The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,6

the packs that exploded like a firestorm. “The Komizar was planning to march on Morrighan first and then the rest of the kingdoms. He wanted them all.”

Sven shrugged and marginally confirmed my story, saying the Komizar talked up the power of the army that the governors and their provinces were financing. “But at least half the governors were skeptical. They thought he was inflating the numbers and their capabilities to get greater tithes out of them.”

“Did you see the city?” I asked. “He wasn’t overstating his claim.”

“I didn’t, but the other governors who had still weren’t won over.”

“They probably only wanted him to sweeten their own stakes. I know what I saw. There’s no doubt that with the army and weapons he was amassing, Venda could easily quash Morrighan—and Dalbreck too.”

Orrin snorted. “No one can beat Dalbreck’s army.”

I looked at Orrin pointedly. “And yet Morrighan has done so many times in our rocky past. Or do you not study history in Dalbreck?”

Orrin glanced at me awkwardly, then back down at the tin of soup in his hands.

“That was a long time ago, Lia,” Rafe intervened. “Long before my father’s reign—and your father’s. A lot has changed.”

His low opinion of my father’s rule didn’t escape me, and strangely, it made a defensive spark ignite within me. But it was true. I had no idea what Dalbreck’s army was like now, but in the past several years, the Morrighese army had shrunk. Now I wondered if that was by the Chancellor’s design—to make us an easier target—except I wasn’t sure that as overseer of the treasury, he alone could make that happen, not even with the Royal Scholar’s help. Was it possible that more in the cabinet conspired with him?

Rafe reached out and rested his hand on my knee, perhaps perceiving the harshness of his comment. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “If such an army does exist, without the Komizar’s calculating ambition, it will fall into disarray. Malich doesn’t possess the wit to lead an army, much less keep the loyalties of the Council. He may be dead already.”

The thought of Malich’s arrogant head rolling across the Sanctum floor warmed me—my only regret being that I wasn’t the one who had sent it rolling. But who else might step into the powerful shoes of the Komizar? What about Chievdar Tyrick? Governor Yanos? Or maybe Trahern of the Rahtan? They were certainly the most nasty and driven of those left on the Council, but I was sure none possessed the cunning or finesse to secure the loyalty of the entire Council, much less follow through with the Komizar’s staggering ambitions. But with so much at stake, was that an assumption that any kingdom could afford to make? Morrighan needed to be warned of the possible threat and be prepared for it.

“Two weeks easily,” Jeb said, trying to return to the more positive subject of our ample lead time. He tore off another piece of the badger meat. “The Sanctum was in chaos when we left, and with more grabs for power, they may not set out for the lower river at once.”

“They will.” Sven eyed Rafe with cool gray eyes. “The question is not how soon but how many will they send? It’s not just her they’ll be after. You’ll be a highly sought prize too. The crown prince of Dalbreck has not only stolen away with something they value but has no doubt greatly injured their pride with his deception.”

“It was the Komizar’s pride,” Rafe corrected him, “and he’s dead.”

“Maybe.”

I looked at Sven, incredulous, and my heart squeezed to a cold knot. “There’s no maybe about it. I stabbed him twice and twisted the blade. His guts were in pieces.”

“Did you see him die?” Sven asked.

See him?

I paused, taking my time to compose a reasoned answer. “He was on the ground, choking on his last breaths,” I said. “If he didn’t bleed to death, the poison released into his gut finished him off. It’s a painful way to die. Sometimes slow, but effective.”

Wary glances were cast between them.

“No, I haven’t stabbed someone in the gut before,” I explained. “But I have three brothers who are soldiers, and they’ve held nothing back from me. There’s no chance the Komizar survived his injuries.”

Sven took a long, slow sip from his mug. “You were shot in the back with an arrow and fell into a raging icy river. Not good odds, and yet here you are. When we left the terrace … the Komizar was