Chapter 54
I venture to the kitchen to say hello to Henry and the line cooks. It’s the central hub of the palace. The maidservants are always coming and going, running errands for the nobles, always accompanied by gossip and rumors: affairs, alcohol intake, disputes. Any and all information regarding court transgressions is filtered through the kitchen.
The palace is never without speculation regarding the king’s affairs, from the mundane to the grandiose.
There’s concern over stirrings just across Roison border, fear of another war coming. The uncertainty about the Strou alliance after Acker’s stunt at the celebratory dinner has made its way to the townsfolk, with everyone having differing opinions on the matter. Some think reuniting the old alliance with Maile is the right choice, others quite the opposite, particularly after my mother’s repeated refusals to open her borders over the last decade.
The common thread running through all, though, is their love for the prince. They’re under the impression that Acker will protect them at all costs. Tales of his battles are shared and repeated with reverence, almost worshipful.
I feel most comfortable here amid the bustle of the kitchens. Also, Henry is always eager to try out his new or favorite recipes on me, and I am plenty happy to oblige.
I’ve been listening to the staff for hours and am eating a cranberry muffin when Beau finds me. “You’re nearly impossible to track down,” she says.
“Me?” I say, pushing the remaining muffins toward her. “I haven’t seen you in days.”
“Not all of us live a life of leisure, Jo.”
I inspect the dark circles under her eyes, the dullness in her hair. “Your father’s been keeping you busy?”
“You could say that.” She takes two of the muffins and thanks Henry.
“Come. My mother has something she wants to show you.”
I’m scrambling to keep up with her as she moves toward the doorway.
The temperature in the hall drops, making me shiver after being in the overheated kitchen all afternoon.
Beau’s dressed in her uniform, leather armor and metal rope included.
The weapon clinks off her shoulder and hip as she stalks through the halls.
Greta’s eyes light up when we walk into the library. “I was starting to think you got lost.”
She waves us to follow her into the alcove underneath the stairs. A desk is shoved into the corner with a lantern hanging above for light. Standing on her tiptoes, Greta slides a massive text from the top shelf, and Beau and I stretch out our arms to help lower the weighty book onto the table.
“I’ve been looking for these records ever since your return, and I finally found them.” She huffs out a breath, blowing her bangs from her face, and settles into the chair.
Four times the size of a regular text, each page creates a draft of wind as she turns it. Dust floats in the air, and Beau coughs, waving it away from her face.
“Here,” Greta declares, wiping the page clean before pointing. “Your mother.”
I angle the lantern overhead to get a better view. The illustrated depiction of my mother is uncanny. In her youth, she could have been my twin. If it didn’t have her name in looping script below the picture, or her slightly darker hair, I’d swear it was me.
Evelyn.
There’s additional text under her name, and I wipe the space clean to
read it.
Elemental—Air
“What is this?” I ask.
“These are the earliest recordings of Heirs and their gifts. Or at least that we know of.”
My eyes flick to Greta’s. “Is my father in here?”
I see the dismay in her eyes before she answers. “No, my darling. He
wasn’t an Heir.”
Shock rocks me back on my feet. “What?”
“I thought you knew,” she says.
“How would I have known?”
“Acker never told you?” Beau asks.
I shake my head. “I suppose it’s of no consequence, but I never even thought to ask.”
“Their love story is quite romantic,” Greta says. “The princess who fell in love with her appointed guard. It was the height of scandal for a princess to marry a commoner. Never did one ascend the throne before or since his crowning.”
“Well,” Beau drawls, “that’s debatable.”
“All thrones are held by usurpers,” Greta agrees. “But he was the first
and only to do it by love.”
Beau rolls her eyes.
“Anyway,” Greta says, “I wanted to show you a little of your mother’s history.”
“Thank you, Greta. Would you mind if I nosed around in these logs for a while?”
“Not at all.” She stands so I can reclaim her seat. “If you find anything interesting, please share.”
Beau pulls a spare chair close. The book appears to be categorized by lineage. I flip to the front page and wipe it clean with my palm. King Edmond is first.
He looks a lot like Acker, but I’m grateful for the subtle differences in
their features.
Elemental—Fire I move to close the book but the image next to the king’s portrait catches my eye.
Leaning closer, I gently clean it with my thumb, making sure I’m not imagining things as I gaze at the slightly downturned eyes and widow’s peak. Acker’s mother has a smile full of mischief. Actually it’s kind of condescending, coming across even through the illustrated depiction. It kind
of reminds me of …
No.
It’s not possible.
“What is it?” Beau says, leaning in to peer over my shoulder.
“I … I’m not sure. Do you know where there’s a better image of the late queen?”
She stands and leads me to Greta’s desk. She’s nowhere to be found as we open the floor and descend into the abyss. Igniting the lamp, Beau lifts it from its place on the wall, carrying it down the stacks of books to the furthest wall. There, partially hidden by a tapestry, is a portrait of the royal family, the king on his throne with his son at his side. Acker must have been no more than five. Behind him stands a woman with curly hair and a vibrant smile, her hand resting on her husband’s shoulder.
A young Grenadine stares back at me. The crabby old woman that lived next to me in Alaha. I’m sure of it.
“Jo,” Beau demands. “Tell me what it is you see.”
I need to tell Acker.
I reach through the Bond and find myself in Acker’s room.
The sound of the king’s voice sends ice through my veins. “Keep Jovinnia as a consort or send her back to Maile.”
Turning in place, I find them in the sitting room, Acker’s back to me as he stares up at his father’s pacing figure.
“In what world are either of those options? She’s my Match,” he says, voice rising an octave. “Never in history has a king been denied his match.”
“But you’re not king,” his father says, voice cold. “You’re nothing but a prince, under my reign, and when I give an order, I expect obedience.”
“Even if you’re wrong?” Acker says.
I can’t see his face, but I can imagine the harsh glare he has leveled at his father, similar to the one the king stares right back with as he lords over his son. It’s a battle of power, of wills.
“Give me an argument to justify her hand instead of the Strous’ daughter,” the king says. “Give me anything other than the simple fact that you want her.”
“I love her,” Acker says. “Is it not enough?”
“No.” His father shakes his head. “Not when you are responsible for the well-being of your people. We need the Strou alliance more than you need her hand in marriage.”
Acker stands, and I hurry to hide behind the wall of the bedroom, listening through the doorway. “We can negotiate a new alliance with Evelyn.”
“She’ll never agree to it, son. She despises the entire conclave.”
“You don’t know for sure,” Acker argues. “Jovie is proof that Wren took her as a child. She can help sway Evelyn to our side. The queen will want revenge.”
“Jovie.” The king snorts and enunciates the term of endearment like it’s a joke. “The girl who trained in the Alaha guard, who was in love with Wren’s son, according all reports. And you expect her to lend her mother’s army and resources to eradicate them?”
“She doesn’t sympathize with their scheming,” Acker says.
The king throws his hands up. “You’re acting like a spoiled child.”
I jolt from the sound of something slamming into stone, a scattering of objects hitting the floor. “You told me you would find a solution,” Acker says, emotion making his voice tremble with thin restraint. “I put up the front. I played nice with Irina to settle the Strous’ nerves while you worked out a new plan. For what? For you to tell me there is no other way? Fuck that.”
“The Alaha are gearing up for war, and the incident at the Market was only the beginning. Now, we have Roison joining the fight thanks to your match’s little stunt at the border. We’ll be fighing on multiple fronts and we have any chance against Wren, against Roison, we need more bodies on the playing field, and Strou has them.”
“Maile’s army is bigger,” Acker argues. “If we can convince Evelyn—”
“Enough!” The king’s command does, indeed, rattle the wall at my back. “I spoke with Joss and Urich. They are fine with you keeping Jovie as
a consort as long as you take their daughter’s hand in marriage and give her a child. They ask for at least one successor. It’s a generous offer, knowing you’ll most likely want to sire children with your match.”
“And if I refuse?” Acker asks, voice darkening.
There’s a long beat of silence where I begin to wonder if I’ve been discovered. Then the king says, “When did you do this?”
I don’t have a visual to explain the punctuated silence. My heart is in my throat, and I strain to hear the tiniest of movements in case they decide to come my way.
The king’s voice is eerily calm. Too calm. “If I ever find out you’ve given another blood oath, I’ll chain you up in the dungeons, do you understand?”
I dare a peek around the wall to get a look at what is happening and see the king’s hand curled around the back of his son’s neck, his grip obviously tight.
“As for your original threat, if you defy me again, I have ways than you could possibly comprehend to ensure you never lay eyes on your Match again.”
The sound of the door unlocking reverberates in the stillness left after his chilling statement.
“If I were you,” the king says, “I’d find a way to convince Jovinnia to agree to the arrangement. Speaking from experience, it never ends well when you try to hide the truth from another women. As for future conversations between us, you’ll be collared.”
I flinch when the door slams shut—then I’m back in the hidden library with Beau’s eyes on me. My vision blurs as I do my best to keep my panicked heart from beating out of my chest. I concentrate on breathing, deep, long pulls of air as I brace my hands on the edge of a bookshelf, the king glaring down at me from the old family portrait.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Just because Acker ran out of fight against his father doesn’t mean he’s in agreement.
I need to give him the chance to fix it, to confide in me about what his father has been pushing him toward. That he doesn’t want this.
I look up at Beau. Her eyes are full of remorse, as if she saw the same conversation I was privy to. Then I realize it’s my aura. She knows whatever I saw is wreaking havoc on my heart and nothing she can say will stop it from fracturing.
