The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,167

to do it, and all the while the general was breathing down his neck like a lion ready to pounce—the same general who had challenged him.

“But through it all, I know there wasn’t a day he didn’t wonder and worry about you, questioning whether he should have let you go or whether he should have gone with you. The first thing he did was have that book of yours translated.”

“The one he stole.”

He grinned. “Yes. He was hoping you’d made a mistake. That he could stop worrying.”

“But he learned otherwise?”

He nodded, then looked at me pointedly. “He also discovered the two passages that you failed to mention.”

“What does any of this have to do with his betrothal, Sven?”

“He didn’t tear out of Dalbreck only to save your kingdom or his—those thoughts came later. He was only a young man racing against time, desperate to save someone he still loved, but he knew he had to be clever about it too. He ordered the general to outfit a special company of soldiers by the next day so he could slip undetected into your kingdom with the very best men at his side. The general agreed—on one condition.”

My stomach slowly crawled into my throat. A condition. “He blackmailed Rafe?”

“I think the words negotiation and compromise were bandied about. He claimed he only wanted to ensure that Rafe returned home this time.”

As stunned as I was, I also felt something lift in me. “Then it’s not a real betrothal at all. When he gets back to Dalbreck, he can—”

“I’m afraid it is very real, Your Highness.”

“But—”

“One thing you should know. A betrothal agreement is the same as law in Dalbreck. Why do you think our kingdom became so enraged when your betrothal to the prince was broken? In our kingdom, it doesn’t matter if it’s written on paper or offered with a handshake. The word of a man is a promise. And this time, Jaxon has given his word to his own people. He has already pushed the limits of their trust by his long absence. A king, in the eyes of his subjects, who cannot be trusted to honor his word is not a king to be trusted at all. If he broke this promise, he wouldn’t have a kingdom to return to.”

“He could lose his throne?” My mind spun with how much Rafe had risked.

“Yes, and he cares deeply about his kingdom. They need him,” Sven answered. “It’s the kingdom of his fathers and ancestors. It’s in his blood to lead.”

I understood the weight of promises, and Rafe’s strength as a king mattered more to Morrighan now, than it ever had. It mattered to me.

I stared out at the jagged line of forest, feeling the stinging irony of Rafe’s choice: To help me and the kingdom of Morrighan survive, he had been forced to cut out my heart.

“Is she kind?” I finally asked.

Sven cleared his throat and shrugged. “She seems agreeable enough.”

“Good,” I said. “He deserves that much.”

And I meant it.

I left and went to the roof, where it was only me, a thousand blinking stars, and the beauty of darkness stretched to the ends of the universe, snuffing out the endless games of courts and kingdoms.

They passed through the long valley

and the sentinels of devastation,

looked down on Morrighan,

from the towering peaks,

whispering that the end of the journey was near.

But Darkness roared, striking out again,

and Morrighan fought for the Holy Remnant,

spilling the blood of darkness,

vanquishing it forever.

—Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. IV

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

I sipped hot chicory out of a tall mug, studying the maps spread across the table in the meeting chamber. I moved them around as if looking at them from a new angle would make me see something I hadn’t before. There. It swirled inside me, a distant voice pushing me to look again and again, but I didn’t know what I was searching for. There. An answer? A warning? I wasn’t sure.

I’d arrived early because I couldn’t sleep. It was still dark when I heard the cries of children. I threw back my quilt and looked out the window, but the cries weren’t coming from outside. They hovered in my room and swam behind my eyes. I saw them huddled, afraid, the young Vendan soldiers who were on their way. And then I heard the brezalots, their breath hot and fierce, the steam from their nostrils filling the night air, and finally the whispers of the Komizar crawled beneath my skin like vermin raising my flesh. Fervor,