Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(28)
I tightened my grip on the jewelry, then left Maeven’s chambers and locked the door behind me.
*
I should have returned to my own chambers, climbed into bed next to Sullivan, and tried to get some sleep, but I wound up on the royal lawn instead.
It was completely deserted, and not even the guards were patrolling out here, given the cold, blustery wind and the snow fluttering down from the midnight sky. The hard, tiny flakes had already gathered on the flower beds, iron benches, and towering trees, and I felt as though I were standing in a giant globe, watching the snow swirl all around me.
The snow-dusted grass crunched like bones under my boots as I walked over to the low stone wall that cordoned off the lawn from the cliffs and the two-hundred-foot drop to the Summanus River below. I drew in a breath, pulling the chilly air deep down into my lungs, then looked out over Svalin.
I had always enjoyed the view of the city from the royal lawn, but the contrast of the black night and the white flakes made it even lovelier than usual. Lights still burned in many homes and shops, and the soft glows resembled fireflies hovering in the sheets of snow. The glows also highlighted the metal spires that adorned the corners of practically every building and made the sharp, slender points look like swords made of molten gold, silver, and bronze. In a way, the spires were swords, since they represented Bellona’s gladiator history and tradition, just like the seven spires that topped the palace did.
I was still clutching the jewelry I’d taken from Maeven’s chambers, and I laid the watch, the signet ring, and the pendant on top of the wall. I traced my index finger over the coined woman’s face, then stared down at the Retribution Bridge and the plaza on the far side of the river.
The dead geldjagers were still strung up on the scaffolding, and the snow had started to crust their black cloaks. I wondered if the DiLucris had realized that their geldjagers were dead yet and that they wouldn’t be able to fulfill whatever contract they had with the Mortan king. I hoped so. I wanted the DiLucris to realize how spectacularly they had failed, and I especially wanted them to worry about how I was going to strike back against them.
My gaze flicked from one dead magier to the next until I finally focused on Lena, the girl whom I’d so badly wanted to be a Blair.
That mix of anger, shame, and embarrassment scorched through me again, making my cheeks burn, despite the snow. I’d told myself over and over again not to get my hopes up, but I’d done it anyway, and the DiLucris had thoroughly crushed them. No, not the DiLucris—the Mortan king. He was the one who’d most likely hired them, and he was probably the one responsible for the Blair rumor and everything that had followed, including this terrible, terrible ache in my chest.
Footsteps crunched through the grass behind me, and the hard, sharp smell of blood mixed with coldiron filled my nose, along with a faint, fruity tang. Serilda walked up beside me. She was clutching two empty glasses, and a bottle was tucked under her arm.
“A crown for your thoughts?” she murmured. “Or perhaps some cranberry sangria to drown them?”
“I’ll take the sangria.”
Serilda grinned and set the glasses on the wall. She eyed the jewelry that I’d arranged there, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she opened the bottle and poured the sangria. I grabbed one of the glasses and clinked it against hers. We both took a drink.
The sangria hit my tongue like a ripe honey cranberry exploding in my mouth, sweet and tart at the same time, with faint notes of apricot and just a trace of bright, tangy orange. Cranberry sangria was a popular drink during the winter months, served ice-cold, and I took another sip, savoring the intense flavor, along with the pleasant warmth that started pooling in my stomach.
Serilda and I sipped our sangria in comfortable, companionable silence for several minutes.
“What are you doing out here so late?” I finally asked.
She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to roam through the palace, soak up the quiet, and clear my head. It’s a ritual of mine. You?”
“The same.”
We fell silent, and I once again stared down at Lena’s body.
Serilda tracked my gaze, then studied me over the rim of her glass. “You’re still thinking about what happened with the geldjagers. Not the attack itself, though. You’re upset because the girl wasn’t a Blair.”
“Did your magic tell you that?”
Serilda was a sort of time magier who saw possibilities, all the ways that people might act in the future and all the consequences those actions might have.
She shrugged again. “My magic, and the fact that I know you, Evie. You tried to hide it, but I could see the hope on your face as soon as Xenia told you that another Blair might still be alive.”
I sighed. “Was it really that obvious?”
“Only to me.”
I eyed her. “You didn’t say much during our planning for the plaza meeting. Did you know the rumor wasn’t true? That the whole thing was a trap?”
“I thought it was more likely a trap than not, but I always think that way. It’s one of the reasons I’ve lived this long. I also knew that you had to see it for yourself.” She paused. “But you weren’t wrong to hope.”
“What do you mean?”
Serilda stared out into the snowy night, her blue eyes dark and dreamy. The scent of magic swirled around her, although the wind quickly whipped it away. “Because I think there really is another Blair out there somewhere,” she murmured. “Maybe even more than one. I don’t know who or where they are. My magic won’t let me see them. It just whispers to me about them.”