Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(99)
I’m a Robári.
As we enter the ballroom, whispers come from every direction. I want to keep my eyes trained forward, but they’re searching the crowd for the prince in the dazzling torchlight. He’s my only connection to the weapon—the last person (that I know of) who had possession of the wooden box in Lozar’s memory. There’s still a chance he could lead me to it. I walk among the lavish gowns, the sparkling glass, fire sconces, the cava that pours like waterfalls.
The palace is not only hosting its royal families and wealthy merchants, but the people from nearby kingdoms. The royals of the kingdom of Dauphinique arrive in their traditional gowns of lace and satin, long dreadlocks piled high atop their heads.
The ballroom is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The entire floor is a mosaic of the kingdom’s riches. Leo takes my hand and we join the line of people entering the festivities.
The rulers from Empirio Luzou make the next grand entrance. A continent south of the sea to Puerto Leones that makes us look small. Empress Elena and her queen consort are carried on a contraption that is shouldered by six men in golden tunics. The royal women have tawny brown skin and onyx-black hair braided elegantly over their shoulders. Real flowers I’ve never seen before, a red as rich as rubies, are woven around their necks. The empress wears a crown while her wife’s royal status is marked with a heavy necklace of diamond drops.
Everyone around us whispers and gasps at the decadence, speculating about why they missed the garden party. Surely they couldn’t have known what Margo was planning, but I catch a suggestion that perhaps the empress may not be here for peace talks.
“Why do you think the king insisted on inviting the empress to this festival?” I ask Leo.
“Empirio Luzou is the wealthiest in the charted world,” Leo whispers to me. “But they are the place where the Moria seek refuge. Luzou hasn’t stepped foot in Puerto Leones since the siege of the Moria.”
Siege, a nice way of saying slaughter.
“Lady Nuria bet me ten gold libras they wouldn’t show,” he adds. “She thought they’d be too ashamed to be here.”
I watch the empress and consort being lowered to the ground, where the king and queen of Puerto Leones greet them. The empress and consort wait for the Leonesse to bow, but it is clear that the Fajardos are doing the same. A majordoma comes around and offers the empress and consort drinks, which they accept but do not drink.
I follow King Fernando’s gaze to where the Hand of Moria is kept, then to me. My stomach clenches as he raises a glass in my direction. And I know for certain that I am being trotted out like a prize steed. One to demonstrate his power to bring empires to their knees.
I bow, turning just slightly in the direction of the empress. When I stand, I find she was already watching me and hold her stare. Dread for this night sinks talons in my back and remains with me as we keep moving.
Leo escorts me through the ballroom. Dancing is under way, and waiters glide by with trays of amber rum and cava, slices of fried pigskin, and cheeses with raw honeycomb on apple slices. Glass goblets in a rainbow of colors filled with aguadulce and lemon rinds are set on fire, then quickly extinguished before being sipped by thirsty lips.
Through large double doors leading to the gardens I see a band. The singer’s voice cuts cleanly through the room. The king and queen move to their thrones once more, accepting each and every citizen and guest that comes to pay them welcome and praise.
When will they bring out Margo? My arm aches, and my heart races. I still have no plan. Do I try to save her and kill us both? Or do I turn her into a Hollow to maintain my place in the palace? Which path would Dez choose?
At every corner and entrance is an armed guard, their swords already drawn. Leo escorts me through the crowd. They part for us and I feel like a dark sea creature breaking through a tall, cold wave. I keep my eyes on King Fernando, on the throne, this one iron and gold instead of the alman stone in the tower. As Leo guides me to Justice Méndez, King Fernando holds his hand up. We stop and go where the king beckons us.
He stands but doesn’t take my hand. His deep brown stare slides from my toes to my extravagant dress, the faint scar he gave me on my chest, and finally, to my eyes. My pulse is rapid, and the fresh wound on my forearm concealed by my glove thrums with a constant, dull ache.
At the sight of me between the king and the justice, the ballroom’s energy shifts. Dresses rustle as ladies cluster around carved pillars, whispers traded behind flapping fans. Throats clear and conversations come to a halt, instruments hit the wrong notes, and a glass shatters somewhere. All eyes turn to us three.
“Honored guests,” King Fernando says. “Today we celebrate our creator of all, the Father of Worlds, his joyous triumph over the treacherous Lady of Shadows and the usurper gods of old. This year we celebrate more than that. This afternoon, there was an attempt on my life by the Whispers during my queen’s own celebration.”
He stops speaking to let the crowd gasp and speculate among themselves. King Fernando knows how to fan fear.
“You might have noticed the guards. Please, both our neighbors across the seas, understand that this is to protect everyone in this room from those who would try to destroy us. On behalf of my queen and my son, I would like to dedicate the first dance of the Sun Festival to Renata Convida, the Robári of the Hand of Moria who saved my life.”
My eyes water with anger at his every word. Stay calm. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. I am petrified as he takes my hand. The heat of his palm radiates through my glove, and my first instinct is to recoil.