Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(63)
When the king whirls around, his dark eyes are on me. My heart skips, and a dread I haven’t known in a long time carves its way down my spine.
“The Sun Festival is coming up,” says King Fernando. “That should be time enough for your hand to heal. The empress of Luzou and her court are attending. It’s time our neighbors south of the Castinian sea understand what they are getting in the middle of.”
“You have my word, Your Highness.” Justice Méndez and a cluster of other judges bow in acknowledgment of the order.
The Sun Festival is less than two weeks away. I have twelve days. Twelve days to find the weapon in the palace, and destroy it. After that I get to kill the prince. I cannot be here when the festival arrives.
I bite down on my teeth to freeze my features into submission. In this moment, I’ve carved my own small victory by fooling them.
King Fernando takes a breath, and it seems as if the whole room does, too. His dark eyes bore into me, prying me apart.
“Get Las Rosas out of my sight,” King Fernando finally commands with a flick of his many-ringed fingers, and the whole court lets go of their held breath.
A long moment slithers past while Lord Las Rosas is taken away and back to the dungeons. I wonder if nobles are put somewhere else, a cell with a bed and food because even if they are criminals, they’re still not commoners—or Moria. I wonder if the court can see themselves in this display, that it could be any one of them taken away.
The two prisoners who form the Hand of Moria stand united in silence. Glassy eyes stare at the wall behind me. I know if I heal and do not complete my mission, I will become one of them. With me in their grasp, the Hand of Moria only needs one more—an Illusionári, almost as rare as myself. I think of Margo’s ferocious eyes, her stubborn determination—just snuffed out. No matter what was between us, I cannot allow even the possibility of that fate.
“Very well, Renata Convida.” When King Fernando says my name, I feel a great weight press on my chest. He draws a dagger from his hip. It is a small, pretty thing with sapphires encrusted along the hilt. Now, I realize, I know what the dark stain at my feet is from. “Until you can perform your duties as my Robári, will you swear your fealty to my court?”
I should be relieved that my deception worked and my injury can buy me enough time. But my thigh muscles strain as if rejecting my actions as I lower myself to the cold, marble ground.
“I swear it,” I say, squeezing my hand so hard I feel a stitch rip and blood trickle.
“Will you give your life in my name, should the time come, and fight for the survival and traditions of Puerto Leones?”
“I will.”
“Her hands can stand no further injury, Your Grace,” Justice Méndez interjects. Challenging the king once again in front of the court can’t be good for him. And yet, I can see the splinter in the king’s eye, the vein that throbs in his neck.
“You said her hands,” King Fernando replies, words as cold as the dagger he uses to slice a long cut across my chest. I suck in a breath, then bite down on the cold sting. “Break the skin and it will bleed well enough.”
The courtiers gasp, their voices buzz louder and louder, their fans move so quickly they could summon a hurricane. I don’t look to Leo or Justice Méndez.
“With this blood, are you the servant of the king, the justice, and the Father of Worlds?”
To spill my blood in the name of this man goes against everything I fought for.
I will never be as good as Margo or Dez.
But I am Renata Convida. And as I lean forward and let the cut over my left breast bleed at the king’s feet, I make an oath to myself, a silent vow between me and all who witness. I will find this cure. I will destroy it. Even if it takes every bit of my soul, I will destroy the king and justice.
My blood pools between us, and I answer, “I am.”
Chapter 15
Leo and I walk in silence down the corridor, through the two-way mirrored doors, and across the sky bridge. My nose is assaulted by the scents of the palace—warm bread wafting from the kitchens, wood burning in fireplaces, soap from sheets drying in a courtyard. How can such a dangerous place feel so comforting? To my right I hear tinkling laughter of what could be attendants having a moment of peace from their daily work or court ladies who spent the days taking sun in the labyrinthine gardens below. The day is too bright, and in this light the citadela to my left can’t hide the dirt that permeates its seams. Not even the rain can wash it away.
“Here,” Leo says, not breaking his stride.
I don’t want to look at him just yet, but I can see the handkerchief he holds out to me from the corner of my eye. It’s a useless gesture, as if a small square of fabric could mop up my blood-covered dress, but the kindness behind it is hard to dismiss.
A part of me so wants to like him, but the way the king asked for his advice was too familiar. I know that whatever I say to Leo is being reported back.
We take the grand winding stairs, and he fishes inside his pocket for the key. His body isn’t simply straight, it’s rigid, like he’s hiding something. He hasn’t looked at me since we left the throne room, and he hasn’t spoken a word other than here until now.
“Lady Renata,” Leo says. I’m in the center of this cavernous room filled with hand-carved tables, imported rugs and lace, crystal chandeliers, and fine silk sheets from worms in the Sól Abene provincia, and I’m dripping blood on the carpet.