Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(60)
Pure, solid, carved alman stone.
Before this palace was destroyed, I remember flashes of a different room. The walls were a gray granite and there were no windows. The king’s throne then was an intricate weaving of gold. The armrests each had the head of a lion. This is less ostentatious but a statement nonetheless. This is cruel in a way only I can feel.
Where did they find so much alman stone in a single form? Stolen, my mind answers. My fingers twitch to put my hands on it. It glows faintly as if there’s a small light coming from the center. I know I should be doing something—speaking, pledging my allegiance, asking for forgiveness. I know I should be doing more. But I’m mesmerized because I’ve never seen the stone in such quantity or so whole. It was only used to build statues of Our Lady of Whispers, which means the king must’ve found some untapped source or a temple that was left intact. What secrets could be trapped within?
I must tell Illan, I think instinctively. But I can’t do anything to compromise the reason I’m here.
The sound of wasps gets louder. I look to Leo, who is on the floor, kneeling. He turns his head only to give me a stare that screams incredulity.
I drop into my curtsy so quickly I fall to my knee. The sound of it is a hard smack on the floor. The men look embarrassed for me, and the courtiers snap their colorful fans open to hide chuckles and smirks.
“Your Majesty,” I say, hardening my voice to silence those who are laughing. “I am Renata Convida, and I have returned to the service of the king and the justice if Your Grace will allow it.”
“Forgive her,” Justice Méndez says, stepping forward. Why do I feel a traitorous relief when his gray eyes settle on me? When he’s at my side, I breathe a little easier. “The girl is unrefined in the ways of her superiors.”
“Rise,” King Fernando says, and I look up in time to see the flourish of his hand.
Keeping my face emotionless is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. King Fernando inspires a different fear than his son. Where Prince Castian has a patient arrogance and a calm as deceptive as a serpent lying in wait, King Fernando is brusque, his hatred for me—perhaps for all things—radiating like a torch. He doesn’t react to the titters from the court or Méndez’s apology. He simply stares at me with infinitely black eyes. He doesn’t dress extravagantly like Castian. His clothes are black from head to toe like someone in mourning.
My lips are so dry that they burn, but I bite my tongue to keep from licking them.
Don’t look away, I tell myself. Let him know you can be useful.
King Fernando does something curious.
He gets up from his throne and crosses the distance between us. This close, I can’t stop comparing the king to his son. His only living son. Castian stalks his prisoners like a mountain lion playing with its food. The king watches me as if I’m something to be torn open and later inspected. Where Castian laughed at his victory, Fernando is liberal with scowls of disgust. I physically offend him by standing here. How he tolerates the presence of his Hand, I do not know. This is the same man who allowed Lozar to live until he was caught? I can’t believe it.
“I’ve found you a new Robári, Your Highness,” Justice Méndez says, keeping his head bowed. “As promised.”
“If I’m to understand, you did not find anything,” the king says. Even I feel the cold sting of his words. Méndez only remains as he is.
King Fernando’s a bit shorter than me, but he stands as straight as an elm. I don’t have many memories of him, mine or stolen. I remember seeing him once when he barged into Justice Méndez’s library. He was more muscular then, with ink-black hair and a full beard that made him look older than he was. Now he’s thinner, hair thick and gray as ash with crinkles across his forehead and the angry corners of his mouth. His eyes are the most youthful thing about him. This is the same man who took the throne from his father at seventeen and expanded the borders of Puerto Leones. Who secured himself an ally across the sea and a brand-new kingdom through marriage. His skin is like warm milk, pale against his dark beard and brows.
“Let me see your hands,” King Fernando commands. A voice that’s used to having orders followed.
Méndez hurries over with the small key and removes my one glove.
To my surprise, King Fernando grips my unblemished left palm, confident I won’t suck the memories right out of his flesh.
Do it. Do it and spare the world more of this.
“Tell me,” says the king, flipping it palm-side-up like a common market square fortune-teller. “Why did you not escape the rebel bestaes sooner?”
I flick my eyes to Justice Méndez. He gives me a nod of encouragement because I’m taking a beat too long to answer.
“I tried, Your Highness.” I don’t let my voice tremble because I’m not lying.
“You tried for the eight years you were gone?” His voice dripping with skepticism. The court answers with haughty little coughs.
My mouth is so dry, the corners stick together when I part them to speak. “Every day it became more and more difficult. I lost everything. I lost hope.”
The best lies are like bends of light. They play tricks on you.
“Would you like to see the scars they left on me every time I tried to escape?” I reach for the straps at the back of my corset. It is a bluff, but I have to follow through because any pause might be suspect.