The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

I nodded. At some point, we all had to start trusting one another.

He shrugged. “Have it your way. I know another one of your traitors. My father is no longer lord of County Düerr. He sits on the king’s cabinet.”

Pauline drew in a sharp breath. Kaden didn’t have to say a name. It was immediately apparent to her, much as it was to me. There was no one else in the cabinet with Kaden’s white-blond hair, or his warm brown eyes. Even the sound of his calm steady voice was the same. Everything that should have been obvious had eluded us and I realized there were assumptions we made about people, and once we did, that was all we could see—Kaden was a barbarian assassin, the Viceregent a respected lord descended from the Holy Guardians, and surely one could have nothing in common with the other.

Berdi and Gwyneth didn’t know the Viceregent and remained silent, but Kaden glanced from me to Pauline, wondering at her reaction. “Lord Roché,” he added to confirm his assertion.

For a moment I planned to lie to him, say there was no Lord Roché in the cabinet, afraid that he would storm off and get his head bashed in again, but he was already reading my eyes.

“Don’t lie to me, Lia.”

I braced myself, knowing he wouldn’t take this well. “I know who he is. I met with him two days ago. He’s a member of the cabinet as you said. He may have been a terrible father Kaden, but there’s no proof he’s a traitor.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

I had watched Kaden stomp toward the mill to check on the animals. I could almost see the steam rising from his shoulders.

It’s a lie! I have no relatives. My mother was an only child. The people who took me in were professional beggars.

I saw the rage in his face, but I also remembered the genuine grief in the Viceregent’s eyes. He was only eight, a grieving child who had just lost his mother.

If there was one thing I had learned, it was that time could twist and shred truth like a forgotten sheet battered in the wind. Now I had to piece the shreds together again.

I told Natiya I had another job for the priest, and at the first break in the weather, she was to go to him. A record of trained governesses was kept in the archives. Somewhere there had to be some information on one named Cataryn.

* * *

Dieci’s ears twitched with satisfaction as I scratched between them. I gave Nove equal affection and wondered if they missed Otto. The mill was dry, but one wall had tumbled away long ago, leaving the old building cold and drafty. Owls roosted in the high rafters. Natiya sat in a far corner, drawing a whetstone over her sword. We had sparred this morning. She was the one who had reminded me of the need to keep our skills sharp. The habits I had taught her across the Cam Lanteux remained deeply ingrained.

Pauline had watched with what I thought was a doubtful eye and later questioned me again about the Komizar’s army.

“They’re going to destroy Morrighan,” I said, “and traitors here are going to help them do it. We have to be ready.”

“But, Lia—” She shrugged, her expression full of skepticism. “That’s impossible. We’re the favored Remnant. The gods have ordained it. Morrighan is too great to fall.”

I looked at her, not sure what to say, not wanting to shake her world further, but I had no choice.

“No,” I said. “We aren’t too great. No kingdom is too great too fall.”

“But the Holy Text says—”

“There are other truths, Pauline. Ones you need to know.” And I told her about Gaudrel, Venda, and the girl Morrighan, who was stolen from her family and sold to Aldrid the scavenger for a sack of grain. I told her about the histories we never knew and the thieves and scavengers who were the bricks and mortar of our kingdom—not a chosen Remnant. The Holy Guardians were not holy at all. Saying it aloud to her felt cruel, like I had snatched a cherished piece of crystal from her hand and smashed it beneath my foot, but it had to be said.

She stood, dazed, walking around the cottage, trying to absorb this news. I saw her mind ticking through texts.

She whirled. “And how do you know the histories you found are true?”

“I don’t. And that’s the hardest part. But I know there are truths that have been hidden from us, Pauline. Ones we each have to find with our own hearts. Truth is as free as the air and we all have the right to breathe as deeply of it as we wish. It cannot be held back in the palm of any one man.”

She turned away and stared into the loft where the owls roosted. With each shake of her head, I knew she was trying to dismiss it, weighing my truths against the only other truth she had ever known—the Morrighese Holy Text.

Scavengers.

If it was true, this history robbed us of our elevated status among kingdoms. As I watched her, I understood with clarity why the Royal Scholar had hidden Gaudrel’s history away. It undermined who we were. What I didn’t understand was why he hadn’t just destroyed it. Someone had tried to once.

Pauline took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her skirt, smoothing it out. “I have to get back to the cottage,” she said. “It’s time for the baby’s feeding.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE