35. Keira

Chapter 35

Keira

I suck in a sharp breath, as I prick my finger on my sewing needle and a drop of crimson blood immediately wells up. I stick it in my mouth and ignore the snickers from two of the ladies in wait, Fiona and Eliora.

The queen turns to me, looks at the messy embroidery in my hands, and lets out an irritated huff of breath. Hers depicts a scenery of wildflowers, and mine, I don’t even know what I was aiming for.

There are half a dozen of us in this suffocating room. The walls are painted white and decorated with purple borders and prints. Everything else matches, the couches we sit on, the tiny table loaded with pastries and tea, even the abundance of cushions scattered everywhere. I am so sick of seeing royal purple.

A knock resounds on the door, and a servant hurries to open it. The voice that drifts in releases the frustrated tension that has built within my shoulders all morning.

“I am here to escort my sister to her lessons.” Diarmuid’s words trail into the room.

The queen places down her embroidery, gets up from the couch with a graceful sweep of her skirts, and walks to the door. “Which lessons is it today, Diarmuid?” Her tone is cold, as though her patience is stretched thin.

My brother constantly plans lessons for me, from anyone who will take me. Always to help me adjust to the royal court or to be closer to Finan. They are my escape and sanity.

“Harp lessons,” Diarmuid says with a straight face. “His grace Prince Finan has expressed an interest in having Keira play music for him.”

Both Fiona and Eliora bristle, their spines snapping straight. The other two ladies in wait become very interested in their needlework.

“Do you think you are the only one that Finan has taken to his bed?” Fiona hisses at me low enough that the queen cannot hear. This is not the first time she has thrown it in my face. “That he promised to be his queen?”

“Ever wondered what he was doing here in the capitol, while you were in your backwater hovel? Or who he was doing?” Eliora crackles a most undignified laugh.

It should needle me. It should rip my heart in two. Not so long ago, the betrayal would have destroyed me.

But I don’t care.

My only reaction is the sheer fatigue that rolls through me, because I have to put these women in their place. They cannot talk to me like this when I am their princess, or their queen.

I raise an eyebrow at them. “That’s funny. I don’t see a ring on either of your fingers? Just mine then? Perhaps the promises he told you were lies to naive, overwilling little girls, while he waited for his true bride to arrive.”

They both recoil as though slapped.

“Maybe he’ll keep his lovers after he is married,” Fiona mutters, trying to claw any victory over me.

I exhale, glance at the queen to make sure she still cannot hear the exchange, then turn back to both women. “Envisioning yourself having his royal bastards are you? I wonder what would happen to them on the next ascension?”

I hate the woman I have be to survive here .

Both Fiona and Eliora become absorbed in their embroidery again, but there is a faint smile on Nadia’s face at their put down.

The queen returns, laying out her skirts perfectly as she takes a seat on the couch, then combing her fingers through her blond hair. Her cool blue eyes capture mine. “Everyone out. I would have a private word with Keira.” She doesn’t even look at the other ladies as they scurry out.

I glance over at Diarmuid, still standing just inside the door, but he only raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

“I know what you are doing, Keira,” Queen Andrea says. “You do not like to sit with the ladies and baronesses, to talk about silly little things while sewing cushions that do not matter, but this is how we hold court. A lord can be gently swayed by his wife, or his temper calmed by her. It is important that we know them well and make sure their petty grievances are heard. That we have them in our pocket for when they are needed.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This is not why I agreed to marry Finan.

Queen Andrea pins me with her stare. “We may be grossly overshadowed by the men in this family, true power may be out of our grasp, but it is our job to make sure all the little things run smoothly. You were over indulged by Lord Appleshield. Led to believe your opinion matters as much as a man’s. To think that he passed over a son, and made his daughter his heir purely because she was his oldest!” The queen laughs.

“This is your life now. You might think things are different between you and Finan. You might think that this won’t happen to you when you become queen, but it will. I was once as strong willed as you are. Finan is exactly like his father, and neither would tolerate it. I say this from a place of kindness: learn your place and learn it fast.”

I gawk at the queen, absolutely dumbfounded. The blood drains from my face.

“You are dismissed for your harp lessons.” She flicks her head to the door .

I get up on unsteady feet and leave.

“Are you okay?” Diarmuid asks from behind me, as we move beneath a columned walkway that is open to a courtyard garden on one side.

“She voiced my worst fear,” I say.

“Don’t worry about the queen. She is old and bitter and gave up decades ago,” he mutters back, but a frown creases his brow.

I give him a sidelong glance. Diarmuid’s mousy brown hair is oiled and reaches his shoulders in the latest court fashion, and it is incredibly strange to see it in a semblance of neatness. To see any druid well put together. I guess he is trying to find his feet here.

There is a sheen of sweat on his face alongside the scattering of freckles. I wonder how he can handle wearing the brown druid’s robe in this heat.

It is the attire of a court druid, tailored to fit like a long surcoat that wraps around his waist, but surely he could wear silk. Some druids, those of the wilds, wear little more than rough cotton rags for their robes and walk barefoot, even on the coldest of days.

We pass through bands of brilliant sunlight and shadow created by the columns, and each time the sun rays hit my skin, beads of sweat prickle across it. There is too much stone baking and no breeze at all in this city.

“I may have lied about the timing of your lesson.” A sly smirk forms on Diarmuid’s lips. “You have at least half an hour to get there. Where would you like to go? The library or the gardens?”

The thought of greenery runs a shiver down my spine. “Definitely the gardens. Take me down the route past Finan’s sitting rooms, so maybe I will cross paths with him.”

We get lost in talk of home as we travel through the portico passageways of the sprawling palace, until we hear someone yelling. I shoot a look at Diarmuid. I quickly realize that we are almost outside Finan’s rooms, and the curses coming from within are shouted by the king.

Diarmuid pulls me into a shadowy alcove that leads into a disused servant’s staircase, and we wait and listen .

“You stupid fool, Finan!” The king roars. “You brought home the wrong sister in your haste!”

“I will not be spoken to like that, father.” Finan’s voice is hard.

“Do you know what this missive says? What my contact there has reported? Appleshield’s oldest daughter is pregnant to the magic. Do you have any understanding of the benefit that would have had for our lineage? But instead you brought back the pretty one that sucks your cock.”

I recoil sharply, but Diarmuid puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s no surprise to us that the king is an asshole. Don’t let his words affect you.”

“I don’t care that Caitlin is pregnant to the magic.” Finan growls back. “I love Keira, and she is the woman I will marry.”

“We should get out of here,” I whisper to Diarmuid, my heart sinking despite how Finan defends me. “I don’t need to hear this.”

“Agreed,” Diarmuid pulls me away by the elbow.

My mind wanders as much as my feet as we stroll through the garden. I struggle to focus on the harp lesson afterwards. It keeps whirling into the next day, when the king holds court to hear the petitions of the people.

The great hall is filled with royal subjects of all classes, waiting for King Willard to hear their grievances.

His throne of wrought gold and purple velvet is at the center of a white marble dais, raised multiple steps above the rest of the hall. To the king’s right side, the queen sits in a smaller chair, their younger son Niall beside her. On the king’s left sits Finan in a throne that almost matches the king’s. As Finan’s betrothed, I sit on a stool to his side.

It is surreal to be on the dais with the royal family. To hold court with them, even though I cannot speak. My job is to be Finan’s pretty accessory.

Restless people pack into the hall, commoners, merchants and lords alike. Each group is sorted depending on their station, with the poorest at the back.

A row of guards separate the people from the royal family and escort each petitioner before the king when it is their time to speak. The king’s many advisers are seated in neat rows just below the dais, with Diarmuid amongst them.

The white noise of hundreds of voices in constant chatter bounce off the stone walls. The only windows are high slits, so the temperature rises as the morning progresses from all the body heat. Despite the high ceilings, the space is suffocating.

I try not to cringe at the white banners draping from the ceiling and the arrangements of white flowers in great vases, a continued announcement of the coming royal wedding. It is strange that I think of it in third person. Not as my wedding.

Finan taps his fingers on the arm of his chair to the beat of a common tune, reclined to one side and eyes glazed, as a lord speaks of a land dispute. I try not to send him an incredulous look, but keeping such a tight rein on my features for so long is exhausting.

“I think I would like a walk through the gardens after this.” Finan murmurs to me. “We could have a picnic and get the royal bard to play tunes for us.” A smile passes across his face.

Even though no one else could hear us, the idea of talking about the mundane throughout these proceedings churns my stomach.

It is not only the disrespect to the people amassed.

It is the complete indifference Finan shows to running the kingdom.

A ruler must know the political currents of his land inside out, even if news of failed crops or hungry peasants bores him.

“I would love that.” I force a lightness into my voice. “Is there always trouble at the border of Ethos and the Rice Planes?”

Finan actually waves a hand to dismiss the topic. “There is always something, somewhere. If you fancy, we could sneak out of the castle tonight and swim in the ocean…naked.”

My skin crawls. I need to stop that visceral reaction to him. “You know I would love to, my prince, but your mother keeps such a close eye on me.”

Finan grunts and returns to his tapping.

The procession of people continues on, their stories and needs so vastly different. I am startled when the petitioning lords and wealthy merchants are replaced by commoners, and a woman dressed in rags with three children and a baby hanging off her kneels before the king.

She wears a scarf that hides her knotted hair, and her skin is streaked with grime. I have never seen anyone so low in the depths of poverty.

“I petition my queen, mother to mother. Our babes are dying. There is a fever in the city, but it only affects us poor, because we don’t have enough food to feed the babes, or clean water to wash them. No coin for healers. As a mother, help us. Save our children.” The woman sobs.

The blood drains from the queen’s face. Her hands shake ever so slightly where they are placed on the rests of her throne. It takes a long time for her to drag her gaze away from the peasant. The muscles of my shoulders are taut and my blood races as I stare at Queen Andrea with horror.

The queen goes to speak, once, twice, then stops herself and turns to the king. He has a withering gaze focused on her and raises his eyebrows.

“I will defer to the wisdom of my king on this and all matters,” the queen finally says, then closes her eyes.

Something dies within me. The queen is utterly, utterly powerless, even on a matter the king would consider a small trifle.

“Do you not have access to fountains for clean water like the rest of the city?” The king immediately snaps.

The peasant woman bobs her head. “Not in the poor quarters. We must travel inside the wall for water, and it is a long trip with multiple children hugging my legs.”

“But you do have access,” the king points out.

One of the king’s advisers stands from his bench. “If I might add, your grace, the crown distributes grain amongst the poor, but in times of sickness it would be prudent to give them vegetables too. An infant can die from poor nutrition alone. There are much our kitchens and the markets reject as inferior quality.”

The queen gives the man a slightest nod of thanks, and the color returns to her features. I wonder if she sees this as one of her discrete wins, having a man speak for her on his whim, when she has probably put years of effort into nurturing a very unreliable alliance.

“We should send healers to investigate the situation and help where they can.” Prince Niall speaks and his father turns a predator's glare on him. “A sickness like that can quickly spread through the city and affect all of us.” Niall adjusts.

“Everyone seems to have something to say on this case. Very well.” The king flicks his fingers at his guards, and the petitioner and her four children are led away. He sends a dark look to his wife, as though she could have somehow orchestrated the whole thing.

Queen Andrea’s gaze follows the woman as she recedes through the parted crowd, an intensity within it. A queen should have the power to enact social change in her own city. Arrange regular food and healers for the poor. Have fountains built into their shanty town outside the city wall.

That desire burns in her, but the nervous tick of her hands shows she is a caged bird.

That is what I will become.

Panic rears up within me like a beast clawing its way out, and I push it all the way down with my grief and heartache, to be pulled out and felt later.

I glance at Finan. He isn’t even watching the proceedings. His mother could have used his support, and he was completely unaware. By the end of the long court session, I am absolutely fuming with him. A headache grows from grinding my teeth.

When the hall clears of petitioners and the king swaggers down the steps to speak with his advisers, I capture Diarmuid’s eye and indicate for him to come to me with a flick of my head.

“You need to school your face,” he whispers into my ear. “You look like you are about to skewer a trespassing Cú Sídhe. Breathe.”

“Ask Prince Niall to meet us in the library again tonight,” I whisper back.

Diarmuid nods. “Don’t forget to charm the prince. He looks thoroughly bored.” I give him a dark look and he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Make sure I am the first person to know if you change your mind about him and we have to get the hell out of here.” He squeezes my arm, then returns to the crowd of advisers.

The palace gardens calm me. We walk along paved tracks that are bordered with evergreen hedges, styled into swirling patterns and low mazes. Finan tucks my arm into the crook of his elbow and he holds a frilly umbrella over us, to protect our pale skin from darkening in the sun.

We cross a low bridge that spans over a man-made pond, walking until Finan finds a grassy spot that is suitable for our picnic. The servants quickly erect a small, canvas pavilion, with a blanket spread out with delicacies.

I watch Finan as he talks, his enthusiasm lighting up his entire face. I laugh when I am expected to laugh and only speak flattery. He weaves stories of the self he wants to be, rather than exposing his truths. I try so hard to stop the bile from rising in my throat.

I miss Aldrin so damn much. Everything was real with him. He dares to care about the people of the Spring Court, not because it is his duty, but because he is full of compassion.

Those thoughts open up a well of pain so deep and intense within me, I fear I will fall in and never be able to climb my way out.

I push him away. The memory of Aldrin’s beautiful face. The amused smile that lights up his eyes and his touch that I am desperate to feel again.

I don’t deserve a man like Aldrin, not when I left him at his most vulnerable point. I will not if he frees himself from the assassins, if he wins back his throne, unless he decides to open the portals. A shudder runs through me and force myself back to the here and now.

“Are you concerned about the famine at Rockpoint Bay? That their waters no longer hold fish. It must be terribly frightening for the poor people,” I ask Finan in an all too frivolous tone.

Finan gives me a long look. “Why do you care to talk about politics, Keira? It is unseemly for a lady, and quite frankly a bore. Leave all the petty decisions up to the advisers. It is their job, after all.”

“I worry for those poor people—” I try again .

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Here, have a sweet cake.”

I try my hardest not to grit my teeth at the condescending dismissal and take the damn cake.

I left Aldrin for this? A wave of dread crashes over me, threatening to drown me in its intensity. My throat closes up, and it is a struggle to breathe.

I can’t hear Finan talk. A loud ringing fills my ears.

Somehow, I make it through the picnic and back to my rooms, dismissing my maids immediately and stepping into the warm bath they prepared for me.

I hold my head in my hands and cry with abandon. My whole body shakes and my chest heaves with each sob that tears out of me in choked screams. I struggle to draw breaths in anything other than pants. Tears run down my face in torrents until the salt burns my skin.

All the grief I keep so tightly coiled up within me comes spiraling out and I am drowning in the darkness of it. I feel like I am lost in a maze and I don’t know my way out.

I am flooded by the image of Aldrin’s face, as I told him I was leaving. It haunts me, what I did to him. The way his features crumpled at my brutal words, and the utter defeat that crept over them. The mischievous smile disappeared from his face and the light in his eyes died. He deserved so much better.

My chest hurts from the heartache, like there is a blade inside it that keeps twisting and twisting.

I want to go back to Aldrin. To find that earlier version of myself and shake her for leaving. For putting everyone else first.

The water cools around me until I shiver, but I can’t find the willpower to get out of the bath. My fingers touch the beads of my moonstone bracelet, wishing I could still feel their pull. That the portals were not closed.

I find the single bead that bellows to the portal that led me to Aldrin. Each bead in the bracelet is different, all milky white with flecks and swirls of green, blue and yellow, but this one has a chunk of purple right in its middle. I hold it while longing for Aldrin crashes over me like a tidal wave that rushes in and out. I picture his beautiful face when it lights up just from looking at me.

Oh Aldrin. I am so stupid. Aldrin, find your way back to me. I need you, more than I need to breathe. Find me. Find me. Aldrin, save me.

It is pointless. All of this is pointless.

He is in another realm, on another world, so incredibly far away from my little kingdom of Strathia.

The bath is ice cold by the time I pull myself out of it. When I look in the mirror, my eyes are bloodshot, red rimmed and puffy. It will not do. The future bride of the heir to the kingdom cannot be seen looking depressed.

I gaze at myself in the mirror and will my need into being. I focus on those puffy eyes. Bore into them while visualizing smooth creamy skin, and the swelling slowly fades as the color adjusts. I shift my attention to the whites of my eyes, and the fact they are deeply veined and red, and focus my glamour magic until they too are gone.

I had not known I was capable of glamour until I had a need for it.

For reasons I cannot explain, I strap the dagger I won from Aldrin to my upper thigh. Shivers run through my body at the memory of his being blindfolded as I attacked him, and how we landed in the grass with his face buried in my chest.

I glance down at the knife. The large ruby in the hilt glitters in the orb light and a scattering of others decorate the blade, alongside decorative silver wire.

It is an utterly impractical design and I wonder why he kept it on him. If it had some sentimental value. It is the most precious thing I own. I get to keep a small part of him with me.

Diarmuid knocks on my door and escorts me to the library. I am emotionally exhausted and completely numb inside, and I think he notices despite my glamour. He gives me a long look, but doesn’t say anything.

We walk through the grand doors of the library and weave through the isles, the familiar smell of old paper and fresh ink a slave to my mind.

My attention wanders lazily across tall bookcases that reach to the ceiling and the ladders that run across them, all the deepest mahogany. Arching pillars break up the massive hall of the library and many golden orbs illuminate the space with a warm glow. We pass busts of ancient scholars that head each aisle like guardians.

I absentmindedly read the descriptive tags that hang over each region of books. One section is set in darkness, like they are purposely trying to draw people away, but curiosity draws me in.

I grab my brother’s arm. “What do you think is in there?” I effortlessly light an orb within my hand, guiding it over.

A mischievous smile forms on his lips as he glances over his shoulder. “Only one way to find out.”

It is unlabeled but crammed with books on the fae and the Otherworld. I skirt my free hand over the texts, all new in their binding.

There is a doorway at the end of the aisle, guarded with an iron gate and magical wards. With a flick of my wrist, I solidify and push the air within the lock to open the mechanism, and pry open a passageway in the weak magic of the ward. It is like pulling open curtains at their seam.

We both creep in. A mischievous smile grows wide on my brother’s face. He is always so easy to corrupt.

The tiny space holds a spiraling iron staircase that leads down to a room hidden below. My eyes widen at the texts within. They are so old, from the time of the Great War or earlier. History texts written about the fae, in the time they lived amongst us.

As I run my hands over the spines, I can sense the magical oaths bound into many, the author swearing the truth of what they write, accompanied by the magic of witnesses.

There is even a cabinet of Living Memory Scrolls at the back corner, exactly as I had witnessed in Aldrin’s library. I take a step toward them.

“My father would not take kindly to you being down here.” A voice stops me in my tracks, making cold sweat break out across me. I turn to Niall. “But I understand the curiosity. They put the wards on the door in the first place because I kept breaking into here as a child.”

This is a treasure trove for Aldrin’s cause .

The people of Strathia would trust these texts, since humans wrote them. And the fact the king kept them means they have value. I am sure they are key to proving that despite the war, the fae weren’t always an enemy. That we lived in harmony with them.

“I thought all the original texts from the Great War with the fae were destroyed,” I utter.

“There are too many inconvenient truths in here. Better that they remain hidden when the truth won’t change anything.” Niall looks at my brother. “Surely you don’t have a problem with secrets, druid?”

My brother coughs. There is no order more secretive than his.

Niall leads us back to the main hall of the library, past its centerpiece, multiple portals arranged in a circle. The great arches are of smooth, continuous pieces of moonstone that twist upon themselves, taller than any man and twice as wide.

They emit their own soft glow, with blues and greens and yellows shimmering within the milky white stone.

I stare longingly at them as we pass, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the stone.

When I first saw the portals here, I inspected every inch of them and felt their call. My heart had leapt because magic still brims within them and maybe, just maybe, there is still a way for me to get back to Aldrin.

It was a foolish thought.

These portals were once a gateway to the cities, castles or keeps in Strathia, and connected the royal court to the entire kingdom. Their destinations are engraved into each arch. My eyes fall on the portal that leads to Appleshield Castle and the image of its partner in the unkempt region of our gardens, covered in vegetation.

Niall catches my line of sight and gives a soft laugh. “I know you have an extraordinary amount of magic, Keira,” He gives a pointed look to the simple orb that still rests in my hand. “But it would take a team of priestesses to open one of those portals now. Maybe it's not even possible anymore.”

The prince leads us into a room with a small meeting table, and immediately sits at it, gesturing for us to do the same. It must be his personal space. There are books and scrolls strewn everywhere.

“Did you have any success with him today?” Niall asks eagerly.

I shake my head. “Apparently, my pretty little head shouldn’t worry about politics.”

“Shame,” Niall says, the tension coiling up in his shoulders. “I thought you might have more influence on Finan, to get him to pay more attention. Maybe try to be more subtle. Diarmuid, how are the card games going? We need you to be one of his favorites.”

“Wait, there was one thing he said.” I hold a hand to my temple as I think. “He said it's the job of advisers to make the petty decisions. He means running the kingdom.”

Niall writes notes and I watch him with pity. Here is a man who loves his people, who would be a good and just ruler, but is passed over because of his birth order.

He fears his brother will burn the kingdom to the ground with his apathy, and is desperately trying to take preventative measures.

Except, he has no power at all.

“Okay. Okay.” Niall rubs his eyes. “That's good to know. We can expand our little group of Finan’s guardians. Influence who ends up as his advisers when he ascends. I don’t fully trust half the men in that role at the moment. Neither does father, but he believes it is good to have our enemies close and hear their thoughts.”

“Does he not listen to you, Niall? Would you not be the best adviser for your brother?” Diarmuid asks.

“Gods no. Half the time he brushes me off as the little brother that knows nothing, and the other half, there is a viscous gleam in his eye like he sees me as a threat to his ascension.” A muscle ticks in Niall’s jaw.

The blood turns to ice in my veins. If Finan could harm his brother from jealousy or a threatened ego, then I do not know my betrothed at all.

All of this is pointless. We will never have sway here. I cannot save this realm from Finan, and neither can Niall. I am enduring this man I somehow agreed to marry for no good reason .

I cannot help Aldrin from this position.

I cannot unite our people.

I don’t even have mastery over myself.

The position of influence I thought I could work my way into will never come, that much is clear. I give Diarmuid a long look. Bitter disappointment turns my lips down and he sees exactly what I am thinking.

The pinch of his brow tells me Diarmuid has come to the same conclusion. Becoming Finan’s queen is not worth the great sacrifice to myself.

Anxiety ripples through Niall, as his gaze darts between us. “What I am about to tell you is not to leave this room. I fear my father’s health is on the decline and we may not have much time to reign in Finan. To either make him a capable king or have competent, ethical advisers around him who will rule in his stead.”

That statement is the last piece of the puzzle that makes it all so starkly clear.

Finan’s queen doesn’t really fit into that equation, in the same way that King Willard’s doesn’t. Niall sees me as a pleasant accessory to Finan, as someone who might soften him or have a small effect from whispering in his ear.

It is Diarmuid he wants.