The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,137

are.”

The Chancellor skimmed the length of me, taking in my rough-spun clothes. His lip lifted in disgust. “And you would be?”

For someone in his precarious position, he showed no signs of backing down. His arrogance made mine blaze.

“I would be the king of Dalbreck,” I answered. “And I can assure you, my ragtag collection can hold off your army for an amazingly extended period of time—at least long enough to see you dead.”

The Watch Captain snickered. “Fool! We’ve met the king of Dalbreck, and you are not him!”

I closed the space between us and reached across the table, grabbing him by the front of his tunic. I jerked him to his feet. “Are you willing to bet your life on that, Captain? Because even though you’ve never seen me, I saw you from the cloister of the abbey on the day of my thwarted wedding. You nervously paced with the Timekeeper, cursing as I recall.”

I let go of his tunic, shoving him back in his seat. “My father has passed. I’m king now—and I’ve yet to behead anyone in my new capacity, though I’m eager to see what it’s like.”

I stared, pinning him to his seat, then looked at the rest of the cabinet, scanning as Lia had done, wondering which hand had struck her, which had torn the shirt from her back, and worse, which of her own had betrayed her and every other kingdom on the continent by conspiring with the Komizar, trading our lives for their greed. Other than the Chancellor and the Watch Captain, the rest had remained curiously silent, and I found their quiet brooding just as disturbing as the outbursts. They plotted.

I looked at Lia. “Speak, Princess. You have the floor as long as you like.”

She smiled, a frightening hardness to her lips. “The floor,” she repeated savoring the words as she turned, her arms held out to her sides. “Forgive me, esteemed ministers for the state of my”—she looked down at her bloodstained clothes, then at her exposed shoulder—“my appearance. I know it doesn’t follow court protocol. But there’s some comfort in it too, I suppose. Beaten and scorned, she will expose the wicked. She paused, the smile slipping from her face. “Do those words frighten you? They should.”

She turned, her gaze traveling over the lords, then she stopped and looked up at the empty gallery. Every eye followed her stare. The silence grew long and uncomfortable, but for now the memory of her knife flying across the room seemed to keep their tongues quiet. My pulse raced, and Tavish and I exchanged a worried glance. She seemed to have forgotten where we were or what she was doing. I followed her gaze. There was nothing there. Nothing, at least, that I could see.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

The air changed, hanging above us, the color soft and muted, like aged parchment. The room grew larger, dreamlike, becoming a distant world where a fourteen-year-old girl charged with her brothers by her side. More who believed in her followed close behind. They were all dead now, killed on a nameless battlefield. Walther whispered, Be careful, sister.

I heard the girl yell that no one should move, and she promised they wouldn’t be hurt. She knew that wasn’t true. Some would die, though she didn’t know which ones or when, but their deaths already clouded behind her eyes. She saw two men charging with her, watching, turning, archers flanking her with arrows drawn. And then her eyes landed on the cabinet, the faces, the empty seat of her father. The air snapped sharp, the colors brilliant, and fear vibrated against the walls in waves. The girl was gone. It was only me. Facing them. And today, no one would be banishing me to my chamber.

The Viceregent, the Chancellor, the Watch Captain, the Trademaster, the court physician, the Timekeeper, the Field Marshal, the Huntmaster, and of course, the Royal Scholar, who looked the most troubled of all by the turn of events. Notably absent was the First Daughter and the king himself, but one of them would be here soon. The Timekeeper fiddled nervously with the buttons on his jacket, pulling and fretting until one popped off. It clattered to the floor, rolling across the polished stone.

I knew who the mastermind behind this was, the architect who craved power just as much as the Komizar. Maybe even more, risking everything for the whole prize—the continent. I looked at him, slow and steady. It was obvious now. The scales of his true