The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,143

off than me. Maybe I was lucky to be tossed out when I was. He can’t get his mind to grasp what happened, that men in his company that he trusted with his life were betrayed by his own father.” He looked up at me. “He was half crazed when he rode out with scouts to find your brothers and their squads.”

“Did you—”

“Yes, Rafe and Sven interrogated the prisoners. They got nothing. And we sent four different units riding the fastest Ravians. You were still issuing orders when Rafe laid you on the bed, and those were just two of them.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Most of your words were mumbled, and Rafe finally told you to shut up and listen to the physician.”

“Did I?”

“You passed out again. I guess that’s listening.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Past midnight.”

He told me what had transpired after I passed out, most of which he had learned from my aunt Bernette. The entire citadelle had been bustling awake through most of the night. After leaving me, my mother had seen to my father. She had him moved back to their marriage chamber and threw out all medicines the court physician had ordered for him. He was bathed and given herbal drinks to flush his system. Kaden didn’t know enough about the poisoning effects of golden thannis to know if it would help. Vendans knew not to touch it. Just a nibble could bring down a horse. Andrés had recovered, but he was young and healthy and hadn’t been poisoned over a long period of time the way my father had. I worried that it might be too late to reverse the effects of the poison and my father would be trapped in a foggy stupor for the rest of his life. I worried that it might be too late for everything.

“Will all this be enough, Kaden?”

“To stop the Komizar? I don’t know. I think the rule Rafe threw your way is shaky—even with your mother’s nod of support.”

I saw it too. Parading a First Daughter out for ceremony was one thing, having her rule the kingdom was another. The troops Andrés marched into the hall with had supported me, but the majority of the lords weren’t convinced.

“I think your lords are still dubious about the threat,” he added.

I didn’t expect anything else. They had a lifetime of believing that Morrighan was the chosen Remnant and nothing could bring it down. “I’ll convince them,” I said, “and prepare them to oppose Venda.”

“Then what? As much as we both want to stop the Komizar, I can’t forget I’m still Vendan.”

His eyes searched mine, worried. “I know, Kaden.” His fears renewed my own. “But we both need to remember that there are two Vendas. The Komizar’s Venda that’s on its way here to destroy us, and the one that we both love. Somehow, together, we have to make this work.”

But I wasn’t sure how. We both knew the Komizar and Council would never back down. The prize was in their sight, and they intended to have it. It’s my turn now to dine on sweet grapes in winter. I lay there, Kaden’s hand still in mine, the coals of the hearth dimming, my lids growing heavy, the future swirling behind them, and I heard the soft moans again. This time, I knew it wasn’t my mother or my aunts I heard weeping. These cries came from far away, past a savanna, beyond a great river, past rocky hills and barren glens. These cries came from the clans of Venda. He had slaughtered more for whispering the name Jezelia.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

PAULINE

You need to name him.

But I had no name. My mind was too swollen with other thoughts to make such a decision.

I eased the child from the wet nurse’s arms and rocked him, fingering his locks. They were the color of a bright high sun. Like Mikael’s.

But after what Mikael had done, I didn’t want to think that he was any part of this child.

You have kin, Pauline. You are not alone.

But my aunt’s cold stare surfaced again and again.

After Lia’s hand had been treated and bandaged, we had cut away her clothes and washed her. She lay unconscious, limp, and they stared at her battered body lying across the white bedding. A diary of these past months was written across her skin. They saw the jagged scar on her thigh. The nick on her throat. The fresh cut on her lip where the Chancellor had struck her, the bruises