Torrent of Tears (Scourge Survivor Series Book 3)(52)

He freed the top button on my shirt from its mooring and moved down to the next. “Thoroughly sandblasted . . . and ready for another house call.”





CHAPTER TWENTY


Ydorus and Eury arrived just before noon, but they hadn’t come alone. Four other Strati had joined them, and by the time Rowan and I descended the main stairway, the new guys had each been thoroughly fed by Leda and sent out to the backyard to wait.

“What’s with the reinforcements?” I asked as we entered the kitchen.

Ydorus rose from his seat at the table and glanced to where Coal was handing his lunch dishes to Leda.

“Coal, buddy,” I said, ruffling up his ginger hair, “why don’t you grab those hoops and ball we saw in the cubby in the backyard? Maybe you and Eury can figure out a game to play for a bit.” Eury bowed his head and I held my knuckles out. After a quick bump from Coal, the two of them slid out the back door. “Right where I can see you though, ‘kay?”

I took a look at the wooden chair tucked under the kitchen table and winced. My sextacular morning hadn’t done my gashed ass a bit of good—not that I’d tell Rowan—and now, the stitches stung from the ointment he’d slathered. The idea of sitting on a slab of teak didn’t give me a warm and fuzzy.

“Let’s take this conversation to the living room,” I said. Accepting a coffee from Leda, I gestured to the overstuffed furniture set against the back of the house. Rowan smirked and opened his mouth to comment. “Careful, Doc, you’ve already got one black eye from me.”

Terran snorted and Rowan tested the shiner I’d given him for him laughing about Tham. It was an ugly shade of puce this morning, rimmed with purple.

Without comment, Ydorus sat in the far chair and crossed his arms over his leather soldier’s vest. “There was quite a bit of commotion in the streets this morning,” he said.

I eased into the sofa opposite the back windows and I let out a breath. Much better.

Ydorus waited for me to get comfortable and then continued. “Three of the Queen’s Strati were found dead, killed by some skilled assassin in the night.”

“Were they really?” I said. “And?”

Ydorus gestured to the back patio. “Those are good men, Princess. The two on the left are my Uncle Nicoli’s boys and the other two Eury has known his entire life. We went through training together. You can trust them.”

“Trust them with what?”

He leaned over his knees and frowned. “With whatever plan is underway to overthrow the Queen. You can’t expect to do it alone.”

What? “I think you’ve got the wrong idea. There’s no mutinous scheme underway. I’m just exacting justice for Tham, and keeping Coal away from Lir-dickhead.”

Ydorus ran a finger down the stitching line of his uniform pants. After picking of a couple invisible pieces of lint he looked up. “Permission to speak candidly, Princess?”

“Always . . . and it’s Lexi.”

“With the tripling of military guard storming the streets and the implication that you are behind it, you would be wise to come up with a plan. And quickly. The Queen will not—cannot—allow this uprising to go unchallenged.”

“And why would suspicion fall on me? It could have been anyone who killed them. The people of Attalos certainly have just cause to want the Strati dead.”

Both Rowan and Ydorus gave me a well-duh stare, but it was Ydorus who continued to speak. “The three men killed were seen in the city streets with your Elf friend in tow. It’s no secret that he was killed, or that you took it badly. The Queen is accustomed to her tactics drawing people under her control, not fighting back.”

“Yeah, well, the Queen is bat-shit crazy and should never have been allowed to rule.”

“Not always,” Rowan said. “There was a time your mother was a great and compassionate ruler.”

I snorted, took a sip of my coffee and burnt my tongue. “In what lifetime?”

Rowan rested his arm across the back of the sofa and crossed his feet on the coffee table. “What was it . . . about eight cycles past?”

“About that,” Terran said, “Pater worked in the palace orchard back then. He told me the Queen fell gravely ill and was never the same. She didn’t go totally off the bars, just slowly became the woman she is today.”

“Off the rails,” I said, blowing across the surface of my mug. “And what kind of illness?”

Terran shrugged. “No one ever really knew. She was unconscious a week or more, and the healers thought she was beyond aid. The entire city held a vigil and prayed for her.”

I found it hard to imagine the citizens of Attalos flocking to offer their well-wishes. How the mighty had fallen. “Would there be records of the time she was ill, Doc? Eight cycles would be more than thirty years ago.”

“I should think so,” Rowan said, accepting two sandwich plates from Leda and passing me one. “They’d be in the archives of the Palace temple if there were. The City’s clergy are the guardians of documents like that. Why? What do you think her illness will tell you?”

I mulled that one over. Could a mysterious ailment from three decades ago have any relevance to her decline into maniacal insanity? “Can the Queen be found incompetent? If something from that illness compromised her mind, could she be removed from the throne?”