The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(87)
“Actually, the prince was not involved in our little plot to oust King Archon. Not originally.”
A lump rose in Aya’s throat, and she fingered the jeweled barrette—Queen Lisandra’s barrette—still clipped in her hair. “When did he become involved?”
“Only a night or two ago.” Lord Varick released the iron bar, leaning closer to the window. “He was quite upset when he caught you with King Archon. So upset, in fact, that when he confronted me about your behavior, and I told him of my plans to spy on you and the king, he leaped at the chance to send you and his father to the executioner.”
Aya recoiled from the door, hoping the shadows in the cell would hide the pain in her eyes. Willem might have cared for her once, but now he only cared about revenge and taking the throne.
Aya bit her lip, feeling foolish for her moment of hope. “You’ll never get away with it. The other nobles may be stupid enough to overlook my and Zedara and Archon’s corpses, but once others start piling up at your feet, someone will figure you out.”
“Miss Aya, please. Give me some credit. It doesn’t have to be all bloodshed and cruelty.” Lord Varick squinted. “Besides, King Archon orchestrated the deaths of nine wives before someone took action against him. And that someone was me. Without me in the way, I think I can make it further than he did before anyone tries to stop me.”
Aya shook her head. “You’re an idiot. Or insane. This is hopeless.”
“Says the woman behind bars.”
Aya glowered. He had her there. As far-fetched as Lord Varick’s plan seemed, he had successfully finished step one, complete with Aya’s head on the chopping block.
“You were never going to give me my father’s shop back, were you?” Aya clenched her fists. “You always planned for it to end this way.”
“You are clever. Just never quick enough.” Lord Varick cleared his throat and raised his voice for the guard’s benefit. “Well, my dear, I must say, it breaks my heart to see you like this. If I’d known you would turn out to be an adulteress, I never would have taken you under my care. It hurts me to lose a second daughter to temptation. Though you do not deserve it, I will pray to the Benevolent Queen to forgive your soul.”
Aya turned her back to Lord Varick. If by some miracle she got out of this, she never wanted to see Lord Varick again, unless it was to watch his head fall from the executioner’s ax. Aya heard the guard’s heavy footsteps. They stopped in front of her cell door, then they were joined by Lord Varick’s soft footsteps and the clacking of his cane. As the guard shut the dungeon door behind Lord Varick, it sent a clanging echo throughout the corridor.
Aya sat down with her knees to her chest and covered her ears. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Aya did not realize that she had fallen asleep until pounding on the dungeon door startled her awake. Within seconds, the guard on duty—no longer the hairy man—flung open her door and hauled her up by her arm. Aya stumbled, still fighting through her waking haze, and the guard passed her to two larger guards, who each grasped one of her elbows. As the guards pulled Aya forward, a sharp pain shot through her neck and shoulders, sore from her hunched sleeping position.
Unlike her trip to the dungeon, Aya walked of her own accord, doing her best to hide her aching muscles and the fear in her eyes. The screwdriver was still nestled in her garter, and for a moment, she considered again trying to grab for it and make an escape, but the rippling biceps of the guards quickly dashed her foolishness. If she were going to die today, she might as well face it with dignity. Papa would have wanted her to.
The guards led Aya back up to the middle of the palace to a room she did not recognize. At the doors stood another guard and the bishop who’d presided over Queen Zedara’s greeting ceremony and Lady Jauntley’s trial. Once again, the bishop wore loose white robes and rings on every finger. He signaled to his attendant guard to open the doors. The guard did as directed, flinging open the double doors and stepping aside to allow Aya a view into the room or, more accurately, the room a view of her.
“Miss Aya Cogsmith,” the bishop announced. “Accused adulteress.”
Aya could only see a small portion of the room, but she knew immediately that it was the same courtroom in which Lady Jauntley had been on trial. The guards led Aya into the courtroom, and once she emerged from the short passage, she found herself surrounded by nobles. They were seated a level above where she stood, in rows upon rows of seats that surrounded the entire circular room. Now Aya knew how small and scared Lady Jauntley must have felt with everyone watching from proverbial pedestals.
Like last time, the main floor of the courtroom contained two tables and a throne on an elevated platform. At the left-hand table sat King Archon, an empty chair beside him. At the right-hand table sat Queen Zedara, a few of her guards behind her. The throne was empty, but Aya remembered that another short hallway like the one she’d passed through was directly behind it. The guards escorted Aya to the empty chair next to King Archon. She sat down, refusing to look at the queen or the king.
The bishop strode up to the throne and stood before it. He raised his hands to the nobles, his robes once again hanging limply from his thin arms. Aya felt as if she had lived this moment before, only she knew that for her, there would be no lover to clutch before execution—only her last few breaths before the ax.