Greythorne (Bloodleaf 2)

“Give the order,” Arceneaux whispered into my ear as I trembled. “Prove your loyalty. Say the word.”

“May I speak, Magistrate?” It was Father Cesare.

Arceneaux’s expression wrinkled just a little, but she gave a nod and a snap of her fingers, and the cleric released his grasp on the old priest. “Say what you need to say, Father.”

“While I appreciate the good magistrate’s desire to root out the disloyal, I wonder if perhaps there could be another time and place to conduct this kind of meeting. This is a holy house, a refuge from tribulation. It is not meant to hold trials.”

Cesare came to stand beseechingly before Conrad. My brother’s eyes flicked from Arceneaux to the priest. “There are many interpretations of our Book of Commands,” Cesare continued shakily, “but I choose to believe that our divine Empyrea is a goddess of light and peace. She would not want this.”

“Would she want us to believe the word of a drunken priest who spends more time cavorting with whores than ministering to his own flock?” Arceneaux’s voice was flat. “We know about your dalliances, Father.” Her eyes slid to mine. “We know everything. Including your allegiance to her. A known witch. We have here”—another acolyte scurried to thrust a bundle of papers into her hands—“letters between our late queen Genevieve and this priest acknowledging Aurelia’s witchcraft and conspiring to smuggle her from the country to keep her from ever having to face fair trial.” She shook the papers. “Dated eleven years ago. Locked away in her desk and discovered only when it was removed and dismantled.”

I closed my eyes; they’d gone through my mother’s effects. Destroyed her belongings. I wondered what, if anything, would be left of her in the castle that had once been our home.

“The priest is a witch lover!” someone shouted. “An enemy of the Empyrea!”

Father Cesare tried to reach for Conrad. “No, Majesty, I—”

“Stop him!” another voice cried. “He’s going after the king!”

I screamed as two of the acolytes stepped forward and ran Father Cesare through with their weapons, both at once, with eerie precision and without pause.

The priest’s body was suspended between them for several silent seconds, skewered by blades from both directions, until they withdrew their swords and it slid off, slumped backwards over the altar, and crushed the floral crown beneath its weight.

“May the Empyrea have mercy on your soul,” I growled out to Arceneaux, “for what you have done!”

“Last chance,” Arceneaux said, too quietly for anyone else to hear. “What are you going to do, little witch?”

Her blue eyes sparked as she waited for my answer.

There was no way to win this. If I used magic to stop her, she’d have the leverage she needed to continue to hunt and kill witches. Ordering Zan’s death to prove my loyalty would only implicate me further; no one would believe I didn’t just want him killed to save my own skin and cover my tracks—not to mention the additional charge of regicide that could be brought against me. And if Conrad tried at all to intervene, he’d look like a puppet, dancing to a witch’s will. Arceneaux had played her hand beautifully.

There could never be a “fair tribunal” now. In the eyes of the watching court, I was already convicted.

“That’s it?” Arceneaux said, almost disappointed. “Nothing to say? No magical powers to display? You’re weak.”

“Toris de Lena did not think so,” I muttered under my breath, “when I killed him.”

Her expression immediately hardened. “Take her!” she barked to Golightly, who grabbed my arms with surprising strength and hauled me up to the altar, forcing me to my knees beside Zan.

No one had bothered to remove Father Cesare’s corpse from the altar, and his sightless, upside-down stare seemed to be fixed upon me as the blood from his split-open belly seeped across the white satin.

It had spattered across Conrad’s shoes, too, and my heart twisted as I remembered noticing their newness in the maze. Straight-backed in his chair, my bloodstained brother met my eyes with a look of expectancy. As if he were asking, What are you waiting for?

The knife in my pocket. What had he said, not an hour ago?

&

nbsp; Keep it with you.

You’re going to need it.

Arceneaux’s voice lifted once more. “Aurelia Altenar, princess of Renalt, and Valentin Alexander, former king of Achleva: You have been tried by fair tribunal and found guilty.”

Conrad gave me a tiny, barely perceptible nod. Do it.

Beside him, Kellan’s jaw had become a rigid line. I hoped my eyes conveyed my silent command: Take care of my brother.

Zan’s gaze met mine as Golightly copied Lyall’s stance, situating his sword at the back of my neck.