The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #13)(194)

The Princess held out his blade to him. Her eyes were full of sorrow, but they were also very, very clear. In a voice that shook, but had strength in it, she spoke four words.

“Do what you must.”

She knew she had just sentenced her mother to death. By this truth coming to light, he would not hesitate to avenge the murder of his blood.

With his war hand, he accepted the serrated blade—and tilted the tip toward his face. With two quick streaks down the hollows of his cheeks, he marked himself.

Once for his daughter whom he would never know.

Once for the wrong he was going to rectify.

As he turned for the break in the tiled partition, he was single-minded—and yet he stopped.

Cranking his head over his shoulder, he pegged the Chief Astrologer with his stare. As the male shrank back in mortal terror, s’Ex said, “If my daughter was to be the heir, who succeeds the Queen now?”

“S-s-s-she d-d-d-does.” The male pointed to the Princess. “She has rightful claim to the throne. Her records have not been altered. She would have been second in line after your daughter, and with the death, she is the legitimate heir—”

“The murder,” he cut in, “of my daughter, you mean.”

He glanced at the Princess.

She didn’t seem to care about the repercussions of what had just been said. She didn’t even appear to have heard the words that she was about to become Queen. Instead, she was cradling that long, thin gold box to the chest of her maid’s disguise, her head bowed.

Tears hit the brilliant yellow metal, falling from her eyes.

“You must rule,” s’Ex announced. “You must take the reins of this community and rule it properly. Do you hear me? Snap out of this emotion, and get ready for what is about to happen.”

Her stare shifted up to his. “She was my sister. They killed … my sister.”

For a moment, s’Ex recoiled. It was the last thing in the world he expected her to say.

And abruptly, the reality that his grief was shared hit him, and he was strangely touched.

Walking over to the Princess, he cupped her face and lifted it unto his own. After wiping away her cheeks, he bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Thank you for that,” he whispered.

“What?”

He just shook his head and stepped back. “You.” He pointed to the Chief Astrologer. “You need to take care of her. You believe in your traditions, you hated your lies? Prove it by making sure she survives—in about ten minutes she is going to be your Queen.”

Instantly, the male shuffled around on the floor, prostrating himself and putting his forehead to the bloodied red marble at the female’s feet. “By all that is written in the stars, I shall serve Queen Catra vin SuLaneh etl MuLanen deh FonLerahn until the final beat of my heart and the last breath of my lungs.”

s’Ex sensed the sincerity, and knew that the new Queen was going to be safe. “You have the ceremonial garb in here, do you not?”

The Chief Astrologer answered at the floor. “I do.”

“Get her dressed. In twenty minutes, her mother’s head is going to be at the foot of the throne. Bring Catra there so that the change-of-power ceremony can be completed.”

“What about you?” Catra said. “You’ll be there, too? Please tell me you’ll be there.”

“Worry about yourself, my Queen. You are so much more important than any one individual in this room, this palace, this land.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the hidden passageway.





EIGHTY-ONE


The cleaning and preservation of a warrior’s weapons were a sacred duty, a way of honoring the connection between the fighter and his tools.

As Rhage sat with his head bent over the second of his two favorite forties, the sweet scent of metallurgical detergent was as familiar as the sound of his own voice.

Across the bedroom, he could feel his Mary’s tension. But she did not say a word.

“I’ll be careful,” he told her, putting the spray can back in his gun cleaning box. “I promise … I’ll be really careful.”

He gave the vow even though he knew that personal discretion was only part of surviving a battle. Being aware of your surroundings, watching your back, having your brothers watch out for you as well—all of that helped, sure. There would always be the element of luck, however.

Or destiny.

Fate.

Whatever you wanted to call it.

“I know you will,” she said tightly.

He brought the chamois square up one side of the barrel and down the other. “If I don’t … come home, though.”

He stopped there. She was going to know the question he was asking. He’d given her enough to go on.

“I’ll find you,” she choked out. “I’ll find you somehow.”

He nodded—and thought he probably should go over to her, but he couldn’t handle the closeness. As it was, he was on the thin edge of falling apart, and with a flat-out war waiting for him at nightfall, he just couldn’t afford the emotion.

“I simply can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt,” she said as she blew her nose with a tissue and blotted at her eyes. “That bothers me almost more than the dying.”