Devrim's Discipline - Brianna Hale Page 0,40
know what it was about. What did Lungren do?”
Mama frowns down at her soup, swirling it with her spoon and searching for any dumpling pieces, she may have missed. “The less said about that man the better. Your father would agree with me.”
“But shouldn’t I know why his name is taboo? I might put my foot in it at Court, otherwise.”
Mama puts her spoon down. “All right. But after this, I never want to hear you mention this again. On the last day of the Midsummer Riots, a group of People’s Republic rebels stormed the palace. They were led by a soldier called Gunvald Lungren, Varga’s most prized fighter. Lungren killed the King and Queen. Because of him, Varga was able to seize control of the country.”
My mouth falls open.
“Exactly,” Mama says heavily, picking up the newspaper. “Now you know why you must never, ever speak that name.”
No wonder Devrim turned pale. He must have thought I was taunting him. My hands clench on my skirt and regret fills me from head to toe.
A few minutes later, Mama’s gaze drifts up and fixes on the far wall. I can tell that her mind is ticking over with something.
“Mama? What are you thinking?”
“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking about poor King Gregor and Queen Penelope. I always did wonder what happened that day. Wouldn’t it be disgraceful if…”
Suddenly, Mama’s eyes gleam. She has that same look as when she uncovers something particularly juicy at Court or in one of her newspapers. Her gaze lands on my yellow satin dress and her grey one, which I handwashed this morning and hung on a rack to dry.
“We’ve been wearing the same three dresses to Court over and over. I think it’s time we had some new ones.”
To be talking of the day the King and Queen died, and then in the next breath, our dresses, seems strange to me. “Pardon? But we can’t afford any more dresses.”
Mama licks her thumb and turns a page of her newspaper. “You let me worry about that, darling. I’ll find a way. There’s always a way.”
And that’s all she’ll say on the matter.
Chapter Fifteen
Devrim
It only takes a second for my veneer of peace and stability to crumble to nothing. Even in prison, the guards didn’t talk about him. Not for the last decade, at least, when Lungren’s deeds fell into obscurity, and any mention of what happened to him later, could get a loyal citizen flogged.
Maybe it’s another Gunvald. There must be other Gunvalds in Paravel. There are probably dozens. Hundreds.
Shot himself once.
A wave of nausea passes through me. It’s Lungren. It has to be.
The days pass in a blur of sleepless nights as I relive every moment of that blood-soaked summer’s day twenty-seven years ago. I find myself standing at my office window, one morning, just after dawn, staring out onto the leafy street.
It’s not Lungren’s face I see today, but Wraye’s. I must have scared her badly in the garden. All she did was sing a child’s rhyme, and I shouted at her to get out.
I groan and press the heel of my hand to my forehead. He ruined my life once, and he’s doing it again, even though he’s been dead for twenty-five years.
There’s a discreet cough behind me. Hastings, the butler, has entered the room.
“Yes, Hastings?”
He steps forward, a newspaper laid on a silver tray, his expression even graver than usual. He usually puts the papers on the breakfast table.
“Good morning, Your Grace. I apologize for intruding. I thought Your Grace would wish to see this, before Lady Aubrey comes downstairs.”
I hold out my hand impatiently, wondering what’s rattled the man, this early in the morning. If there was threat to the King, the new head of palace security would have informed me already. I don’t know Jakob Rasmussen, all that well, but he seems like a capable and intelligent man.
I unfold the newspaper. “What am I—?”
I was about to ask what I’m looking for, but it’s right there on the front page, in letters three inches high.
My worst nightmare.
Chapter Sixteen
Wraye
“Darling, look. Crumpets and honey for breakfast. Your favorite.”
Mama beams at me as I sit down at our rickety kitchen table. Crumpets and honey is my favorite breakfast, but, normally, we don’t have it unless it’s my birthday, and sometimes, not even then. Honey was eye-wateringly expensive under the People’s Republic. Just about every country in Europe had trade sanctions against Paravel, because of Varga’s human rights abuses. No German beer. No Spanish