Crown of One Hundred Kings (Nine Kingdoms Trilogy #1) - Rachel Higginson Page 0,86

you enter into Conandra, culpability is removed from your shoulders. The council will decide if I am who I say I am. If this crown belongs to me or to you. And when they decide, then you can either peacefully forfeit the throne to me or…” I struggled to say this last part. It was too much. Too wrong. “Or, I shall be the one that forfeits the crown to you.”

He leaned in, a smile lifting the corners of his thin mouth. “Very well, Niece, Conandra it is.”

I breathed out and tried not to look too relieved. “Thank you, Uncle.”

He motioned for a guard. “I will send out the notice tonight. My riders will not stop until all eight kingdoms have been summoned. Until then you will stay under my protection. A full guard detail will stay with you, day and night. And the crown will remain in my possession.”

“No.” A hysterical laugh bubbled out of me. “Absolutely not.”

He glared at me, a low growl tinging his threat. “Well it cannot stay with you only for you to disappear in the dead of night. How foolish do you think I am?”

“How can I escape if your guards are with me day and night?”

“It can stay with me,” Taelon stepped in. “I can be the unbiased third party.”

I nearly rolled my eyes at his use of the word, “unbiased,” but I figured that was bad form for serious negotiations.

Tyrn stared at Taelon as if trying to figure him out. “I assume you would like to avoid war as much as I would?”

“More so,” Taelon agreed.

“Alright,” Tyrn agreed. “It stays with the crown prince of Soravale, but only because Conandra has already been called.”

“Fair enough,” Taelon agreed.

He held his hand out, but even to this man I trusted so fully, I had a hard time handing over the crown. The second Taelon held it, I wanted it back.

Tyrn’s voice pulled me from my panic. “I know you understand what happens if you win the council, girl. But do you comprehend your fate should you lose?”

“Dungeons,” I answered him. “For the rest of my life.”

His smile revealed a madness that terrified me. “And I shall do my very best to make sure your life stretches as long as it can.”

I gathered my courage and met his pale blue gaze. “It’s good to be home, Uncle.” I curtsied low.

“Crenshaw!” my uncle demanded. “Show these imposters to their rooms.”

24

Crenshaw, a man that reminded me alarmingly of my uncle, deposited me in my rooms as he was told.

Unlike in Soravale, alone in my chambers felt truly alone. Oliver wasn’t just across the corridor. Taleon wouldn’t be sneaking into my bedroom. I was finally home and truly isolated for the first time since I could remember.

Still dirty from traveling, I pulled off my boots, retrieved Shiksa from my satchel, and curled up in the center of the large bed. She pressed against me, offering comfort that I desperately needed. She mewled her hunger, but there was nothing I could give her.

I had ensured that we were now prisoners in the very place that should have welcomed me with open arms. My uncle’s greed clawed at my gut. Taelon had been right. Hugo had been right. There was darkness to Tyrn that could not be easily explained. And it was not born from grief of losing his family.

I shivered in the chill of the room. The fire had not been lit, nor had the candelabra. The light from the windows faded from gray to black, and eventually Shiksa and I had to wiggle beneath the thick quilts to keep our teeth from chattering.

Finally sleep found me and with it, the nightmares I was so accustomed to. Only in the place where I had witnessed my family’s deaths, they were more vivid.

I dreamed of the moments before Taelon and I stumbled upon the bodies. Of how he made me laugh and smile until my cheeks hurt. And then we turned a corner and horror stripped all happiness from me.

In my dream, the blood rose up to my ankles, coating bare feet with sticky crimson. My brothers lay with severed heads and open, sightless eyes. My mother’s hand reached out as if her corpse stretched to touch me. My father’s sword sat untouched, useless in the hilt at his hip. And this time, there was not one raven perched in the window, but a legion of them.

They circled the exaggerated ceiling, swooping down to peck at the bodies. They filled