The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,70

the sleeve. Pulled at his collar.

“Say it Jeb,” I told him. “Before you worry holes into your shirt.”

“His throne is being challenged,” he blurted out, voiced like a plea for his friend.

I heard Tavish and Orrin groan behind us, obviously not pleased with Jeb’s loose tongue.

I rolled my eyes, unmoved. “Because of cabinet bickering? What else is new?”

“It’s not the cabinet. One of his generals has begun proceedings to claim the throne.”

A coup d’état? My steps slowed. “So the Dalbreck court has traitors too?”

“The general isn’t a traitor. It’s within his rights. He’s charging Prince Jaxon with abdicating, which everyone knows is a false claim.”

I stopped and faced Jeb. “His mere absence is interpreted as abdication?”

“Not by most, but it could be construed that way, especially with the general bandying even stronger terms around, like desertion. The prince has been gone for months.”

I bristled. “Why didn’t Rafe tell me?”

“Both colonels advised him not to tell anyone. Dissent breeds doubt.”

I wasn’t just anyone, but maybe Rafe didn’t want me to doubt him most of all.

“Now that the general knows Rafe is alive, surely he’ll stop those proceedings.”

Jeb shook his head. “A general tasting power? He probably has an appetite now for the full-course meal. But Rafe has the overwhelming support of the troops. Their respect for him has only grown. It shouldn’t take long to quell the challenge once he arrives back at the palace—but it’s one more worry on his shoulders.”

“And that’s suppose to excuse his behavior of last night?”

“Not excuse,” Tavish said from behind me. “Just to explain it and give you a fuller picture.”

I spun around to face him. “Like the full picture you gave to Rafe when you caught Kaden holding my hand? Maybe everyone in Dalbreck needs to be sure of their information before they run off feeding it to others.”

Tavish nodded, accepting his culpability. “I made a mistake, and I apologize. I only reported what I thought I saw, but news of the challenge comes directly from the cabinet. This is not a mistake.”

“So Dalbreck has a usurper. Is that supposed to sway me? Why are Dalbreck’s worries so much more important than Morrighan’s? The Komizar rages with enough venom to make your general look like a whimpering kitten.”

My patience unraveled. The urgency, the long miles to Morrighan, the temptation to say yes when no still blared in my head, the needs of so many compared to the enormous lack within me—it all picked at every last shred of confidence I had until I felt like a frayed rope ready to snap—the last pull of weight coming from Rafe himself. If the person I loved the most in this world didn’t believe in me, how would anyone else? My eyes stung, and I blinked back any show of weakness. “If anything, you’d think Rafe’s situation would give him empathy and help him understand why I have to get back to Morrighan—but it doesn’t seem he’s given that a passing thought.”

“It’s not his head he’s thinking with,” Tavish said. “It’s his heart. He fears for your safety.”

His words stabbed into my tender underside. “I am not a thing to be protected, Tavish, any more than he is. My choices—and my risks—are my own.”

There was nothing he could say. I was right.

They dropped me off at my tent. Percy and the other soldiers were already stationed there to take over.

“See you soon,” Jeb said, offering a hesitant smile. “First dance.”

“That will be reserved for the king,” Tavish reminded him.

Maybe not. Maybe there would be no dancing at all. At least not between Rafe and me. Kings and prisoners did not share dances, at least not in any world I wanted to be part of.

* * *

I lay across my bed, stripped down to the soft comfort of my chemise, writing down the verses from the Song of Venda that had been ripped from the book. After so many years, I was finally returning her original words where they were meant to be. They squeezed onto the back side of the torn page.

Betrayed by her own,

Beaten and scorned,

She will expose the wicked,

For the Dragon of many faces

Knows no boundaries.

And though the wait may be long,

The promise is great,

For the one named Jezelia,

Whose life will be sacrificed

For the hope of saving yours.

I remembered every word she had spoken that day on the terrace, though at first I had only been preoccupied with the phrase whose life will be sacrificed. Now another phrase caught my attention: She will expose the