.”
Amarande drew in a thin breath, willing herself not to react.
“Their ship was unmarked, but for all your army’s reputation, you are not the only one with talented soldiers able to spot a covert invasion.” He returned the parchment to his pocket. “Though, I must say their choice of entry is rather perfect, as all the other kingdoms will be arriving by waterway within the day. They will have a clear and unmistakable visual representation of your violation of Sand and Sky covenant as they disembark.”
The queen swallowed, no answer good enough.
Renard took a step forward, the gross glee in his mangled face widening to something bordering on maniacal. “Amarande, you have gone out of your way to demonstrate that you are rash, bellicose, and completely unfit to rule alone as queen. All those emotions running around inside that beautiful head of yours just get in the way. If you’d simply sat still and looked pretty, you might have made a case.”
Again, he swept forward, and now it was all Amarande could do not to take a step back—her fighting stance ruined, her body a few feet closer to the weak position of being pressed against the wall farthest from the exit.
“A case for what?” Amarande asked, seething. “That the best option for a woman in my position is to be the living embodiment of some serene feminine painting or tapestry? Adepictionis not alife.”
Renard fed off her anger. His words all but lilted with joy now.
“Oh, I don’t know, itisan aspiration. AndIaspire to make you suffer any way I can.”
Amarande met Ferdinand’s placid expression from where he stood, imprisoned with rot and memories. Then she steeled herself and glared at Renard, who stood a little taller, cutting a kingly figure, and ground her teeth in warning.
“I will ask you again. Where is Luca?”
Renard smiled wickedly.
“Oh, I imagine he is currently in the very dungeon imprisoning his merry band of Torrentian sycophants we smoked out of the forest below King’s Crest.” He took another step. So close she could smell the antiseptic basil oil smeared across his facial gash. “And soIam going to askyousomething nicely—drop your weapon and join your brother in that cell.”
She straightened further, chin stabbed toward Renard, an affront.
“No.”
“Recognize when you are defeated, Amarande. I have your army. I have your love. I havehisarmy. I have the rest of the Sand and Sky on my side, which means I also have Ardenia.”
Renard tossed his hands wide, displaying all he held and claimed.
