Reign of Beasts (Creature Court) - By Tansy Rayner Roberts Page 0,160

the children. Even Livilla seemed to enjoy a chance to do something, no matter if it was hopeless.

As dawn lit up Isangell’s bedroom on the morning of the fifth day of Saturnalia, she awoke to hear the voice of her mother berating Kelpie for having the ill manners to sleep on Isangell’s couch. She blinked awake and looked at the smooth ceiling over her bed, which had been badly cracked the nox before.

‘It worked,’ she said softly to herself. Ashiol had been wrong.

Isangell barrelled out of her room, hugged Mama, and then heartlessly abandoned Kelpie to run out into the Palazzo itself.

For days it had been a crumbling tomb filled with the scent of death and decay. There had been an awful silence about it, as if the whole place had been waiting for its mistress to declare it was time to fall to dust.

Isangell saw one servant, and then another. As she rounded the corner of the corridor, she ran full pelt into a small huddle of ministers and priests, who looked very alarmed when she kissed each of them on the cheek.

The Palazzo had not emerged unscathed. One of the kitchens was smashed beyond repair, and the Old Duc’s atrium. The ballroom still looked as if it had collided with several temples, and dozens of bodies lay in a cleared area of it, prepared and ready for burial.

Isangell ran up staircase after staircase until she came to the picture window that offered the best view of the city. A long scar ripped through Aufleur, and both the Forum and the Lucretine hill had taken some damage, but nothing like the destruction that had been there before. It was not perfect, but the city had given her one last gift.

Ashiol found her some time later. ‘A petition for thanksgiving ceremonies for making it through the return of the skywar,’ he said, handing over a silver-sealed scroll. ‘I’ve never been so glad to be accosted by priests in my life.’

Isangell accepted the scroll and hugged it to her. ‘I had given up hoping.’

‘No, you hadn’t,’ he said firmly, holding her eyes with his. ‘That’s why you’re so good at this. Grandmama wouldn’t have given up, either.’

Isangell laughed and hugged him. ‘I was right.’

‘Yes, you were.’

‘This city is never, ever skipping another festival. Not one. We might even start new ones.’ She could feel him shifting, holding himself back from telling her not to bother, that the time of festivals and animor and the Creature Court was over. ‘Ashiol?’

He pulled back out of the hug. ‘I didn’t say anything. You’re the Duchessa.’

‘Yes,’ she said, grinning stupidly. ‘I really am.’

When she finally returned to her rooms, she found that her mother had set up camp there, fortified by a large tea tray, a harried-looking Armand and a stack of invitation paper. Kelpie hovered by the window with a desperate expression on her face.

‘Do you really think it’s appropriate to have a female lictor?’ Mama grumbled, having made sense of Kelpie the only way she could.

‘Very appropriate,’ Isangell said, shooting a grin at Kelpie. ‘I have the perfect dressmaker to sort out her livery.’

Kelpie stuck her tongue out where Mama could not see.

‘I’m glad you’re here, Armand,’ Isangell said, sitting down primly and pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘I’d like you to take a letter to my Aunt Augusta of Diamagne.’

Armand nodded, preparing himself to make notes. ‘Of course, high and brightness.’

Isangell smiled. ‘I’d like to suggest that she visit the city with her children — apart from the current Baronne di Diamagne, of course — so that I may choose an heir from one of my cousins.’

Mama almost dropped her teacup. ‘Isangell, what on earth?’

Isangell had been hoping so greatly that she would have a chance to make this speech. She had practised it late every nox, her own ritual to add to the Saturnalia revels.

‘It’s rather simple, Mama,’ she said, folding her hands in her lap. ‘I won’t marry without love, and love is complicated. It may take time.’

She risked a brief glance at Kelpie, who was trying not to laugh out loud.

Mama’s hands shook, and she carefully put her cup down. ‘Not Ashiol, though?’

‘I think we all know he’s not cut out for leadership,’ Isangell said gently. ‘I need an heir who is actually willing and able to do the job. What do you think, Mama? Is it not an acceptable plan?’

Her mother gave a good impression of someone who had been chewing a lemon. ‘A tolerable plan,’ she