The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

“Arabella, you can’t—”

“You promised, Father. This decision is mine.” I slid from the bed. “You should rest.”

He sighed, his lids drooping. “The other kingdoms will never—”

“They will have no choice. On this I won’t be swayed. Please trust me.”

His brows pulled down with worry, but then another question faded on his lips, the last of his energy spent, and his eyes closed.

* * *

My spirits were buoyed as I returned to my room. The image of my parents’ hands laced together kept surfacing. It was a simple gesture that was as unexpected as a summer shower. Some things survived, even when—

Rafe’s door swung open as I passed it, and he barreled out, plowing into me. We stumbled and caught ourselves, his hand landing on the wall behind me.

“Lia,” he said, startled. We were both steady on our feet now, but he didn’t move. The air crackled between us, alive in a way that made my skin tingle. Strain showed in his eyes, and he stepped away, creating space between us, the movement awkward and obvious.

I swallowed, trying to convince myself this was all part of letting go. “Where are you tearing out to?” I asked.

“I need to speak to Sven before dinner. I want to make sure he doesn’t bring his temper to the table. Excuse me, I—”

“I know,” I said flatly. “You need to go.”

He raked back his hair, hesitating. I knew, with that small movement, he was struggling to let go too, a piece at a time. Love didn’t end all at once, no matter how much you needed it to or how inconvenient it was. You couldn’t command love to stop any more than a marriage document could order it to appear. Maybe love had to bleed away a drop at a time until your heart was numb and cold and mostly dead. He shifted on his feet, his eyes not meeting mine.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, and he left to find Sven.

* * *

Shadows danced on the walls from the fire in the hearth. I removed my belts and weapons, hanging them on a hook, and crossed the room to my dressing chamber, feeling my way through the darkness as I let the rest of my clothes fall to the floor. I lit a candle on the bureau and grabbed a towel to wash up, but then something crept over me. A presence.

Jezelia.

I spun, my heart beating wildly, searching the corners of the chamber. His scent filled the air, his sweat, his confidence. My eyes frantically swept the room, combing the shadows, certain he was here.

“Komizar,” I whispered. I heard his steps, saw the glint of his eyes in the darkness, the chill as his hand circled my neck, his thumb pressing the hollow of my throat, feeling for the beat of my heart. There is always more to take.

And then he was gone. The chamber was empty as it always had been, and my breaths skipped through my chest. The lies, they will force themselves upon you. His lies. He taunted and cursed me with every mile he traveled. I had done the unthinkable—worse than stabbing him—I had stolen some of his power. I tried to force calm back into my heart.

I wouldn’t let his lies steal the victories of this day.

I took a cleansing breath and poured water into the washbasin, but then I froze, staring at the glistening surface. The pitcher slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor. Blood swirled in the water, fingers of red spinning before my eyes, a tempest that carried the wails of battle, the slice of a sword across flesh, the dull thud of bodies falling to earth. And then, just as quickly, it was only water again, clear and tame.

I backed away, trying to breathe, stumbling blindly through the room.

My brothers’ squads.

A painful gasp finally filled my lungs, and I searched for my clothes. My hands shook as I dressed, buckled belts, sheathed weapons, pulled on boots. My word was as true as Rafe’s. I headed for the cell that held the Viceregent.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

RAFE

Tavish told me Sven had gone to speak with Captain Azia about the rotation of soldiers guarding the prisoners. He hadn’t been able to get a word out of Sven. He was still closemouthed and steaming when he left. “But you know Sven. He always bellows about your half-assed decisions.”

“You think I’m wrong too?”

Tavish shrugged on his vest, getting dressed for dinner. “I always think you’re wrong. It usually works out. Don’t worry, he’ll come around.” He pulled on his boots then paused when he had one half-way laced. “But I’d hold off telling him about your other decision. That might blow the top of his head off.”