The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,154

him because it seemed betrayed by her own could mean someone in a position of power.”

“And that’s when you conspired with the Royal Scholar to send me away.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “We were so close. On your wedding day, I thought you’d soon be gone from Morrighan, and if there actually was anyone here who sought to harm you, you’d be away from them too. Dalbreck was a powerful kingdom that could keep you safe. But then as I admired your kavah along with everyone else, I remembered the verse, the one marked with claw and vine. I had always thought it meant a different kind of mark—the scars made by an animal or whip—but there among all the heraldry and intricate designs on your back, in one small part, on your shoulder, there it was, a Dalbreck claw and a Morrighese vine. It was only an innocent kavah, I tried to tell myself, only a coincidence. It would wash away in a matter of days. I wanted to believe it meant nothing.”

“But you had the priest offer the prayer in your native tongue. Just in case.”

She nodded, exhaustion lining her face. “I wanted to believe my plan would still work, but really, I didn’t know what would happen next. I could only pray for the gods to gird you with strength, but when King Jaxon laid you on your bed, and I saw what they had done to you—”

Her eyes squeezed shut.

I held her, comforting her as she had comforted me so many times. “I’m still here, Mother,” I whispered. “A few marks are nothing. I have many regrets, but being named Jezelia is not one of them. Neither should it be yours.”

My father stirred, and both of our attentions shot to him. She moved to his side, her arm cradling his head. “Branson?” I heard the hope in her voice.

Incoherent rambles were all he offered back. There was still no change. I watched her shoulders slump.

“We’ll talk more later,” I said.

She shook her head absently. “I wanted to be with him. The physician forbade it, saying my presence only agitated him.” She looked up at me, her eyes sharp, fierce as she had once been. “I will see the physican executed for this, Jezelia. I will see all of them dead.”

I nodded, and she turned back to him, her lips grazing his forehead as she whispered to a man who couldn’t hear her, who might never hear her again. I was ashamed I had ever called him a toad.

I lingered, staring at them together, feeling dazed, watching the desperate worry in her eyes, and remembering how my father had called for her, my Regheena, the tenderness in his voice, even as he lay delirious. They loved each other, and I wondered how I hadn’t seen it before.

* * *

I looked down at the Royal Scholar still seated on the stone floor. He’d been there waiting for an hour.

“I see you still have all your toes,” I said.

He stretched out a leg and winced, rubbing his thigh. “You and your henchmen were convincing. I assume I can move now?”

“I’ve always loathed you,” I said, glaring down at him. “I still do.”

“Understandable. I’m not such a likable fellow.”

“And you hate me as well.”

He shook his head, his black eyes looking unapologetically into mine. “Never. You exasperated, annoyed, and defied me, but it was nothing less than I expected. I pushed you—perhaps too hard at times. Your mother wouldn’t let me discuss the gift with you, so I did as she ordered. I tried to make you strong in other ways.”

I held on to my hatred, nursing it like a treasured habit, like a nail I had chewed down to the quick. I wasn’t done. I wanted more, but I already sensed a truth beneath his deceptions.

“Get up,” I ordered, trying to make every one of my words sting. “We’ll speak in your former office. My mother is resting.”

He struggled to his feet, his legs stiff, and I motioned to a guard to help him.

He adjusted his robes, smoothing out the wrinkles, trying to regain his dignity, and faced me. Waiting.

“My mother seems to think you can explain everything. I doubt that.” I put my hand on my dagger as threat. “Your lies will have to be very good to convince me.”

“Then maybe my truths would be better.”

* * *

I saw, once again, the Royal Scholar I had always known, the one who could snarl and spit at the slightest