The carriage clops along the street, wending down the slope of the mountain, carrying me to an inn located at the base.
In all my misery, I failed to realize one thing.
I’m lucky to be alive. Kallias had every right and authority to order my immediate death. He could have me hanged along with Vasco and Zervas.
But he told me to go. Why?
Why would he do that?
Not a single reason comes to mind.
The passing scenery makes me sick. It reminds me of when Kallias and I rode up the mountain together. When I fell into him. When he trusted me with his secrets. When he remained a gentleman while we went swimming.
He was anything but a gentleman last night.
My heart seems to break all over again when I remember our time together. When I think of his touches and kisses. When I think of the things he whispered into my hair.
Oh, but I did love him.
But he was cruel in forcing the confession from me. And when I told him how I loved him, he laughed in my face.
That person is not the Kallias I know.
I have at least three more hours in the carriage to go, so I try to get comfortable, letting my legs rest against the opposite seat.
He can’t do this to me. To us.
We were perfect together. We were made for each other. As rulers.
As lovers. There is no reason why we shouldn’t be together.
My hands close into fists. I have to make him see it. I have to convince him. But is it worth the risk of my own life? He swore he’d kill me himself if I returned.
How could I convince him I meant him no harm? How can I convince him I want the life he carved for us?
My shoulders loosen and my hands fall open. A new wave of pain hits me as I see Kallias’s ring on my finger, but then my eyes catch on something below it.
“Ugh.” A spot of dirt smudges the lower part of my hand. I attempt to rub it on the seat of the carriage. Kallias’s carriage.
It doesn’t come off.
I take a knuckle to it, and when that also doesn’t work, I wet a finger with my tongue and rub at it.
But it won’t come off.
Hesitantly, I lower my nose and sniff.
That aroma from before, the one mixed with Leandros’s roses, wafts gently toward me.
I know this smell. How do I know this smell?
My hands. They were in Leandros’s hair while I kissed him.
Yes, hair! There is a product used in the dying of ladies’ hair. It smells just like this.
But why would Leandros dye his hair?
As I sit there, I remember Lady Zervas’s insistence that she is innocent, that she’ll be freed when the real killer shows themselves.
Vasco is guilty. Of that I’m certain, but could he have roped his nephew into helping him?
No, Leandros would never. Why would he? He was Kallias’s friend. He came to court after the death of Kallias’s brother. Why should Leandros have any motive to harm the king?
But then I remember how he insisted I would be back in the palace soon and by his side. Still, why should he want to harm Kallias?
I stare down at the spot on my hand.
He came to court after the death of Kallias’s brother.
When Kallias and I went to the gentleman’s club in disguise, I’d noticed how Kallias looked so much like Leandros with the lighter hair.
What would Leandros have to gain from harming Kallias, unless … Devils!
“Turn the carriage around!” I scream the words, and the carriage comes to a severe halt. I’m almost thrown onto the opposite seat.
“My lady?” the coachman asks.
“The king’s life is in peril. We must turn around at once.” “I’m—I’m to take you away. King’s orders.”
I toss my head out the window, so I can glare up at the simple man. “And what do you think will happen when the king dies, and I tell the council you could have prevented it?”
He still looks unsure.
“I have fifty necos in my purse,” I say.
At that, he turns the horses around, and we veer back up the mountain, this time at breakneck speed.
 |
I DON‘T KNOW WHAT I’m doing.
Kallias is going to kill me. The moment he sees me, I’m dead. Not long ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to save myself, even if it meant someone else’s death. I still would—if it were anyone except for Kallias.
I hate him.
But I love him more.
He needs to know the truth. Even if he kills me for it. He needs to know who murdered his parents. It wasn’t Zervas, and it wasn’t Leandros. It wasn’t even Vasco, but he must be involved somehow. I don’t quite have the whole of it figured out.
But I know enough.
I leap from the carriage once we reach the palace again. I curse the skirts that impede my speed. If I had just worn pants today—but I hadn’t thought I’d be running anywhere. I just remember what Kallias did the last time I wore skirts …
The sun has long since set; the palace is as quiet as a tomb. Guards stand watch at every opening into the palace, but I suspect they haven’t been told of my treachery yet. None prevent me from entering, and fortunately I don’t spot the three who delivered me to the library to await the king’s judgment.
I’m panting by the time I reach the corridor—our corridor. “Is the king in his rooms?” I ask the guards on watch. “No, Lady Stathos. He hasn’t turned in for bed yet.”
My voice turns into a growl. “Where is he?”
“We’re not assigned to his personal guard. I couldn’t tell you.”
“The king’s life is in danger. I need to know where he is now!” But yelling doesn’t help. It doesn’t suddenly give them the answers I want.
I turn, flying back down the stairs. When I hear the guards follow, I shout back, “No, stay put in case he does turn in. Do not leave your
posts.”
Where would he be this late at night? If he doesn’t have any meetings, where would he go?
He was in the library the last time I saw him, so I make my way there instead. But on a hunch, I change course halfway there, making for the queen’s sitting room instead.
His mother’s day use room.
I curse myself for my foolishness when I don’t spot any guards outside the doors. But then, what if Kallias ditched his guards?
I plunge into the room at full speed, the door slamming into the wall behind it. A pair of arms catches me before I go sprawling on the ground.
“Alessandra?”
I push myself out of Kallias’s arms, still fearful of the way he treated me when last we saw each other. “You’re alive!”
He gives me a look like I’ve gone mad. “Yes.”
“Where is your guard?” I get the words out around heaving breaths. “I gave them the night off. With all the threats against me dealt with
—including you, I might add—I thought I’d have some time without them. Never mind that, what are you doing back here? I—”
“You’re alone?” I say over the top of him. “No, I’m here, too.”
Leandros steps out of the alcove he’d been standing in. “We were catching up. What are you doing here?”
I spin to Kallias. “You need to run. Now. Go to your guards.
Wherever the nearest ones are.”
“Why? Are you going to try to kill me again?” he asks with bitter sarcasm.
“I’ve never tried to kill you, and I’m not the one who poses a threat to your life. He is!” I point to Leandros, whose eyes widen at the accusation.
“What?” Kallias asks. “Leandros didn’t help his uncle. He protected me from him when Ikaros tried to approach me after I’d swallowed the poison.”
“He didn’t protect you,” I say as realization dawns on me. “He used the opportunity to touch you. Have you been able to use your shadows since entering this room?”
“I haven’t tried, and they’re not about to work with you here. Now get out!” Kallias grabs my arm, trying to drag me away.
“He isn’t who he says he is. Lord Vasco has no nephew!”
Kallias’s grip loosens at the words, and I tug my arm free. “What are you talking about?” he asks.
“I have the same question,” Leandros says, and his voice is much closer now.
Without thinking, I shove myself between the two men, using my body as a shield for Kallias. Even as I spot the sword hanging from Leandros’s hips, I don’t lose my footing.
“Look at him, Kallias. Look at him closely. You know him.”
“Yes,” his voice comes from behind me. “He’s my best friend. Or was, until I—”
“No, you know him from before that. He looked a little different then, with hair as black as yours, a nose that wasn’t broken. The mind sees what it wants to see when it can’t make sense of anything else. Your brother died, so how could he return disguised as someone else?”
And then Leandros—Xanthos—narrows his eyes at me.
“What happened to you?” I ask. “You were beaten; that much is obvious. But why fake your death? Why come back and kill your parents and try to kill your brother? It doesn’t make sense.”
Xanthos looks over my head to Kallias. “I think she’s feeling guilty.
She kissed me this evening, you know. After you sent her away.”
“Stop it!” I shout, feeling shame and anger all at once. But I don’t dare look at Kallias. I can’t take my eyes from Xanthos, from the threat. “I was hurt,” I say by way of explanation. “That doesn’t excuse it, but it did reveal to me your treachery.”
I hold my hand above my head, so the stain is pointed toward Kallias. “Hair dye. It came off on my hands. He caught up to me right after using it. I suspected he wanted to see me off. Make sure he could really get you alone for once, without anyone witnessing him murdering you.”
The room goes silent.
“No,” Kallias says at last. “No, he can’t be Xanthos. I loved my brother, but he was taunting. Cruel. Leandros has been nothing but—”
“An actor,” I finish. “An assassin in disguise.”
Again, silence. It stretches for so long, I think I might turn around just from the pain of not being able to read Kallias’s face.
And then the heat at my back retreats as Kallias steps backward. “It
is you.”
Xanthos looks heavenward. “Great, Alessandra. Well done.” He draws his sword. “I’ve been working on this for four long years, and then you have to go and ruin it.”
“You’re the one who ruined it,” I point out, showing him the brown mark.
“I thought to take one last thing from my brother. He had everything that should have been mine. The kingdom. The empire. The shadows. The only thing that was truly his was you, and I wanted to take that, too.” I step back when I feel Kallias’s hand come down on my shoulder,
tugging me toward him.
“The assassin in the gardens,” I say. “He was there on your orders.” I’d seen Leandros right before Kallias showed up. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection sooner.
“He’d been serving as a manservant for a week,” Xanthos says. “We were just waiting for the right moment. When there weren’t guards around. When Kallias would let his shadows down.”
“And the letter?” I ask. “The gentleman’s club?”
Xanthos shakes his head. “No, that was Vasco’s doing. I would never agree to such a stupid and convoluted plan. He’s lucky he saw through Kallias’s disguise. Lucky he wasn’t seen at the club.”
A lead weight sinks low in my chest. “I left you on the dais with him at the ball. I told you to look over him!”
“And he would have died if Petros hadn’t seen me touch him. He thought it was an accident, but he ordered me away so Kallias could heal.”
“Xanthos,” Kallias says finally, as though he still can’t quite believe it, as though he didn’t hear any of the conversation we just had. “What happened to you? Why didn’t you tell me it was you? I would have—”
“You would have what?” Xanthos snaps. “Stepped down from being king? Given the title over willingly and happily? You and I both know you wouldn’t have. Not after you’d had a taste of the power. Besides, I couldn’t reveal myself until Mother and Father were dead. Until you were dead, so no one could stand with you to contest my claim to the throne.”
“Oh,” I say, as realization dawns. “You didn’t have the ability. The shadows. Your father didn’t want you to become king. You embarrassed him, didn’t you?”
Xanthos raises his sword so the point presses against my throat. “I would stay silent if I were you.”
“Leave her out of this,” Kallias says, tugging me out of reach of the sword. He places his body between me and his older brother. “I don’t understand. Father ordered you beaten?”
Xanthos’s nostrils flare as his face hardens. “He beat me himself. To death, almost. That was surely his intention. He left me by the side of the road, near a carriage he had his men tip over, to make it look like an accident. And then he left, not a shred of guilt to be found.”
“That’s when Vasco found you,” I say.
“When he found out what my father did, he pledged his loyalty to me. The true king. He took care of me. Helped me disguise myself, vowed to help me take back my throne. We hired those men to enter the palace, put the whole place on lockdown. I killed Father before he even knew what was happening. It was much too quick. He should have been beaten first, as I was. But I knew I didn’t have much time.”
Kallias’s breathing has hastened. “And Mother?” he asks, his voice breaking at the end.
“I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t in on it. It was harder to kill her, but I knew I had to. She was already beginning to suspect who I was.”
But that was too much. Kallias launches himself at Xanthos, dodging the sword and tackling him to the ground. The sword goes flying off to the side, and I run to retrieve it. Then I stand back, watching the two men.
Kallias has the fight in hand.
He’s landed atop Xanthos. Straddling him, he unleashes his fists on the fallen man. “She. Was. My. Mother.” He punctuates each word with a slam of his knuckles.
Xanthos surges upward, slamming his forehead into Kallias’s nose. He shoves him to the side, freeing himself from his younger brother’s clutches.
And then he kicks him. Kallias goes down.
“Don’t think you were the only one who loved her,” Xanthos says. He pulls at his cuff links almost without noticing, and I remember that he liked to wear ones shaped like roses. Their mother’s favorite flower. “It nearly killed me to end her, too. But you? You I will enjoy killing.”
Kallias rolls away and manages to find his feet, but a steady drip of blood comes from his nose.
They tangle together again. Dodging and throwing fists. I can’t do anything but watch. What if I slash the wrong man with the sword? Should I run for the guards?
Not if I want to risk Xanthos winning the fight.
“How have you enjoyed my birthright, Kallias? Did you like ruling behind the council? Did you enjoy the king’s suite? Sitting at the head of the dinner table?”
“I did,” Kallias says. “I never would have given it up. Not for a powerless, pathetic, matricidal whelp like you.”
Xanthos screams as he flings himself at Kallias. They roll over each other on the floor, until Xanthos comes up on top this time.
Kallias takes a fist to his lips, to his left eye, to his throat. Xanthos will kill him, I’m sure of it.
I step forward with the sword, place it under his throat. “Off. Now.”
He ignores me, tries to slap the sword away with his fingers, so I let the edge dig into his skin, drawing a line of blood.
That gets his attention. He rises at my next insistence and backs away, retreating until his back hits a wall.
“Let me go, Alessandra!” he shrieks. “No.”
“He sent you away! He said he’d kill you if you returned.” Had he been listening in on our last conversation? “Why would you defend him?”
I shrug. “Just feel like it, really.” I’m hardly about to profess my love yet again where Kallias can hear it.
“He doesn’t want you. Saving him won’t change that. Move away.
Now.”
“I won’t.”
“If you want to stop me, you’ll have to kill me. I think we both know you don’t have it in you.”
When he tries to move, I let the tip of the sword break his skin, sliding in until it hits the wall.
Xanthos’s eyes widen in surprise, as a choking noise comes out of his throat. Where blood oozes from his airway.
“You didn’t really know me,” I say. “If you had, you’d know I’ve already killed for love once before.”
And then he slumps forward, tacked to the wall like some macabre tapestry. Dead.
I turn to Kallias, find him watching me from the floor, his eyes going in and out of focus.
Then I run for the guards.
