The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

This matter is finished!

Go to your chamber!

Rafe and Tavish looked at me waiting for the signal that I was ready.

Other voices sounded in my head.

Don’t tarry, Miz.

Trust the strength within you.

Nurse the rage. Use it.

That was easy to do. I drew my sword and nodded. The doors were opened, and I went in with Rafe on one side, Tavish on the other, Orrin and his best archers flanking us, Sven leading the lines of shield bearers before us, and more soldiers pulling up the rear, soldiers willing to lay their lives down for another kingdom and an uncertain cause.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

RAFE

Up until this point, everything had been planned with precision. From here forward, Sven said it was another half-assed plan, but he also noted that he was becoming more comfortable with military strategies that were half-assed. Tavish had snorted at the word strategy. As we stormed the hall, we had skill and surprise on our side, and little else. What the next minutes and hours would bring were uncertain, but I knew we were running out of time. I knew it the minute Lia had walked into the armory. There was already a war going on—the traitors against Lia—and right now it looked like the traitors were winning.

Tavish muttered under his breath as we rushed in, eyeing the long upper gallery and balcony that overlooked the hall. Lia had said it was accessible only from the royal wing, but if archers flooded it before we could secure it, we would be like fish in a barrel waiting to be speared one at a time. We guarded Lia’s back and one another’s. Lords and ministers gasped, too startled to grasp what was happening, as my men filled out the perimeter. Guards posted at the dais stayed their hands when our archers targeted them in their sights. Tavish and I kept close to Lia, our shields raised, watching, turning, scanning the room. Orrin flanked us with his men, their arrows already aimed at the two towers ready to return attacks.

Lia stopped in the center of the room and yelled that no one should move, promising they wouldn’t be hurt. She lied. There would be blood spilled. I saw it in her eyes, her face, her lips, the hungry rage. I thought it might be all that kept her standing. Her eyes were circled with shadows, her lips pale. I knew she had lied to me back at the armory. She’d lost a lot of blood. But I also understood the rush of battle and the surge of strength that kept dead men on their feet. Along with her desperate fury, it kept her going now.

I ordered the doors barred and the guards relieved of their weapons.

A lord who had been addressing the cabinet remained frozen on the large semicircular step at the front of the hall, unable to speak or move. I motioned to him with my sword. “Sit down.”

He scrambled back to his seat, and Lia walked up the steps, taking his place.

Her scrutiny passed over the cabinet, and she addressed each one, nodding her head as if in greeting, but I saw the fear in their eyes. They knew it was no greeting. Every one of them saw the thin line she walked, and the multiple weapons strapped to her side.

The Chancellor jumped to his feet. “This is preposterous!”

An echo of agreement rumbled around him, chairs scraping back as if to escort the insolent princess to her chamber.

Before I could say anything, Lia threw her dagger. “I told you not to move!” she yelled. The blade nicked the Chancellor’s sleeve and lodged in a carved wooden wall behind him.

A hush returned to the hall. The Chancellor held his arm, blood seeping between his fingers. His head shook with rage, but he returned to his seat.

“That’s better,” she said. “I don’t want you dead yet, Lord Chancellor. You’ll hear me out first.”

He may have sat, but he wasn’t silenced. “So you throw knives to muzzle the cabinet and have a ragtag collection of sword-wielding rebels whom you’ve compelled to follow you,” he said. “What are you going to do? Hold off the entire Morrighese army?”

I stepped forward. “As a matter of fact, yes, we are.”

The Chancellor skimmed the length of me, taking in my rough-spun clothes. His lip lifted in disgust. “And you would be?”

For someone in his precarious position, he showed no signs of backing down. His arrogance made mine blaze.

“I would be the king of Dalbreck,” I answered. “And I c

an assure you, my ragtag collection can hold off your army for an amazingly extended period of time—at least long enough to see you dead.”

The Watch Captain snickered. “Fool! We’ve met the king of Dalbreck, and you are not him!”

I closed the space between us and reached across the table, grabbing him by the front of his tunic. I jerked him to his feet. “Are you willing to bet your life on that, Captain? Because even though you’ve never seen me, I saw you from the cloister of the abbey on the day of my thwarted wedding. You nervously paced with the Timekeeper, cursing as I recall.”