Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(97)
And he wasn’t the only one. Maeven also frowned at me, but I lifted my chin and stared back at the Mortan king. Now was not the time to show any sign of dread, doubt, or especially weakness.
I was still holding a bag of cornucopia, so I grabbed a cluster, popped it into my mouth, and crunched down on it. Even though the sweet treat now tasted like blood and ash, I popped another cluster into my mouth and chewed and swallowed it before I spoke.
“Problems?” I drawled.
Maximus’s jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed even more. But after a few seconds, his tight features relaxed into a thin smile. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. I always have contingency plans in place, in case things go wrong.”
Contingency plans? What could he possibly have or do to replace the loss of all those strixes and their magic? Maybe Sullivan was right. Maybe Maximus had more strixes or even another caladrius stashed somewhere in the Mortan camp.
Maximus crooked his finger at Nox, who stepped forward. The two of them started speaking in low voices, with Maeven hovering nearby. The rest of the royals and nobles slowly returned to their own conversations, although everyone kept shooting wary looks at both Maximus and me.
I lowered the bag of cornucopia to my side. I’d lost my appetite for it, and the last few pieces I’d eaten had already soured in my stomach. I might have won this battle, but Maximus already had something planned for the next round between us, and I couldn’t help but think that his next attack would be something far more vicious than what he’d just done to his own guard.
*
Ten minutes later, Maximus got to his feet and announced that he was returning to the Mortan camp to prepare for tonight’s ball. The Mortan king didn’t glance at me as he swept down the bleacher steps, but sour, sweaty eagerness rolled off him in waves. He was already putting his next scheme against me into motion.
Nox and the rest of the Mortans followed him, but Maeven stopped and looked at Leonidas. The boy started to go over to his mother, but she shook her head the tiniest bit, telling him to stay put.
Maeven had probably realized that Leonidas was the one who’d told me about the strixes in the Mortan camp. No doubt Maximus would come to the same conclusion sooner or later, and he might take his anger out on the boy the same way he had on the guard, whose frozen, bloody body was still lying on the terrace.
Leonidas’s face fell, but he stayed still.
Maeven smiled at him, then stared at me. Her eyes narrowed in a clear warning. Take good care of her son—or else.
I smirked back at her. Of course I would never hurt the boy, but she didn’t need to know that.
Maeven stared at me a moment longer, then left the terrace.
One by one, the other royals and their contingents also departed, until my friends and I were the only ones on the terrace. Sullivan, Serilda, and Auster gathered around me, and Xenia remained with us as well.
“You certainly made Maximus angry,” Xenia said, eyeing the guard’s body.
“Maybe too angry,” Auster said in a low, worried voice. “There’s no telling what he might do now.”
“I know,” I replied. “But at the very least, Serilda and I cut off his supply of magic. Maximus won’t be able to have more strixes brought here before the Regalia ends tomorrow. So hopefully I’ve derailed at least some of his plans for me and Bellona.”
“And what about your plans for him?” Sullivan asked. “Did you see or hear anything in the Mortan camp that would help us kill him?”
Serilda shook her head. “No. His tent was too well guarded to approach, and he’ll increase security at the camp now, along with his own personal guard.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to reassure my friends. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way to stop him before the Regalia ends.”
Despite my strong, confident tone, I didn’t really believe my words, and neither did my friends. So far Maximus seemed to be untouchable, and we were running out of time to find a weakness that would let us destroy him. Of course, I could still implement the idea I’d had back at Seven Spire about how to kill the king, but I didn’t want to do that unless I had no other options.
Either way, there was nothing else to do here, so we left the terrace and headed down to the arena floor, where Paloma and Cho were waiting for us.
I laughed, ran over, and hugged Paloma tight. “I’m so proud of you!”
She returned my hug, then drew back. “For kicking the ass of a royal piece of Morricone scum and winning the tournament? Of course you should be proud of me.” Her voice might be matter-of-fact, but she was grinning, as was the ogre face on her neck.
“Not just for that,” I said. “But for morphing in front of everyone. I know how hard that was for you.”
Paloma’s grin dimmed a bit, and the glassy sheen of tears filled her eyes. “I did it for my mother,” she said in a low voice. “She always told me to be proud that I was a morph, an ogre, and I wanted to honor her.”
“You know, you’ve never told me her name. What was it?” I made it seem like a casual question, but it was far more important than she knew, and so many things could change, depending on her answer.
Paloma plucked her mace off her belt and swung it through the air. “Amira,” she said in a soft voice. “Her name was Amira.”
Even though I’d been expecting—hoping—for that answer, shock still blasted through me. That was the same name as Xenia’s daughter. Could Paloma’s mother and Xenia’s daughter be the same person? But that would mean . . . that would mean . . .