Page 72 of A Promise of Lies (Shadows of the Tenebris Court #3)

71

Kat

B eyond the day to day of working out how the hells to manage elections in a country that had never held them, the first task I had as Kingmaker was to venture south to the border.

There were negotiations before that, of course. Asher and Perry acted as our diplomats, liaising with Queen Elizabeth’s representatives. We agreed to open up trade and travel between Albion and Elfhame.

Amongst the negotiations had been confirmation that no relatives of Robin Fanshawe had been found. Markyate Cell belonged to me. Though Perry confirmed there was some discomfort on Albion’s part. A foreign not-quite-queen owning Albionic land? That wouldn’t do. It was a thorn I needed to work out.

Otherwise, all that remained was to meet and sign the agreement.

There was an alarming moment just as we were leaving the city and a host of riders arrived. Bastian braced for a fight, and I reached for the yew bow hanging from Vespera’s saddle as soon as I saw their insignias.

Crimson and gold hydras. The real Hydra Ascendant, this time, not Cyrus’s fake version.

The same questions had to run through Bastian’s head as raced through mine. Had they come to put Amaya on the throne? Was this an attack to avenge Sura? How many would die today?

But as the tension hummed, stirring my magic, the woman who rode before them approached and knelt before Bastian, laying down her sword. “We offer our weapons and allegiance to Dusk Court’s rightful ruler… if His Majesty is willing to take it.”

It delayed our setting off by a day, but it was worth it to see how everyone looked to Bastian for an answer and how he didn’t hesitate to pardon and welcome them into service. He might command shadows, but now he was no longer hidden by them.

Understandably, the citizens of Tenebris-Luminis were wary—after all, as far as most of them knew, these people had been their enemies. The Solstice attack and the bloody wedding weren’t memories that would fade quickly.

Rose came up with the good idea of them helping round up the remaining Horrors to return them to the Underworld where Drystan might be able to return them to their true selves using the book we’d given him.

With that settled, we set off for the border at last. We arrived as the last stones were being removed from the wall between our realms to create a gap to allow for easier trade.

A young sycamore tree stood ready for planting, its roots balled up, though soon they would spread between Albion and Elfhame, sealing our bargain. It had been enchanted to block those with ill will from passing in either direction, including fae monsters, but would allow folk to travel between our nations a little more easily.

I paused outside the tent that had been erected to shelter the queen from the summer sun. A ball of anxiety twisted and turned in my stomach.

A warm hand closed over my shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I haven’t seen many people able to deny a deal with you—myself included.” He flashed me a grin before offering his arm. “Particularly not when you’re wearing those damn boots .”

It was probably considered a dirty tactic to introduce an additional item right as we were supposed to sign the papers—something akin to poison being a woman’s weapon. But I didn’t trust this to cold lines of text in a message. I needed to ask for it— demand it—personally.

So I took his arm, adjusted the Crown of Ashes, and together, we entered the tent.

The queen was as regal as ever, sitting with that effortless elegance I’d admired in Lunden. And her crimson hair was as shocking as ever against her pale skin.

Though now I saw her, I realised how much brighter mine had grown in my time in Elfhame—the same impossible colour as hers. I hadn’t been born fae-blooded like her, but I had been changed by living amongst their magic and eating their food.

I’d been changed by more than that.

So I was able to approach her as I wanted. Not playing the part of a lady. Not crossing my hands. Not making sure I was just demure enough.

But as myself, with thigh high boots and a gown of night and starlight that showed off too much of my body.

I returned the queen’s knowing smile, and I managed to keep it on my face when I met Lord Cavendish’s gaze. The real one this time. He stood at her shoulder, a little too close. And there was something about the way his arm brushed hers that revealed a closeness I hadn’t noticed in Lunden.

They were lovers.

Good for her. I only hoped he was far nicer than unCavendish.

Bastian’s hand covered mine with a reassuring squeeze that asked if I was all right seeing the face that had abused me. I gave the barest nod. I was no longer in that place. I had support and resilience and all the joys of a life to help me weather the storms of panic and trauma. And when they failed, I had had counted breaths and numbered sensations to keep me in the here and now.

I didn’t need to go away anymore.

There were niceties, though I was still getting used to the deference people gave when you wore a crown. Honestly, I was impatient for them to be done.

We finally got to the contract.

Sepher had asked me to sign as his proxy, since he remained in the city, helping with the forthcoming elections. I paused with the pen over the paper. “There is one more thing.” Unhurried, I set it down, making Cavendish frown. “We can’t be allied with anyone who’d treat marriage in such an archaic way, leaving too many stuck in pairings that are unhappy at best… and dangerous at worst.”

The queen pressed her lips together. “Yes, I’ve heard about you stealing my subjects the past few months. We can’t have that.”

Shit. I hadn’t counted on news spreading so fast.

“These women aren’t being ‘stolen,’” Bastian cut in smoothly as I hesitated. “They come to Elfhame of their own accord.”

“And,” I went on, “they wouldn’t need to come if they could simply petition for divorce without needing a royal decree.”

Her nostrils flared as she speared first Bastian, then me with a sharp look. Cavendish mirrored her, leaning forward, ready to whisper in her ear.

“Shouldn’t people be allowed to choose who they marry?” I eyed them both, knowing full well that in such a world, they would be allowed to marry rather than being secret lovers. “Isn’t that a fair way to live?”

She grumbled in agreement.

“And therefore shouldn’t they also be allowed to choose who they divorce?” I held my breath for every woman shackled to a Robin of her own. My own fears caught my voice. I was lucky, they were old, but for too many others they were fresh and current.

“People change… or reveal who they really were all along.” Bastian’s tone of painful truth made my heart sore. “Keeping women locked in marriage to such men is… it’s a cruelty beyond comprehension.”

Cavendish’s eyebrows pulled together. “But the nation?—”

“Divorce is freely allowed in Elfhame. It always has been. Our realm has not fallen apart. The fabric of the world has not shredded away. Albion will be fine.”

The queen considered Bastian, and I could see her teetering on the edge of agreement.

I took off my crown. “I’m not asking this of you as a Kingmaker, I ask it as someone who suffered under those old laws. You didn’t put them in place, but you can change them.”

Her chin rose as she took a deep breath. “Very well. But once we have new laws in place, you’ll stop harbouring women fleeing their husbands.”

“Assuming those new laws keep them safe.”

With a grumble, she waved for the scribe to come over and I silently celebrated my victory.

Once the deal was updated and signed, the queen looked up at me, an amused quirk to her mouth. “There was someone who petitioned most vehemently?—”

“Demanded,” muttered Cavendish.

“—to join us on this journey north. Someone who wished to see you.” She gestured to a guard, who opened the tent flap.

Grey haired and as familiar, rough, and comforting as an old woollen coat, in walked Morag. Horwich leant on her, limping worse than before I’d left.

The sound that escaped me wasn’t the Kingmaker’s. It was all Kat.

I didn’t tell my legs to move, but somehow I was crossing the tent.

Morag hunched over in a bow. “Your Maj?—”

“Stop that. Stop that right now.” I gathered her into a hug, squeezing as hard as I dared. “You’re here. But you never leave the estate!”

“For you, I have.” She clapped me on the back, perhaps a little more softly than usual, then pulled back, giving me the same Look she always did. “You look…”

“It’s just a dress. And, yes, I brushed my hair.” I laughed, though it teetered on the edge of a sob.

“You look… happy .” She nodded as she said it, as though her body needed to emphasise that word and not just her voice.

I took her hand and Horwich’s. “I am.” Gods, my eyes burned. Because I was. Happiness wasn’t something I’d expected—not since I’d grown into a woman and discovered the reality that came with that. It wasn’t something I’d dared hope for. And yet, somehow, I’d stumbled into it.

No. That wasn’t right. There had been some stumbling, true, but also, I’d grown my happiness, nurtured it along with myself.

I stroked their papery skin, eyes burning at the way Horwich’s chin trembled for me. “And I want you to be happy, too—both of you.” I angled my head to one side, raising my voice. “Would it please the Queen of Albion to see Markyate Cell in the hands of two of her own subjects rather than someone who wears a foreign crown?”

There was a thoughtful pause. “That would solve the last issue standing between us, yes.”

Morag stared past me, the wrinkles in her face deepening.

With a breathy laugh, Horwich shook her shoulder. “Don’t scowl like that. She’s giving us the estate.” He shot me a look, eyes wide. “You are, aren’t you?”

I grinned and squeezed their hands. “You two have been running it without me for long enough. Now it isn’t in debt, I daresay you’ll be able to turn a profit, and knowing you two, you’ll have all the tenants on board, too. Or maybe you’ll give them all their parcels of land or sell them. I don’t know. It’s yours to do with as you wish.”

Morag touched her chest, sharp eyes bright like she might cry. “My home.”

“Your home.”

Once that piece of paperwork was drawn up and signed (only after Morag paused, pen hovering, and checked I was sure), Bastian and I emerged into the afternoon sun.

A hole had already been dug for the young sycamore tree, and we witnessed Asher and Cavendish lower its root ball into the rich earth. Queen Elizabeth stepped forward and poured a scoop of earth over it. “Let this tree stand as a marker of our alliance.”

“And a guardian of both our people.” Bastian accepted the hand trowel from her and added more soil to the hole.

I stood at its edge, able to look down at the tangle of roots and the rich earth without feeling like they were going to drag me down or that the soil would swallow me up and bury me alive. I took a handful from the pile that had been dug from the hole, needing to feel its grainy dampness.

It mingled soil from Albion and from Elfhame, the gently humming magic that had grown familiar. Ages merged in this handful, animals and plants that had died, cold minerals that had never lived.

Between poison and trees, I had died a couple of times. But now?

Now, I lived.