Page 113 of The Stolen Throne
I force myself to take a deep breath, one I hope he can’t sense, and focus on the words. What he’s asking goes against every instinct I have, even with our current status, but I nod.
At the gates, we are stopped by a guard. One who doesn’t recognize me or Reven. When I give our names—or, rather, Tabra and Eidolon’s names—his eyes go wide while at the same time his brows lower, which makes him look like a startled ghoul.
He glances behind us. “What are you doing here alone, domines?”
I channel pure Grandmother as I lift my chin and pin him with a glare that says both it’s none of his business and I don’t give a shit what he thinks. “Do what you must to inform your king and queen,” I say with a deliberately soft menace. “Or see what happens if you leave us standing here too long.”
Grandmother used to speak like that. As children, when we heard that tone directed at us, Tabra would immediately start crying.
The guard actually pales.
I swallow a smirk. What do you know? It works.
Shadows pulse around us, dimming the brightness for a flash. Here, then gone.
Oh. Never mind. He wasn’t afraid of me.
I don’t risk a glance at Reven. Goddess, I hope that was on purpose. A demonstration to get things moving.
Immediately, the guard starts barking orders to bring us inside and inform the king of our presence. The king’s chancellor is sent out to meet us and escort us inside. After dismounting, Reven prowls along at my side, a dark, silent king who doesn’t deign to answer the questions of underlings.
Goddess, the way he moves sometimes. Even in this treacherous moment, I have to not let myself get distracted.
The chancellor keeps flicking him glances while directing his questions to me. I respond with curt nonanswers, partly because I have no intention of giving away anything and partly because I’m trying like hells to remember any details either Omma or Tabra shared with me about this particular castle. I’m supposed to be my sister right now, and, as Istrella’s goddessdaughter, she’s visited here. Several times, actually.
I don’t want to take a wrong turn.
We round a corner, and I jump, hand to my throat. There’s no way the massive stuffed bear, standing on its hind legs with its paws raised and teeth bared in a menacing snarl, could be missed. Not because of its size, but because the enchanted decoration actually turns its head to pin us with a ferocious stare, a growl rumbling up from inside it. It guards the entrance to the throne room and will only growl at those who are not direct family. A warning and an alarm.
Tabra used to be terrified of visiting here because of this thing.
“Goddess, I’ve always hated that thing,” I deliberately murmur.
At that, the chancellor smiles and relaxes. Tabra must have jumped every time she saw it, too.
He snaps his fingers, and the bear goes back to just being stuffed. Meanwhile, we’re now standing before a set of wooden doors painted in glorious golds and silvers and covered in Wildernyssian runes, particularly the symbols for loyalty, arts, and storm—their goddess’s patronage. But I see within the paintings the scythe of a reaper as well. Death.
Good thing I never was one for omens.
It takes four strong men to force the doors open. But before I can pass inside, a man cloaked in purple and wearing the sigil of the king’s council comes forward. A gorgeous man in an overdone way. Tall, broad shoulders, strong jaw, and sharp gray eyes that sweep insultingly over my person from head to toe.
Reven moves in front of me, and the man’s steps falter a bit before he gathers himself.
“I am the warden of the castle,” he informs us in a deep, self-assured voice. He would be impressive if he wasn’t still standing a decent distance away from Reven.
My grandmother, who never trusted a pretty face, would have ground him under her heel. I stay silent. So does Reven.
The man shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He’s fidgeting. Good. He clears his throat and lifts his chin. “I must ask that you discard any weapons you may have.”
Is he kidding? He thinks Reven is Eidolon. This man has to know who and what he is. Asking us to discard weapons is like asking the sand not to stick to anything.
My knives are hidden in a few accessible spots as always. Would he dare to search a queen? I’m going to take the risk that he wouldn’t. “We carry no weapons.”
I’m pretty sure that fourth circle of hell, where the liars go, is becoming more and more a future destination of mine.
The warden glances at the chancellor. I roll my eyes. “Do you really think we need to?” I wave at Reven.
The chancellor hesitates, then nods. Sometimes it is good to be queen and have a Shadowraith at my side. I stand perfectly still, waiting until the doors are opened completely, then follow the chancellor inside.
