Page 13 of A Promise of Lies (Shadows of the Tenebris Court #3)

12

Bastian

“ T hey still haven’t made the hair dye public.” I scowled as I stalked down the corridor at Braea’s side.

“Of course they haven’t.” She rolled her eyes and stifled a yawn.

It wasn’t long after sunset, but we had a Convocation meeting, so I was giving my “wake up” report to her while we made our way there. Not ideal, but neither was a meeting so early in her day.

“And unfortunately,” she went on, “there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re not saying anything until we have evidence in our hands. We’ll look like fools grasping at straws and things are shaky enough as it is right now.”

It was comforting to hear my own words reiterated back at me. I was right, and she agreed. My earlier questions about Kat had been forgotten, and things between us were smooth once more.

It also put my mind at ease over keeping Cyrus’s guilt from her. I didn’t want to come to her without proof, not when it might affect her behaviour towards Dawn and we had nothing to back it up. The fewer people who knew, the less danger rumours could come out before we were ready with a case against him.

Braea pursed her lips as we rounded a corner. “Well done for getting the information, though. Someone is trying to frame us and Hydra Ascendant. But this business with the dye means there’s evidence somewhere—we just need to find it.”

I’d been to the Hall of Healing a few times since Cyrus’s proclamation, but Elthea was always with patients or not there. The longer she avoided me, the more suspect it all became.

“Cyrus must be suppressing it. He’s cleverer than I gave him credit for,” Braea muttered. Then, with a wave of her hand, she glanced at me. “Leave Cyrus to his machinations for now. I want you focused on those ashes we spoke about.” She arched one eyebrow meaningfully.

It was all I could do to keep up with the fallout from Lucius’s death and the changes in Dawn. I only had resources to pay the barest lip service to searching for the Crown as well.

“Top priority, remember,” she said with a lilt like I was a teen who needed to be brought back on track. “If we have it, we have more power, then overgrown princelings and silly little splinter groups won’t be a threat.”

“Of course. I’ve asked Lysander for help, too. Eyes outside the city.”

It was true in a way—I’d asked him to help search for the fox shapechanger Krae beyond the city walls. Living on his own estate, Lysander’s comings and goings weren’t under scrutiny, whereas it would be noticed if I left the city—by the queen and others.

Yet I felt a pang of guilt at Braea’s look of gratitude. “You asked him? I know you don’t have the easiest relationship, so I appreciate your sacrifice all the more. I should’ve given more credit to your commitment.”

The request had stuck in my throat. There had always been friction between us—I suspected my shadows reminded him of the whispers about unseelie heritage in his own bloodline. He was a shadowstepper, after all, able to disappear into darkness and reappear elsewhere. But I’d needed help, and he was the person best placed to do it.

With this many troubles piling on top of each other, I couldn’t afford to be picky.

Stars willing, we would find Krae and they would have the evidence we needed to prove Cyrus’s guilt. When that happened, Braea would have as much gratitude for my minor deception as she did for the “sacrifices” she thought I’d made searching for the Crown of Ashes.

We turned one last corner and found ourselves facing the double doors to the Convocation chamber as they opened. Beneath the domed roof that was one third day, one third night, and one third the twilight in between, a large oval table housed the other Convocation members. They acknowledged our entrance, inclining their heads.

“Your Majesty,” the Mistress of the Vault, Deema, said, “thank you for joining us at what I know is such an early meeting for you. From Bastian’s report, it sounded like we had plenty to discuss, so I thought it best to schedule as much time as possible.” Her pastel blue hair glinted in the light coming from the starry wall sconces as she gestured to the pots of tea and coffee set up to one side.

The delicate pastries stacked on platters made my heart ache for Kat. She wouldn’t have been able to choose between the raspberry frangipane tart or the chocolate and hazelnut swirl, so she would’ve taken one of each. Then she’d have spotted the swirled cinnamon buns drizzled with icing and grabbed one of those, too.

“It may be early for you,” Deema went on as we took our seats, “but it’s late for us, so I hope you’ll forgive us any yawning. I had some food sent up in case you hadn’t broken fast yet.” Her smile was so charming, I found myself returning it as I attempted to shake off thoughts of Kat.

“Yes, yes,” Mored, the Master of Magic, huffed with a dismissive wave of his hand, “all very cosy, I’m sure. But we have business to attend to, Deema, and Her Majesty’s time is precious.”

As others murmured agreement, I was sure Mored muttered, “As is mine.”

The Chancellor, Lucan, twisted the delicate handle of his coffee cup between his fingers. “Well, I believe the first order of business is one raised by Her Majesty. In light of the— ahem —subject matter, we thought it best to carry out this meeting without Prince Sepher.”

“Actually, it was Bastian’s item.” Braea gestured that I had the table.

The Marshal of the Field, Tor, regarded me and gave what looked like a nod of approval.

I planted my coffee cup and outlined the points we’d worked on. In short, Cyrus’s new laws were impossible to police, unfair to shapechangers, and potentially damaging to anyone who might be accused of being a member of Hydra Ascendant. They opened up far too many opportunities for old enmities to lead to false accusations. We’d already encountered one case where so-called evidence of membership had been planted on a neighbour.

For the most part, Tor and Lucan kept their reactions in check. No clues if they agreed or not. Deema wore a tight little frown that I couldn’t decipher, but I caught her nodding once or twice. The Marshal of the City, Galiene, kept glancing at Lucan. Every time I caught her, she shot upright and fixed her eyes on me like she’d been paying attention all along. Mored outright scowled.

As always, with the Convocation, this wasn’t going to be straightforward.

“What’s more,” I went on, “these laws won’t even make anyone safer. As the case with the warring neighbours shows, this is likely to make folk less safe. Not to mention the potential for the register to be abused. We all know how many still hold prejudice against them for nothing more than what they are.”

Braea leant forward, elbows on the table. She’d rolled up her sleeves at some point, giving her the air of someone ready to pitch in. “My Shadow speaks for me in this. I must hand it to Cyrus, he’s surprised me. I always thought he’d be much more interested in erecting statues of himself and throwing elaborate parties than introducing new laws.” She shared a smirk with the group. “He’s a loose cannon.”

Lucan gave a soft chuckle, echoed by Galiene. Both came from Dusk, who were marginally outnumbered in the Convocation when Dawn’s representative was here. An odd number meant no stalemates when voting. But having both Braea and me in attendance without Sepher or Cyrus gave us the advantage for once.

Braea spread her hands. “With the current landscape of the courts in mind, what can be done?”

Galiene gave a long exhaled as though gathering herself. “This is a delicate matter. His Majesty acted unilaterally in his speech.” She grimaced as if reliving the moment. “However?—”

“ However ,” Mored cut in, “this is clearly just a case of youthful exuberance. He wants to stamp his mark on his new rule.”

I clenched my jaw against replying with a reminder that Cyrus was the same age as me and yet I didn’t run around acting like a fucking prick. Well, except for running after him into Dawn.

But it was no surprise that Mored, from Dawn, was supporting his king.

“‘Youthful exuberance’ is no excuse to damn a whole segment of the population.” Deema spread her brown hands on the table, piercing Mored with a look.

He held her gaze, but his normally pale cheeks flushed.

Before either of them looked away, Lucan waded in. “After what happened to his own father, it’s no surprise he feels a need to act. And, besides, shapechangers are animal half the time—perhaps it’s best not to trust them.”

Lucan’s tone was gentler than Magic’s, as if to soften the blow, but it still stunned me. His attitudes I expected to hear out in the backwaters, but he, a member of Dusk Court, was agreeing with Dawn on this. And Deema had agreed with us. This wasn’t split along court lines.

With an apologetic smile, Galiene canted her head. “We do tend to arrest more shapechangers relative to their population levels. They’re just more inclined to violence and other animalistic tendencies than normal fae.”

A low growl came from me—one Faolán would’ve been proud of. Yes, he was capable of ripping apart a kelpie with his bare hands—Rose had witnessed it—but in my father’s memories I’d seen atrocities committed by dozens of fae who weren’t shapechangers.

All they’d required was permission from leaders who made their enemies less than people and the goading of their peers. Who can kill more? Who can make their victim scream the loudest? Whose mutilation is the most inventive?

Coffee churned in my stomach as the memories gripped me so hard I couldn’t speak.

If they were “normal” fae, give me abnormal any day.

Tor cleared their throat. “There’s been talk of shapechangers leaving the city.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Galiene murmured. When Deema and I snapped our attention to her, she straightened, pushing her dark brown braids from her face. “For their safety, I mean.”

Tor scowled, their brow furrowing so fiercely they reminded me of my baba for a moment. He’d once occupied that seat on the Convocation—before the wars of succession, long before he’d been branded a traitor.

“ Not for their safety or ours,” they said. “Many of my best people are shapechangers—scouts, fighters, leaders. It’s shortsighted to let your petty prejudices cloud your judgement. Galiene, I’m particularly disappointed by your assessment—I’m sure many invaluable members of the City Watch are shapechangers. How will the city fare if they all leave because they’re afraid?”

Mored snorted, leaning on the arm of his chair. “If they’re so fantastically skilled, what do they have to be afraid of?”

The general leant forward, lips flat, but it was Deema who stepped in. “Aren’t false accusations enough for you?” Her voice was soft, like an approaching storm. “Last week, there was an altercation. Someone attacked a shapechanger, crying out treason, calling them a murderer. Someone else accused them of eating babies.” Her gaze cut its way around the table. Even Mored looked away when she reached him. “ Eating babies .” The quiet fury in her voice trembled like that storm was coming closer. “Others stepped in to protect them, but still more joined the attack. It ended up as a fight in the streets with a dozen dead.”

That struck the room to silence.

“We can ill afford to lose so many.” Lucan inclined his head.

“I’m not finished.” Deema’s teeth flashed as though she’d like nothing more than to sink them into the next person to say a word. “I woke up this morning to find a threat painted on our door.”

Galiene’s dark eyes widened. “Your door? I’ve heard no report of this. I didn’t?—”

“And why would we report it to you?” Deema scoffed. “After all, isn’t it ‘for the best’ if my husband gets out of your city? That will make it pure for all the ‘normal’ fae, won’t it?”

Another silence yawned open, filled with fidgeting and downcast gazes.

I already knew Deema’s husband was a shapechanger, but it seemed the others didn’t. I made a mental note to have someone watch their house going forward. I trusted my people not to harbour foolish prejudices more than I trusted the City Watch.

“I’m sorry,” Galiene said at last. “I’ll look into it personally.”

“It is… unfortunate,” Lucan added.

Deema looked like she was going to give a barbed reply, so I intervened. “I’m sorry things have been allowed to escalate to this point, Deema, for you, your husband, and all the other shapechangers who call Tenebris-Luminis home. This has clearly become an issue already—one we must act upon.”

“Bastian is right,” Braea said, leaning forward with her fingers steepled. “We need solutions, not a debate.”

Lucan winced. “I’m not sure repealing these laws so quickly will be possible. Not in the current circumstances.”

“Besides,” Mored muttered, “imagine the paperwork.”

Tor shot him a stern look. “Unfortunately, the current situation we find ourselves in is something of a tightrope. Forgive me for saying, Your Majesty, but I’m sure you’re aware the attackers were all of Dusk descent.”

“Allegedly.” I couldn’t help myself. When they turned to me with raised eyebrows, I took a sip of coffee, like this was only idle gossip and not an attempt to plant a seed of doubt. “I heard a number of the attackers were found to have dyed their hair.”

A laugh burst from Mored. “Oh, really? They’re impostors now, are they? You can’t trust everything you hear, Marwood.”

Galiene twisted her mouth. “Unfortunately, reports from that day do seem to be a little muddled. An early one I received stated that one of the bodies had a tattoo of the Celestial Serpent, suggesting they were from Dusk.”

Shit. I took another sip of coffee, composing myself behind the cup. That had to be my other self’s body—someone must’ve seen the tattoo before I could remove him from the morgue.

Galiene went on, “I can’t see a member of Dawn Court doing something so permanent for the sake of impersonating Dusk. True or not, we couldn’t confirm the presence of that tattoo on a later re-inspection of the bodies.”

Braea gave a deep sigh that invoked all her many centuries. “That’s it, then, isn’t it? We can’t undermine the new king in such a public way.”

Lucan’s dark hair gleamed as he canted his head. “I’m afraid it isn’t advisable. At least not in the current climate.”

I squeezed the arms of my chair, wishing they were Cyrus’s throat. He was the one responsible for all of this, from the attack and assassination to the shitty laws he’d enacted in response. Stars help me—I was in real danger of punching him in the face the next time I saw him.

Shaking her head, Braea scooped up her tea cup. “The poor boy must be half out of his mind after everything he saw.”

There was some general muttering about how terrible the attack had been, though no one seemed to pick up on Braea’s phrasing. No one would ever have referred to King Lucius as a “poor boy.”

“These laws make it impossible for shapechangers to live and work, though.” I shared a look with Deema—her husband must’ve encountered similar issues to Faolán. I raised my hands, fending off objections. “I understand we can’t repeal the law. I get that. But what if we… add to it?”

Braea paused with the cup halfway to her mouth. “What did you have in mind?”

“Deema, what’s been the hardest part of the laws for your husband to deal with?”

She exhaled slowly and I could see her composing herself. At last she replied, “The curfew. Everyone knows where we live now—it’s too late to put that back in the bottle. But the curfew affects him every day. He struggles to get back on time from looking after his mother. He can’t visit his friends. We can’t go out for dinner.”

I nodded slowly. “One of my operatives is in a similar position. His life is suffering for it, and if you care about nothing else, so is his work for the crown. The man can’t do his job if he’s only allowed outside for a handful of hours per day.”

“Perhaps it’s best he isn’t allowed to roam freely,” Mored muttered behind his coffee cup.

Braea shot him a look so cold it burned. “I’m sure you’re not casting aspersions on one of my employees, Mored .”

His throat bobbed slowly as he blinked. “I—uh—of course, I would never dream of?—”

“That’s what I thought.” She gave him a smile just as frosty.

“You know”—Galiene nodded—“I think we could do something about the curfew. People could apply for a permit to be exempt.”

“That’s… actually an excellent idea.” Lucan sat up, and Galiene’s’s cheeks flushed.

As they turned to the topic of how the permits could be put in place, who’d be allowed one, reasons they’d be denied, I sipped my drink. They didn’t need to know I had every intention of granting one to everybody who applied.

Braea leant over to me and said in a conciliatory tone, “Try not to worry about Cyrus. He can be managed. Just give his paranoia a little rein and everyone will come around to our way of thinking.”

I narrowed my eyes, giving her a sidelong look. “You want him to look foolish?”

She raised one shoulder. “Would it hurt?”

“Some people, yes.” Hadn’t it already hurt Deema and her husband? Those dozen dead fae she had mentioned?

She dismissed my comment with a tilt of her cup before sipping from it.

I frowned. How far was she willing to go to make Cyrus look foolish—unstable, even? What would she let him do before she intervened?

“I see that look. Aren’t you always cautioning me to think of the stability of the courts? That’s exactly what I’m doing. We can’t undo what’s been done. Not yet, anyway.” She put down her cup and placed her hand on mine. “Patience, Bastian. Patience.”

I scrutinised her, throat aching. Words tangled there, but I couldn’t pick apart what they were. I swallowed down the fragments and pushed out my reply. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“There is always an opportune moment to act. When it comes, we’ll take it.”

When she squeezed, my shoulders eased. She was right. This was a strategy, as the courts so often demanded—it was no different from the pretence with Ella.

We had been backed into a corner. I just hoped we would find a way out before Cyrus hurt anyone else.