The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,167

into your kingdom with the very best men at his side. The general agreed—on one condition.”

My stomach slowly crawled into my throat. A condition. “He blackmailed Rafe?”

“I think the words negotiation and compromise were bandied about. He claimed he only wanted to ensure that Rafe returned home this time.”

As stunned as I was, I also felt something lift in me. “Then it’s not a real betrothal at all. When he gets back to Dalbreck, he can—”

“I’m afraid it is very real, Your Highness.”

“But—”

“One thing you should know. A betrothal agreement is the same as law in Dalbreck. Why do you think our kingdom became so enraged when your betrothal to the prince was broken? In our kingdom, it doesn’t matter if it’s written on paper or offered with a handshake. The word of a man is a promise. And this time, Jaxon has given his word to his own people. He has already pushed the limits of their trust by his long absence. A king, in the eyes of his subjects, who cannot be trusted to honor his word is not a king to be trusted at all. If he broke this promise, he wouldn’t have a kingdom to return to.”

“He could lose his throne?” My mind spun with how much Rafe had risked.

“Yes, and he cares deeply about his kingdom. They need him,” Sven answered. “It’s the kingdom of his fathers and ancestors. It’s in his blood to lead.”

I understood the weight of promises, and Rafe’s strength as a king mattered more to Morrighan now, than it ever had. It mattered to me.

I stared out at the jagged line of forest, feeling the stinging irony of Rafe’s choice: To help me and the kingdom of Morrighan survive, he had been forced to cut out my heart.

“Is she kind?” I finally asked.

Sven cleared his throat and shrugged. “She seems agreeable enough.”

“Good,” I said. “He deserves that much.”

And I meant it.

I left and went to the roof, where it was only me, a thousand blinking stars, and the beauty of darkness stretched to the ends of the universe, snuffing out the endless games of courts and kingdoms.

They passed through the long valley

and the sentinels of devastation,

looked down on Morrighan,

from the towering peaks,

whispering that the end of the journey was near.

But Darkness roared, striking out again,

and Morrighan fought for the Holy Remnant,

spilling the blood of darkness,

vanquishing it forever.

—Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. IV

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

I sipped hot chicory out of a tall mug, studying the maps spread across the table in the meeting chamber. I moved them around as if looking at them from a new angle would make me see something I hadn’t before. There. It swirled inside me, a distant voice pushing me to look again and again, but I didn’t know what I was searching for. There. An answer? A warning? I wasn’t sure.

I’d arrived early because I couldn’t sleep. It was still dark when I heard the cries of children. I threw back my quilt and looked out the window, but the cries weren’t coming from outside. They hovered in my room and swam behind my eyes. I saw them huddled, afraid, the young Vendan soldiers who were on their way. And then I heard the brezalots, their breath hot and fierce, the steam from their nostrils filling the night air, and finally the whispers of the Komizar crawled beneath my skin like vermin raising my flesh. Fervor, Jezelia, fervor. Are you understanding me at last?

There was no going back to sleep after that. I dressed and crept down to the kitchen, where a kettle of hot water always steamed, and while my chicory steeped, I knelt beside the hearth, saying my morning remembrances, thinking of Morrighan crossing the wilderness with no map to guide her, and the courage she must have conjured. I prayed for that same courage.

There were at least a dozen maps laid out on the table. Ones just of Civica, others of the whole kingdom, and still more of the whole continent. The maps blurred and a scent streamed through me, fragrant, like crushed grass in a meadow. The tiny hairs raised on my neck. There. A voice as clear as my own.

I earnestly rearranged the maps again, this time examining the southern routes, but they had no more answers for me than before. There were dozens of possibilities. We had gone around and around about which route the Komizar would take, though once he spilled into Morrighan, it would make little difference. It