The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,138

nature gleamed beneath his robe. The dragon who had as many faces as the Komizar.

When the Chancellor disobeyed the first of my orders, my dagger flew. It took all of my will not to aim straight for his heart. In my days crossing the Cam Lanteux, every time I practiced throwing my knife into the trunk of a tree, I had marked his heart as the target in my mind’s eye, but his death would come later. For now he might still be of some use to me, and I would use every piece of him, finger by finger, if that was what it took to save my brothers.

He sat but seethed, now throwing insults at Rafe.

I watched him and the others, one by one, down the line—for a conspiracy was only as good as its weakest link—and now that link was being tested.

The citadelle closed in, contracting, squeezing the treachery into something hard and alive, its heartbeat wild, resisting, its beastly roar echoing, but beneath it all I heard another sound, a fragile thrum as persistent as hope, and I saw someone step out on the balcony.

It was a girl. She leaned over the rail, her wide dark eyes fixed on mine. Promise, she said.

I nodded. “I promised long ago.”

And then she was gone, the world shifting, the air sharp and bright again.

The lords waited, their attention whittled to a point, ready to snap.

I told them of traitors in their midst, of dragons with unquenchable thirst, and still another, the Komizar of Venda, who was on his way here with an unstoppable army to destroy them all, helped by the same traitors who had sent Crown Prince Walther to his death. “I ran from the wedding because I was afraid, but I did not betray Morrighan, and I did not betray my brother. I watched him die, but at the hands of Vendans who were lying in wait for him. He was sent into an ambush by traitors here in this room. The same ones who have sent Princes Regan and Bryn to die.”

The Royal Scholar leaned forward. “Wouldn’t this be better discussed in—”

But the Viceregent cut him off, holding up his hand. “Let’s not interrupt the princess. Let her have her say. We can give her that much.” He eyed me as if recalling every word we had spoken in his office. Do you have any evidence? He knew my word wasn’t enough.

I glared, slow and steady, at the Royal Scholar, a warning—your time will come—and turned to the Field Marshal, who was the cabinet liaison to the troops. “My brothers need to be tracked down and brought home immediately. With my father ill, they never should have been sent away to Gitos and Cortenai in the first place. How do you explain this flagrant breach of protocol, Lord Commander?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shot a hard glance at the Watch Captain. The Royal Scholar watched them all as if ready to jump from his seat.

“I didn’t want to send them,” he answered, a scowl darkening his face. “In fact, I argued against it. But I was swayed to believe it was for the good of the realm.”

“And your brothers heartily agreed,” the Watch Captain added.

I stormed across the dais, slamming my sword onto the table inches from his hand. “They agreed to be slaughtered?”

The Watch Captain gawked at his hand as if making sure all his fingers were still there. His gaze shot back to me, his eyes glowing with anger. “The girl is insane!” he shouted to Rafe’s soldiers standing near him. “Lay down your weapons before she gets you all killed!”

The rumble of footsteps echoed in the south hall, the vibration of a hundred boots pounding toward us. Soldiers had been alerted. I looked back at the cabinet.

The Dragon.

A smile.

One that no one else could see.

A voice no one else could hear.

More. It is mine. You are mine.

The grind of teeth.

A gluttonous swallow.

A satisfied breath.

I turned to Rafe as the rumbling footsteps got louder. He held my gaze and nodded, confident. Keep going.

A lord in the back of the hall, apparently emboldened by the sound of soldiers, stood. “The only traitor we see in this hall is you! If there were other traitors, you would name them! The Watch Captain’s right—the girl is mad!”

The Viceregent sighed, tenting his hands in front of him, and frowned. “We’ve allowed you your say, Arabella, but I’m afraid I must agree with Lord Gowan. You can’t make