A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(4)

I found my feet. As I rose, the hubbub around me died.

“Did he say why?” My voice sounded surprisingly clear, considering I was about to burst into flame. Sparks trailed from my fingertips; embers glinted at the bottom of my sleeves. I could feel Dee and Blackwood inch away.

The Imperator shook his head. “He did not.”

“We won’t do it!” Dee shouted, standing beside me. To my shock, many sorcerers surged to their feet in agreement, applauding Dee.

“We don’t negotiate with demons!” someone cried.

“Perhaps R’hlem knows,” one lone voice called out. The cheering quieted as a sorcerer stood. He was a short young man with hooded blue eyes and an imperious sort of air.

“Wonderful, it’s Valens,” I muttered.

Of course it would be him. Valens was the captain of my squadron. All newly commended sorcerers were formed into squadrons to be overseen and trained for battle, unless they went to the navy or the Speakers’ priory. Valens had never made any secret about disliking me. Not only was I a liar, a magician, and not the chosen one, but I’d been involved in Master Palehook’s death. Though Valens had joined the Order in speaking out against the horrible things Palehook had done to keep our ward up—killing innocent people and draining their souls didn’t sit well with sorcerers—he’d still been one of Palehook’s old Incumbents. He probably felt a deep loyalty to his Master, the way I felt for Agrippa. While I could understand that, Valens thought the Imperator showed favoritism by not punishing me.

So he’d decided he’d punish me for the Imperator. Whenever we ran drills at the barracks yard, he searched for any flaw of mine. Was I even slightly out of step when forming a waterspout? Do it fifteen more times. He would force everyone to join in another set if I made even one mistake, which made me very unpopular.

It didn’t surprise me at all that he was speaking out now.

Valens stared me down from across the room. “Perhaps he knows that Howel is not truly one of us.”

“I was commended, the same as you,” I said. Perhaps it wasn’t ladylike, but I refused to let him run roughshod over me. “I can use a stave, just the same as you. And unlike you, I helped to destroy Korozoth.”

“Yes, that again.” Valens sighed. That again, like I’d insisted on showing everyone my embroidery for the eighth time. “We never fail to hear of that particular exploit. But it’s been months since your commendation, Howel. What have you done since?”

I’ve stopped myself from blasting you in the face with a fireball.

“Everyone, be seated,” Whitechurch boomed. I sat, and Blackwood nudged me with his elbow. To support or to chastise me, I couldn’t tell. “It shocks me that any of our members would attempt to sow discord at a time like this.” He stared at both Valens and me, respectively.

The two of us kept silent, though Valens threw angry glances at me across the room. Glances that I returned, happily. Bother being demure.

“Where were the queen’s guards?” Blackwood asked, frowning. “Our soldiers know better than to leave a room unattended, and Mab’s court was supposed to help guard Her Majesty’s chambers.”

Indeed. The dark Fae had agreed to send more arms and soldiers now that the ward had fallen. They’d also set up an enchanted ring around the city, adding to the sorcerers’ barrier. The faerie knights and our own sorcerer elite should have been at the chamber door.

Whitechurch sighed. “There seems to have been an error with the changing of the guard.” If the naturally unorganized Fae were helping to run things, that didn’t surprise me. “I wished to share this news before proceeding with the meeting. We must discuss strengthening the barriers. Now, our warders—”

It was my first meeting, and I should have been paying attention. I should have hung on the Imperator’s every word, riveted. But all I could think of was R’hlem ordering his creature to write those words in some poor servant’s blood. That person had died for a stupid message targeted at me. My temples throbbed; my fault. It had been my fault.

What would R’hlem do if he got me? Tear me apart piece by piece? That was one of the kinder things he could do.

When the meeting was over, I rose with Blackwood and Dee. We started to file down the steps, but Whitechurch called, “Howel. Blackwood. Meet me in my chambers.” With that, he turned and walked through a small door directly behind his throne.

“Best of luck,” Dee murmured. Gritting my teeth, I marched down the stairs, Blackwood behind me.

I’d expected the Imperator’s rooms to look as grand and austere as the obsidian palace outside. I’d imagined a stone chamber with Grecian pillars and scowling busts of Homer. Instead, Whitechurch’s private office was rather homey. The Turkish rug was worn and threadbare, with bright reds and yellows that had faded over time. Two green-striped and overstuffed chairs slouched before the fire, their cushions frayed at the edges. A brown-spotted porcelain bulldog sat on a table, and Whitechurch absently touched its head as he took a seat.

“So,” he said to me, as if starting a normal conversation. “How do you feel?”

I didn’t expect the lord of all the magic in England to care about my feelings.

“Guilty.” I cast my eyes to the carpet, noticing some crumbs sprinkled near the Imperator’s chair. “I don’t understand what he wants.”