Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(73)

He points at me. “You’ve twisted them all against me with your Solati filth and mind tricks. None of this is true!”

The door slams on the wall as it’s thrown open. Only one other person opens doors that way. I nearly sink to the ground in a heap as a fur-clad Rhone steps into the room. Snow falls from him with every step.

He walks to me and reaches into his vest to extract a bag. I know exactly what’s in it.

“I expected you earlier,” I say.

He grunts and guilt swamps me. It did sound a little ungrateful. “Leo was injured,” he says shortly.

“Is he all right,” I ask in apology. Rhone shrugs and leaves with a bow to the king.

I refocus and open the bag carefully, checking the contents with a quick glance. “You say we shouldn’t trust the firsthand witness of the gathered men and women. Though, if we cannot trust the word of so many, what could we trust in?” I say, deliberating. “Perhaps your own good word?” I ask.

“Of course,” he snarls. I smile and draw the papers out of the bag.

“I’m glad you think so,” I say, “because Rhone has been so good to collect this stack of documents for me from the Third Sector. You may recognize them, being as they are all written by you.” I let the heap drop in front of Jovan with a loud smack.

“Instructions to Hale, word received from the whorehounds. Crime after heinous crime, listed in that stack,” I say pointing. “And all of them written by you.”

“How did you get these?” Blaine asks, fury tight in his voice.

“I stole them from your room a long time ago,” I confess.

“You stole—”

“Silence!” roars Jovan, slowly rising from his seat. I step back, not scared to admit his rage terrifies me.

“Betrayal and mutiny of the most disloyal kind. For years, I have been blind to your … depraved acts, and corrupt soul!” Jovan snarls, fists curled tightly. “There is no punishment I can think of for your crimes against the people of Glacium. No word I can think of for how utterly dissolute you are. You hurt my people.” The king moves into the stone ring and stands next to me. “That the Tatuma of our enemy is the only person who saw you for what you were, I’m more ashamed of than I can admit.”

I want to grab his arm and make him stop talking. Any more and the advisors will guess his ignorance of Blaine’s involvement.

He moves to the witnesses. My mouth dries as he bends to one knee in front of them.

“All of you have my sincerest and most humble apologies. Your pain and heartache falls on my shoulders, and it is something I’ll not forget. I will make this right for you,” he vows.

Tears track down my cheeks, hidden behind my veil. I focus on Jovan. Of course he would take the entire blame for what has happened over the last fifteen years.

I don’t have time to scream.

I jerk my head away as the sword swings, feeling the sting as it slices through the flesh above my jaw. The tip of the weapon comes to rest at my throat.

Barely breathing, without moving my head, I look to my right to where Blaine stands at the edge of the sword currently cutting into my throat. I then track the sword held to Blaine’s throat to its owner, Jovan. The king, Blaine, and I stand in a deadly triangle. Blaine in the perfect position to kill me, and Jovan in the perfect position to kill Blaine. Who will die first?

My inhale hitches in my throat at the white fury on Jovan’s face. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen him use the large sword always buckled at his side. No one in the meeting room makes a noise. Or maybe they do and I’m too focused on the sharp metal gouging my neck to hear.

“Let me go safely, or I’ll kill the Tatuma,” Blaine hisses, too desperate to be afraid of the king. He should be. His death is looking straight at him through clear blue eyes.

Jovan’s head turns slightly toward me, and then slowly back to Blaine. “Old friend,” he says. I shiver at the softness, the finality of his voice. “You will die here today. How you die is up to you,” Jovan says.

“Just like your father, unable to make a decision. Glacium will die under your control.” I see Blaine’s hand tighten and tense in readiness.

I roll away as Jovan strikes without a sound. Blaine’s sword cuts through my veil to the exposed area of my throat.

I grasp the side of my neck, looking back in time to see Blaine’s traitorous head flying through the meeting room. It hits the far wall with a wet thud. His body crumples to the ground in a deadened and bloody heap in front of me.

The king’s roar bounces around the room as Olandon rushes to my side. He touches my hand and holds it up. I see the blood on his shaking hands.

“You are badly hurt,” Olandon asks me.

I have no idea. I’m still standing, aren’t I? The ground underneath makes me realize I’m not. There’s a clatter of a sword behind him and I’m jerked from my brother’s ministrations and clutched in Jovan’s arms.

“Let me see,” he demands, drawing the veil up to my jaw. I hear his intake of breath.

“Nothing serious,” I mutter. “We both know I’d be dead by now. He only got muscle.” It’s just blood loss.

“He got you twice,” he says through clenched teeth, stroking above my jaw where Blaine first got me.

“And you got him once,” I say, nodding to his body on the ground. Someone is vomiting behind me.