The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,117

poison. It’s the one thing they have in abundance in Venda.”

The mere mention of the weed made an unexpected yearning swell in me. Memories that I had buried tumbled loose. I thought of all the proffered cups of thannis—the humble gifts of a humble people.

Gwyneth angled her head at Kaden sleeping by the fire and frowned. “So how did all”—she twirled her hand in the air—“this come about? How does one go from being an Assassin to being your accomplice?”

“I’m not sure accomplice is the right word,” I said, snapping beans and adding them to a kettle. “It’s a long story. After we eat.”

I looked over my shoulder at Berdi. “Which reminds me, I promised Enzo I’d tell you he hasn’t burned down the inn yet. Boarders are fed, and the dishes are clean.”

Berdi’s brows shot up. “Stew?”

I nodded. “Yes, even stew. And not half bad.”

Gwyneth rolled her eyes with genuine surprise. “The gods still perform miracles.”

“No one was more surprised than I was when I saw him in the kitchen wearing an apron and cleaning a fish,” I said.

Berdi huffed, her face beaming with pride. “Knock me dead. I told him he had to step up. Could have gone either way, but I had no choice. I had to take the chance and trust him.”

“What about that farmer?” Gwyneth asked. “What became of him? He never returned to the inn as promised. Is he dead?”

That farmer. I heard the suspicion in how she described him. Berdi and Natiya both eyed me, waiting for my answer. I hardened my expression, adding a slab of salted pork to the kettle before I put the lid on and hung it over the fire. I sat back down at the table.

“He returned to his own kingdom. He’s fine, I assume.” I hoped. I thought about the general who was challenging him back in Dalbreck. I couldn’t imagine Rafe not prevailing, but I remembered the gravity of his expression, the lines that etched near his eyes every time one of the officers brought it up. There were no guarantees in such things.

“Dalbreck. That’s where he’s from,” Natiya interjected. “And he’s no farmer. He’s a king. He ordered Lia to—”

“Natiya,” I sighed. “Please. I’ll explain.”

And I did, as best as I could. I skimmed over details, emphasizing the major events in Venda and what I had learned there. There were some details I couldn’t relive again, but it was hard to skim past Aster. She was still a deep bruise inside me, purple and swollen, and painful to the touch. I had to stop and recompose my thoughts when I came to her role in this.

“Many people died that last day,” I said simply. “Except the one person who deserved to.”

When I was finished, Gwyneth leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “Jezelia,” she said, musing about the Song of Venda. “I knew that claw and vine was there to stay. No kitchen brush was going scrub it from your back.”

Berdi cleared her throat. “Kitchen brush?”

Gwyneth stood as if the ramifications had finally sunk in. “Sweet mercy, are we ever thick in it now!” she said, circling the room. “The first time I laid eyes on you, Princess, I knew you were going to be trouble.”

I shook my head apologetically. “I’m sorry—”

She stepped close and squeezed my shoulder. “Hold on. I didn’t say it wasn’t the kind of trouble I like.”

My throat swelled.

Berdi stood, the baby still cradled in one arm, and walked over and kissed the top of my head. “Blazing balls. We’ll figure this out. Somehow.”

I leaned against Berdi’s side and closed my eyes. Everything inside me felt like a rush of tears, sick and feverish, but on the outside, I was dry and numb.

“All right, enough of that,” Gwyneth said, and sat down opposite me. Berdi took the remaining chair. “This is a whole different game now. The Eyes of the Realm seem to have set their sights on more than order. What’s your plan?”

“You’re assuming I have one.”

She frowned. “You do.”

I had never voiced it out loud. It was dangerous, but it was the only way I could ensure that my voice would be heard by the whole court and those who were still loyal to Morrighan—if only for a few minutes.

“Something I’ve done before. But not successfully. A coup d’état,” I said. I explained that I had led a rebellion with my brothers and their friends into Aldrid Hall when I was fourteen. It hadn’t gone well. “But