Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(95)
“You speak like a prisoner.” I sip at my glass.
King Fernando has spotted us and is staring as he confides something in Judge Alessandro’s ear. My chest tightens with anticipation. But I convince myself that I am safe with Nuria, if only for a moment.
The voice that trills in my mind is Margo’s, and it says, There is no such thing as safe.
“There is so much the kingdom doesn’t know,” Nuria continues, dabbing a handkerchief on her forehead. It’s the first crack in her armor.
“Like what?”
Her rich brown eyes betray worry. Her smile does not. “The Moria were once trading partners with the kingdom of Tresoros.”
Whatever I thought she would say, this was not it. “Trade what?”
“Our metals for information on how you wield them. I know your histories. There is so much that was lost.”
“Erased, you mean,” I correct.
“A better description.” She lowers her voice but pulls me close to her.
An uneasy feeling settles around my gut. “What else was erased?”
“My family is so much to blame for the Fajardo reign. We signed our kingdom away to keep a few mines and our titles, to make sure our descendants would be queens. All I wanted was to marry Castian. I was young and foolish. I gave King Fernando everything. Our platinum mine and a caveful of alman stone.”
“That’s where the throne came from?” My heart is beating too fast. How can something so precious to the Moria be nothing but a seat of power to the king? Maybe that’s all it is meant to be. “But what of the tons of alman stone beneath the palace?”
Her eyes flutter and she settles her gaze on mine. “My dear husband let slip that the justice uses it for more. For the good of the kingdom.”
The weapon.
I wish I had Margo or Sayida with me—hells, even Esteban—to tell all this to. I have to get out of here. I can’t do this on my own anymore.
She squeezes my arm too hard. “Did you know that there was once a queen of Puerto Leones who was Moria?”
I frown. My ears pop because there’s no way I heard her right. “That’s not possible. Our royal line was killed during King Jústo’s siege of Memoria.”
She stops to acknowledge the court vultures that circle her for attention. Her red-lipped smile is striking and deceptive. We are but young women at a garden party discussing things young women usually talk about—the weather, sparkling wine, the pockets in our gowns, secret queens, secret cures. Treason.
“Ah, there’s my darling husband,” she says, holding up her glass as Judge Alessandro makes a beeline for her.
Sweat drips down the side of his forehead. I don’t know if the fear in his eyes is because of the king or because he doesn’t want to face Lady Nuria.
“Why are you telling me these things?” I ask her.
There’s a secret there in her, waiting to sprout. “Because I can’t tell anyone else. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I know you’re up to something. And if you kill the king or Castian, you’ll expose the hidden Moria in the capital. With the weapon, it will be a slaughter.”
I wrap my hand around her wrist, then drop it as Alessandro is upon us.
“We’re out of time, Renata,” she whispers.
“Lady Nuria,” the judge says, adjusting his heavy robes. “King Fernando is ready to speak and present the entertainment before the sunset parade.” He turns to me and snatches the glass from my hand. “You are to take your place with the Hand of Moria.”
He escorts me back across the garden, where the crowd has gathered to listen to the king speak. I stand beside the other two Moria on my own pedestal and try my best to be as still as they are.
“Thank you, honored guests and citizens of Puerto Leones,” King Fernando says in that deep, fervent way he has. He takes his wife Queen Josephine’s hand into his. “Tonight is our sacred Sun Festival. It marks the occasion when the Lord of Worlds rose from the earth and molded Puerto Leones as an example of paradise. But paradise is not easily kept or won. It demands blood. It demands the sacrifice of every citizen who reaps the treasures of its earth.
“A few months ago, Puerto Leones welcomed Dauphinique into our kingdom with the marital vows between myself and Queen Josephine.” He pauses to let the crowd bow their heads to the queen. “Tonight we celebrate this new alliance, as our neighbors to the east have agreed to help Puerto Leones defeat the enemies of the crown. With Dauphinique by our side, Puerto Leones will not only be stronger, but we will become the greatest empire the world has ever seen. To Puerto Leones.”
I catch a couple of worried glances when he says “empire.” The rest of the court bursts into reverent cheer. Waiters are ready and waiting with ten bottles of cava so large, it requires three people to open each one.
The king turns around suddenly and raises his glass to acknowledge me. I hold his dark stare as long as I can before I bow.
“Please, enjoy the festivities!” The king speaking now is a different man from the one stewing in anger earlier. Even kings wear masks. He settles back into his chair as the band is escorted into the center of the garden.
Four guitarists and a man with a single drum begin to play. A singer whose voice is heavy with tragedy croons a love song that is popular in the coastal cities. As he sings, a woman in a flowing red dress steps forward. She is statuesque with skin like porcelain. Her hair is smoothed down to one side and braided over her shoulder. Her hands hold shells, which add a clack, clack, clack to the rhythm of the song. Her eyes are rimmed in shadow and her cheeks are apple red. When she dances, everyone follows the stomp of her black-heeled feet, and the rise of her skirts, which spiral outward to show powerful calves.