Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(3)

I wondered if Xenia saw something of her lost child in Paloma. I had often thought my two friends were a lot alike, especially when it came to their morph marks with their bright amber eyes and distinctive locks of hair. I’d never voiced that thought to either of them, though, and now didn’t seem like the time.

I cleared my throat, breaking the awkward silence. “Paloma’s right. We need to get on with things. Are the others in position?”

“Yes. Serilda, Cho, and Lucas are in the plaza,” Paloma replied. “They’ll be ready to move if something goes wrong and this mysterious person isn’t really a Blair.”

This time, the scent of my own ashy heartbreak filled my nose. Earlier this year, my cousin Crown Princess Vasilia had killed her mother, Queen Cordelia, and the rest of the Blair royal family—my family. The Seven Spire massacre had been part of an elaborate Mortan plot to put Vasilia on the Bellonan throne and plunge our kingdom into war with Andvari. Through a series of unexpected events, I had survived the massacre, become a gladiator, killed Vasilia, and taken the throne.

Now I was widely considered to be the last Blair, something that saddened me more than I’d ever thought possible. Most of my cousins might have been as vicious as coral vipers, but they hadn’t deserved to be slaughtered just because the Mortan king wanted to wipe out the Blairs with their Summer and Winter bloodlines and powerful magics.

But a few weeks ago, Xenia had started hearing whispers about someone using magic in Svalin. Someone with gray-blue eyes, tearstone eyes, Blair eyes, just like mine.

The news, the rumors, the mere hope had stunned me.

After the massacre, Serilda and Cho had searched for months for another survivor, another Blair, with no luck. Once I was on the throne, I had ordered Auster, the captain of the palace guards, to expand the search into the countryside, in hopes that some of my cousins had managed to avoid Vasilia’s turncoat guards, fled from their homes, and were in hiding. We hadn’t heard the softest whisper that anyone else, any other Blair, had survived the slaughter.

But Xenia had.

In addition to running her dance hall and finishing school, Xenia was also a spy, one of the best in all the kingdoms. Over the past few weeks, she and her sources had heard more and more rumors that a Blair was hiding somewhere in Svalin, the capital city of Bellona.

Tonight I was finally going to see if the rumors were true.

And if they were, if this woman really was a Blair, then I hoped we could work together to protect Bellona, not only from the Mortan king, but from everyone who wished to hurt us and our people. I’d only been queen for about six months, but I was already tired of shouldering the heavy burden alone. I needed help. I needed another Blair, someone I could depend on, and especially someone I could leave my throne to if the worst happened and the Mortans finally managed to kill me.

Something that was a distinct possibility with the Regalia coming up.

My heart lifted, and the scent of my own warm, sweet honey hope filled my nose at the thought of finding another Blair, but I forced the emotion down, down, down. All the other rumors had turned out to be just that, and this one would probably be more of the same.

I wiped the last bit of sweat off my face, then tossed my towel onto the bench, grabbed my black leather belt, and buckled it around my waist. A sword and a matching dagger hung from the belt, both a dull silver color with the same crest embedded in their hilts—seven midnight-blue shards fitted together to form a crown.

The weapons looked heavy, but they were actually quite light, since they were made of tearstone. Not only could tearstone absorb, store, and reflect magic like other jewels, but it also had the unique property of offering protection from magic, deflecting it like a shield would knock aside an arrow in a gladiator bout. The dark blue shards in the hilts would divert quite a bit of magier power, as would the weapons’ silvery razor-sharp blades.

The sword and the dagger had saved me from being assassinated more than once, and I never went anywhere without them. I also had a matching shield, but it drew far too much attention, so I had left it in my chambers at the palace.

Once the weapons belt was fastened around my waist, I focused on the two identical bracelets—gauntlets—that gleamed on my wrists. Both were made of silver that had been shaped into sharp thorns, all of which wrapped around and protected the design in the center—another midnight-blue crown of shards.

My personal crest as Everleigh Saffira Winter Blair, the queen of Bellona.

A crown-of-shards crest was also stitched in silver thread on my blue tunic, right over my heart, and I had several actual crowns that boasted the same design, although I hadn’t worn any of them this evening, since I was trying to be incognito. Plus, I always worried about a crown falling off my head, especially when I was doing something as vigorous as Xenia’s dance training.

I had rolled up my sleeves to better track my arm movements during the lesson, and I slid them down, hiding the bracelets. I also grabbed a midnight-blue cloak and settled it around my shoulders, making sure the fabric covered the crown-of-shards crest on my tunic.

“Wish us luck,” I said to Xenia.

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no?”

Xenia shrugged. “Luck is a pointless expression and a silly sentiment. You work hard, and you train, and you prepare. Luck has nothing to do with your success or failure.”

Paloma nodded her agreement. Traitor. I glared at my friend, but she shrugged at me much the same way Xenia had. “She’s right. Luck is for fools and children.”