Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,60

mercy. I will not chain you to anything yet. But if you cross me again, I will do it—and gladly.” His voice holds a note of eagerness that is faintly unsettling. Then, so quick that I do not see it coming, he hurls his goblet into the fire, where it shatters loudly, the wine hissing as it is consumed by the flames. “Do not look at me like that.” His cheeks are flushed, the true depths of his anger rising to the surface at last. “Not when I have had to stand before my council and declare Fremin’s death an accident even as they howled for Sybella’s head. Not when I have hidden your crimes from my closest advisors. Spared you from a trial that would cost you your life. Do not dare to look disappointed in me.” As he speaks, I realize that some small part of his own self—the hidden part I had been reaching—is also disappointed in him. That is all the spark of hope I need.

“I wasn’t disappointed in you, Your Majesty, but that I have ruined the trust between us.”

“Trust can be rebuilt,” he says, sounding like a priest beginning a Sunday mass. “But it takes time, and much effort on the part of the one who has broken it. Because I care for you, I am giving you that chance.” With that pompous proclamation, he nods once, then leaves the room.

Because I care for you, I am not strangling you with this rutting chain, I want to say to his retreating back, but of course I do not. The entire point of willingly submitting to this farce is to make him feel powerful and less threatened by me. The less threatened he is, the greater the chance he will continue to confide in me so that I may in turn try to sway him from the influence of his late father and General Cassel.

I grip the silver chain and tug on it in disgust, wincing at the memory of how I forced Maraud to wear a chain of his own, only his was made of thick iron and held no pretense of fashion or favor. And yet he bore it good-naturedly, and I can as well. Besides, I am a far better target for the king’s wrath than Sybella. Not only is he willing to indulge me more than her, I am fairly certain she would have killed him by now, and that would only complicate everything.

 Chapter 32

Maraud

Saints, Maraud hated the mud. Slimy, gritty, soul-sucking sludge that threatened to pull them down to the very gates of the Underworld itself. It was so deep in some places, they’d had to dismount and squelch alongside their horses, their boots disappearing into the foul stuff.

And it was everywhere: In his hair, his eyes. Even in his damn teeth.

The others were no doubt regretting their decision to come with him.

They finally managed to slog their way to the crest of a small hillock—more of a pile of mud, really—the only one they’d passed in the last four days. Below them, like a child’s wooden blocks cast down in a fit of temper, lay Flanders.

“It’s probably nicer than it looks,” Jaspar said.

Tassin grunted. “Probably worse.”

Andry reached up and scratched his beard. “You know they’re going to overcharge us.”

Jaspar’s voice was glum as he pointed out, “That’s if we’re lucky enough to find a room.”

In spite of the drizzle, in spite of his friend’s melancholy, Maraud felt a sense of triumph deep in his chest, his heart nearly swelling with it. He’d waited for this moment for over a year now. Dreamed of it, plotted it, fed off of it. The idea of confronting Cassel had sustained him through those first awful days after Ives was killed. It kept his resolve firm during his initial captivity and imprisonment. It had fed him during the long, bleak months in the oubliette—the sustenance provided by this need for vengeance filled him even when his hunger was gnawing its way out of his belly.

Lucinda had been right about one thing. It was long past time he saw to justice for his family.

 Chapter 33

Sybella

It has taken three days, but finally the castle feels quiet once more, as if things have returned to normal. I dress with care, wearing a somber, modest gown. I kneel down to lift the corner of the feather mattress, then huff in annoyance as I remember. I loved those knives. We were old friends. I will have to see