Chapter 37

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I kneel alongside Tug, facing the stairway and the ruby palace doors. Scattered around me the Duke's soldiers are all down on one knee, heads lowered, as stable hands weave around us, leading our horses away.

Queen Usas greets the Duke, telling him to rise. He takes her hands in his and mutters words of regret and sorrow. She nods, eyes scanning the Prince. She sways towards him, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

Images streak through the mind-world, so fast I only comprehend snatches and fragments, struggling to decipher one moment, while the next streams forward to submerge it.

Hands on a bloody bed sheet. A frozen face marbled with burst blood vessels. A distressed wailing.

A man's voice. "I have lost my best assassin. And I will not lose you." His hands in hers. "Promise me you won't try anything." The King's eyes. Tenderness, strength.

The Red City sprawled before her. "You must see Lady Calmi is married." She turns to her husband. "See she is married and send Jakut north for the princess."

The mind-world settles around the Queen. With my head lowered, I squint to watch her staring down at the kneeling Prince. The images were confusing, out of chronological order. But the love she felt for the King is indisputable.

"Your father is dead," she says.

"May his spirit follow the path of Rhag," the Prince answers, remaining bowed in the deepest sign of respect. The faintest trace of surprise alters the Queen's cold expression.

"The King's head arrived at the palace two days ago. We are preparing a body for the ceremony of departure."

In the vast entrance gardens, from the surrounding foot soldiers, right up to the Queen's personal guard and council on the terrace, no one moves.

The Prince slowly raises his head. The moment his eyes meet her my flesh tingles. I cannot see his expression but I see the memory that has shaken loose from the darkness of his past.

Black flags with the royal crest flapping in the wind. Young men sparring. Queen Usas drawing a Bo staff. Striking. The Prince ducking. Striking back.

A tournament. Sparring with the Queen. I wish I could examine the Prince's face and see his reaction to remembering Usas. Then I would know whether he has lied about the sketches. Lie or not, there can be no doubt now, the Prince's past is emerging.

What if this is the tiny shift that causes an avalanche? How long before all the pieces rise and find their places and the Prince is under Strik's influence?

The Queen steps back and nods, signalling the Prince may rise.

I lower my gaze as she strides through the soldiers. My chest sinks when I realize she is coming towards me.

"Princess Aliylah?"

A shiver prickles up my spine. I shake my head.

"The King told Prince Jakut not to return to the Red City without the Princess. Am I to understand he has brought you instead?"

I stare at her shoes, the soft leather moulded around her feet for comfort and nimbleness. All Deadran's preparation, the Prince's test in Lyndonia, deceiving the Duke and Duchess, nothing has prepared me for this. I feel like I have shadow weaver written on my skin, crawling across my face, and she has only to look closer and she will see it.

She stands before me, silence stretching out like a promise of the silence that will meet me in my grave.

"Rise," she orders. I push to my feet, while the mind-world flashes with a lithe female figure, swinging and ducking. Queen Usas is remembering a younger version of herself, training with a smaller, female warrior. "Look at me."

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