King of Battle and Blood (Adrian X Isolde #1)(87)

As we entered the great hall, it was to a round of applause, and despite the sound of approval, I could not help feeling that it was not for my benefit. The crowd stared back, full of noblesse and their vassals, guards and palace staff. They were dressed in far finer attire than I’d ever seen them. The women were in satin, silk, and velvet, trimmed in lace and pearls, ribbons and rosettes. The men wore high collars and ruffles, gloves and gold, and they all looked back at me with a mix of approval, longing, and pure, unveiled hatred. I let all of them see me—met each one of their gazes: from Sorin, Lothian, and Zann, to Gesalac, Julian, and Lady Bella.

“Preening, my queen?” Adrian asked, and he looked down at me, a smile touching his lips.

“Are you chiding me?” I asked.

“No, by all means, continue.”

He pressed his lips to my temple and then led me to the high table and where Ana and Daroc stood, waiting for us to join before they were seated.

When I saw Ana, I took her hand. “How are you?” I asked, knowing it was a horrible question, knowing there was only one answer.

“Afraid,” she said and gave a shuddering breath. Her eyes flicked to Adrian and then back to me. I knew what she wanted—to beg for Isla’s life again in hopes that she could find a cure, and I knew what Adrian would say: She may yet live.

I hoped, for Ana’s sake, she did.

As we sat, I took in the amount of food on the table—dried meats and bread, fruit and cheese. I looked at Adrian questioningly, wondering why there was so much.

“It is for you and the vassals,” he said and reached for a carafe. “Wine?”

He poured some into my goblet, and I took it, enjoying the taste on my tongue—a little sweet, mostly bitter. I sipped again and set the cup aside, watching the crowd descend into the heady madness of music and dance and feeding. The doors to the great hall and the front of the castle were open, and I could see into the courtyard where a fire blazed and more people danced. This was a merry contrast to how I’d felt high upon the castle with Adrian, and I thought it strange that this could be both a day of mourning for so many and a day of celebration for the same.

The music reached a crescendo suddenly and dove into a haunting melody. A line of women dressed in black and veiled cut through the crowd. I sat up straighter, a little alarmed.

“What is happening?”

“It is a mourning dance,” Ana said. “There are thirteen women, one for each member of High Coven.”

The crowd parted, and the women branched off in a circle. Hand in hand, they pushed and pulled upon one another, bodies undulating. One of the women spun into the center of the circle. She danced wildly, beautifully, and when she spun out of the middle, another woman took her place.

I watched, transfixed.

They moved like long shadows, like smoke into the sky, twisting, twining, twirling, their movements attuned to the violence of the music. I had never seen anything like it. I loved it and I also hated it—the way it reached into my chest with claws and pulled all my emotions to the surface. I felt so many things all at once: confusion and shame and sadness. When it was over, the sudden cheers startled me, and I was slow to rise to my feet with the others.

Adrian looked down at me, and he reached out a hand, trailing his fingers over the high part of my cheek.

“Would you dance with me?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He took my hand, holding it aloft as we made our way to the floor, drawing me against him and guiding us in smooth circles. I held his gaze, my body and brain focused on the feel of him moving with me.

“You enjoyed the performance?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I maintained his gaze as he guided me into a spin, and when I came back to him, he held me tighter than before. I’d never imagined dancing with him like this or feeling the way I did now—comforted and safe. And as I looked into his eyes, I recalled a few of the words Ravena had spoken.

Tell me how conflicted you are between the love you have for your father and the love you have for Adrian.

I would not call this love, but it was true my feelings had grown far more complicated. And in six days’ time, my father would bear witness to it.

Suddenly, I felt sick.

We finished the dance in silence and to great applause, and as we returned to our seats, I took a long drink from my goblet. As the liquid hit my tongue, I knew the bitterness was wrong. I spit the contents out, but it was already too late—whatever was in my cup had taken effect. My head spun, my throat felt tight, and my stomach knotted.

“Isolde?”

I heard Adrian say my name, but I could not focus, and then I was falling.

“Isolde!”

He gripped my arm and jerked me to him. My head fell into the crook of his arm. I could not hold it up, and as his face came into view, the only thing I could focus on was the fierceness of his eyes as he spoke my name.

“Poison,” I managed to gasp as his face began to mutate. The whole world was melting. I was too.

“No, no, no,” I heard him say, and I thought that he had lowered me to the ground, but I could not be certain because I could not see. “Isolde? Isolde!”

Then Adrian’s voice echoed suddenly—a firm, frantic sound. “Daroc! Lock the doors! No one leaves until we discover who poisoned the queen.”

I was awake long enough to feel the air swirl around me. It seemed to thicken and darken, like tendrils of smoke, and out of the darkness, once again came Adrian’s voice. “Don’t leave me.”