Palace of Silver (The Nissera Chronicles #3) - Hannah West Page 0,4

power to do so. And then I’d grinned with relief and penned a missive to the king immediately. The Realm Alliance had approved, my sister had readily accepted the proposal, and I’d rejoiced to be rid of her. But Mathis, too embarrassed to continue his work, had fled soon afterward. We could have made a tracking map to hunt him down, but he wasn’t worth the trouble. The restrictive enchantment we had placed on his elicrin stone wouldn’t rob him of his immortality, but it would prevent him from using his magic to harm anyone. Besides, tracking maps were an archaic sort of magic, and they had limits; they would not work for anyone harboring malicious intent toward the person they sought, and if I got my hands on Mathis again, I might wring his neck.

Mathis and Ambrosine had stoked a fire of righteous fury in the hearts of our people, yet I was the only one left to burn.

Devorian broke through the gaggle of maids in the doorway and crossed the room to rip the drapes closed. Valory’s unfortunate spell on him had at last worn off, but sometimes his eyes seemed to sparkle golden amber rather than blue green.

“You aren’t going to dignify this, are you?” he asked.

“No,” Perennia answered before I could, releasing my hand.

“Good.” My brother raked a hand through his flaxen, shoulder-length waves. “It will blow over.”

“So I’m to hide out until my people don’t want my head on a pike?” I demanded.

“They don’t want your head on a pike; they want your elicrin stone in a pit. All of ours.” Devorian strode to my tea tray only to frown at the dearth of spirituous or fermented options. “It will take time, but when their situations improve under your rule, their ire will cool.”

I sighed and sank into a chair, striking a woebegone pose before I checked myself and sat up straight. “Perhaps once I sign the decree restricting the border tolls, they’ll—”

“You can’t do that,” Devorian interrupted, spreading margarine over a triangle of toast.

“What? Why not?”

“It’s how the crown recoups investments. What if we must repair or rebuild a bridge and the cost of materials and labor has increased? No, no.” He wagged his finger and took a bite. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

A growl rumbled in my throat. Though Devorian had abdicated his throne to me, the antiquated laws of Volarre still technically required a male principal ruler. That meant I was only the “provisional ruler” until I could revise the statute to the satisfaction of my father’s senior advisors. Hubert supported me, but the other two were cantankerous old bats.

For this, I often found myself resenting Devorian, even when he was only trying to help.

I nearly asked why I would listen to the imbecile who had resurrected the Moth King, but bit back my retort as Devorian’s wife entered the room.

“Are we in danger?” Larabelle asked. Her brown hair, which tended to adhere tightly to her scalp, needed fluffing, and her alabaster cheeks practically begged for rouge. She was lovely, but always quaintly styled, the daughter of a middle-class merchant. I would have intervened, but she disliked fuss on her account. Besides, Devorian might claw me to ribbons if I so much as changed a hair on her head, so fiercely did he love the pretty little mouse.

My brother’s superior expression yielded to a smile so sickeningly sweet that he almost looked like a theatrical mockery of a doting lover. “No, my darling, we aren’t in danger,” he cooed.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, turning to me. “I heard—”

“Not at all.” I waved to dismiss her concern and massaged my forehead. I had imagined ruling would be easy with Valory as queen of Calgoran and Kadri Lillis as queen of Yorth. The rest of the Realm Alliance members were friends, as well: Mercer Fye, Tilmorn Fye, Melkior Ermetarius, and Kadri’s husband, Fabian Veloxen. With so many powerful, good people working toward a common cause, recovering and rebuilding should have been straightforward.

But all that power somehow amounted to weakness; we were so painstakingly careful not to overplay our hand.

I rose from the chair and parted the sea of attendants standing by, shooing them away. “You are all dismissed.”

“You aren’t going to the crowd, are you?” Perennia asked, but I didn’t answer as I marched down the corridor, one of my heeled slippers catching on the sapphire carpet. I sped to a run and descended the curving staircase.

At last I shoved open the door

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