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Chapter sixteen

Seraphina

A ldric Hargrave? Impossible.

“Aldric Hargrave is dead,” Seraphina informed the short Drakmori. The Crown Prince of Drakmor had died fifteen years ago. She remembered that day well.

It was the day her father had finally announced her formal betrothal to Drakmor. But with Prince Aldric’s death, the marriage contract shifted to the younger Hargrave, Edmund.

Seraphina thinned her lips and glared at the little Crow. He must be mocking her. Or trying to trick her. And she didn’t like it. “Prince Aldric died many years ago.”

The scarred man sneered up at her and asked, “Did he?”

“Your Majesty!” a voice suddenly called, and Seraphina glanced back toward the Silver Lady to see Sir Arkwright and Sir Tristan both racing toward her across the beach.

When she looked forward again, she found the Crow and his monochrome companion had already withdrawn from her presence. They were well on their way to the edge of the jungle by that point.

“Wait!” she called after them both, though only the bronze-eyed man glanced back. But still, his steps didn’t slow. “I’m not finished with you!”

Sir Tristan leapt the last few steps toward her and positioned himself between her and the jungle. “Mistress Olivia will murder me if anything happens to you, you know,” he muttered under his breath.

Sir Arkwright reached her a few seconds later, panting from his sprint. “Is all well, Your Majesty?” he asked in between gasps. “We heard voices.”

Seraphina pursed her lips and directed to her Queensguard, “I want to know who those men were and I want to know now . Where is our Master of Ceremonies?”

As if the very voicing of his title had summoned him there, the Master of Ceremonies in question—the Viscount of Arlund—suddenly appeared from the direction of the jungle. Red-faced, he bustled toward her, a flock of assistants trailing in his wake.

“Your Majesty,” the viscount greeted her the moment he drew close enough to do so. “Forgive me for not being here when your ship first landed. I fear His Majesty arrived with more courtiers in his party than originally anticipated, and we were trying to find room for them all.”

A growing sense of unease gnawed at the pit of her stomach when Seraphina asked, “My lord, who was that just now? The short man with the Kunishi companion.”

“Ah, yes, that is what I was needing to talk to you about, Your Majesty,” Arlund answered. Procuring a handkerchief from inside his sleeve, he dabbed his glistening brow with the square of linen and explained, “It would seem His Majesty brought—”

But whatever else her Master of Ceremonies was about to say disintegrated into abrupt silence as he stared, wide-eyed, at something over her shoulder.

Seraphina pressed, “What? A man claiming to be his dead brother?”

But the viscount had no answers for her. She had clearly lost his attention.

The man whispered, “By all the stars in the sky…I received word we would be hosting an Oracle. But never in all my years did I think I would ever actually see one for myself.”

Seraphina stole a glance over her shoulder, looking past Sir Arkwright and toward the Silver Lady , where Oracle Tsukiko descended the gangplank with her Shield before her and her six other Redguard marching behind. In the afternoon light, the gold-clad Kunishi woman rivaled the very sun with her brilliance.

“Yes, we are honored by the presence of Oracle Tsukiko,” Seraphina softly agreed with her Master of Ceremonies. And though her curiosity over the strange man lingered, she entertained a respectful silence while awaiting the Oracle’s approach.

Tsukiko arrived in a shimmer of melodious bells, as ethereal and effortless as ever. The viscount and his assistants scrambled to bow.

“My lord, may I present Oracle Tsukiko, the Star of the East, and her Redguard,” Seraphina introduced the little group, gesturing between the separate parties. “Sister, this is the Viscount of Arlund, my Master of Ceremonies. He has worked tirelessly to prepare Nerina Reef for this summit.”

“It is a pleasure, my lord,” Tsukiko murmured. Even those scant few words saw the viscount offering another bow.

“Oh no, Sister, the pleasure is truly all mine,” Arlund gushed. “Goodness. An Oracle. Here .” He dabbed his brow and stared, wide-eyed, at the veiled woman until Seraphina finally cleared her throat.

After a rapid double-blink, the man finally came back to himself. He waved his handkerchief about and fretted, “Oh! Your Majesty. Forgive me. Shall I show you two to the royal pavilion now? It is a bit of a walk, but—”

Expelling a quiet sigh, Seraphina declared in a tone she hoped left no room for argument, “No, my lord, I do not wish to be shown to the royal pavilion now. I wish for you to answer my question. Who was that man just now?”

The familiar voice of Duke Percival asked from just behind her, “What man?” and Seraphina turned to greet her godparents with a wan smile .

“There was a strange man just now, and he claimed his name was Aldric Hargrave,” Seraphina hastily explained. “But that’s quite impossible, given Aldric Hargrave is dead.”

Duke Percival’s eyebrows shot upward. “Aldric Hargrave is here?”

“What game is His Majesty playing at now?” her godmother wondered with a glance toward the treeline.

Frowning, Seraphina stared at her godparents and reminded them both, “Aldric Hargrave is dead .” Though now she suddenly felt…not entirely sure on that point. “Isn’t he?”

Though Duke Percival seemed to be lost in thought, Duchess Edith met her gaze and offered a smile that looked decidedly apologetic.

“Well,” her godmother carefully explained, “he…was stricken from the Hargrave family tree. Disowned on the grounds of his being deemed mad, if I’m not mistaken? King Warwick removed him from the line of succession well over a decade ago.”

“Fifteen years ago,” Duke Percival muttered in absentminded correction. “He was as good as dead as far as we were concerned. But he is here? Now?”

“Yes,” the Master of Ceremonies confirmed, still nervously mopping his brow. “His Highness is…very much alive and here.”

“His Highness?” Seraphina echoed with a hint of alarm. “Not only is Aldric Hargrave alive, but he has been reinstated as a prince?”

Confusion and irritation swirled through her mind like a rising tempest. She fought the urge to demand her godparents explain just why they had been lying to her for the past fifteen years. What would have been the harm in her knowing Aldric Hargrave was alive?

First, though, she needed all the facts on this latest development.

She could decide how she felt about it all later.

“Yes,” the viscount further confirmed. “It seems His Majesty has named his brother a Prince of Drakmor once more.”

“What?” Duke Percival and Duchess Edith asked in unison.

But Seraphina had a more pressing question upon her tongue. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Arlund hastily whispered. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I didn’t exactly ask. I was more preoccupied with finding him and his men a place to stay—”

“His men?” Seraphina asked, a growing unease settling heavily in her stomach. She realized she was several points behind in a game of Sovereign when she had yet to even discern who her opponent truly was.

“Yes, Your Majesty, His Highness has twelve fighting men with him—”

“This is utterly outrageous,” Duke Percival snarled, stamping his cane harmlessly against the sand as he did so. “Twelve fighting men. A reinstated prince. His Majesty is trying to catch us off guard with something, and I don’t like it.”

Seraphina lifted a hand to her throat to stroke a finger against Alyx’s familiar form in her usual fidget…until she remembered her usuru had abandoned her some time ago .

Frowning, she squinted against the harsh rays of the sun and chanced a glance upward. In the distance, she saw her wayward companion winging through the air alongside another usuru. A black-scaled one.

She hadn’t even realized wild usuri made their home on Nerina Reef.

“Nor I,” Seraphina finally admitted on a murmur. But an even deeper frown tugged at her lips when she demanded of her godparents, “But I would like for someone to explain to me why I have been led to believe for fifteen years that this man was dead.”

Duke Percival made a face at that—his expression caught somewhere between guilt and an emotion she couldn’t quite place. “Well, for all intents and purposes, Your Majesty, he has been dead.”

“You were so young, then,” Duchess Edith gently added in a clear attempt to placate her growing irritation.

But she was entirely too hot at that point to be placated. Sweat pooled in the most uncomfortable places beneath her gown.

“I was fifteen,” Seraphina reminded her godparents without hesitation. Fifteen was absolutely old enough to understand the difference between dead and disowned. And why had this man never been mentioned again since? “All of this is utterly absurd,” she finally decided. She even shot a look to the viscount to include him in her current agitation.

It was Tsukiko who finally cut through the growing tension when she softly observed, “Though the west has forgotten the man who would have been king, Aldric Hargrave has lived on in the minds of many others these past fifteen years.”

“Yes,” Shield Ichiro hissed from beneath his helm. “The one they call Crow is quite infamous within the borders of our homeland.”

There was something about the way the Oracle’s Shield voiced those words, something in the way he spoke with such disdain about the once Crown Prince of Drakmor, that made Seraphina’s skin crawl.

Before she could press for details, Duchess Edith interjected, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but might we move beneath the shade? I’m likely to melt if we linger here much longer.”

Seraphina drew in a breath and snapped a look toward her Master of Ceremonies. “Well. Shall we continue on, my lord?”

The viscount bobbed into a bow. “Of course, Your Majesty, of course.” He led their large party away from the beach at last. “I would be delighted to show you to your pavilion, Your Majesty, Oracle Tsukiko, Your Graces. We will have dinner prepared for you all shortly and then tomorrow’s festivities will begin with the tourney, followed by a ball later in the evening.”

Seraphina fanned herself with a hand while they moved, her mind whirring. So many questions still lingered.

What had Aldric Hargrave been doing all these years? Where had he been? Why was he being put back into play now?

One question in particular saw her wrinkling her nose when she whispered in an aside to her godparents, “Will someone also please explain to me how I did not know Aldric Hargrave is a dwarf?” She cut a look toward Duke Percival in particular when she added, “In the official records of the Hargrave lineage, it is simply noted he was always small for his age.”

From his place walking behind her with her other guards, Sir Tristan quietly quipped, “I suppose that’s a technically accurate observation, Your Majesty.”

But she was in no mood for jests.

Duke Percival shook his head. “If the man is a dwarf, this is news to me. We never received his portrait when we first entered negotiations for the marriage alliance, though we sent yours along to Drakmor at once. I always thought it an odd thing we received no portrait in exchange, but King Warwick always had some excuse.” Her godfather twisted his lips to the side. “I suppose I can now see why .”

Silence descended the moment they entered the jungle and passed beneath the cool shade cast by the trees. But in that silence, Seraphina remembered Shield Ichiro’s words. She stepped away from her godparents’ side and sidled toward the Oracle and her Redguard.

Tsukiko reached out a hand and linked her arm through Seraphina’s own when she drew near, as if they were the oldest and dearest of friends. It certainly felt like they were. The presence of the Oracle at her side was so natural and so comforting, she might have believed they had known each other for many years rather than a mere few weeks.

She didn’t wish to consider how much more dreary her life would become the moment Tsukiko departed from it .

“I want to know everything there is to know about this…Crow,” Seraphina softly prompted both the Oracle and her Shield. “Please.”

The two Kunishi shared a glance. After a few moments of silence, Ichiro pulled free his helm, tucked it beneath his arm, and answered, “He is a murderer, Your Majesty. With a heart as black as a moonless night.” Again, the Shield slanted a look at Tsukiko. “Forgive me, but I am not sure what else I should say. I do not wish to distress you.”

Seraphina thinned her lips. Distressing? She was the Queen of Elmoria, not a fainting goat. “You will tell me everything there is to know, Shield Ichiro, no matter how distressing you might think it to be.”

That time, it was Tsukiko who answered her. “The man who calls himself the Crow, Your Majesty, is known by another name within Kuni.” The Oracle softly admitted, “The border lords call him the Little Demon. He and his men are notorious for leaving nothing behind them but bodies and ash.”

Seraphina’s pulse quickened. This man was clearly no friend of hers.

He was simply yet one more foe.

“How many?” Seraphina asked with a glance flicked toward Tsukiko. The Oracle kept her gaze forward, though, silver eyes trained upon the trees. She looked to Ichiro next. “How many has this Crow killed? I must know.”

Drawing in another deep breath, Tsukiko expelled, “Thousands, Your Majesty. ”

“Tens of thousands,” Ichiro corrected on a growl.

The hairs on the back of Seraphina’s neck stood on end. Aldric Hargrave, the madman and murderer, had been right there in front of her. He had touched her.

Had he been waiting for her there on the beach? Had he meant her harm?

The jungle rustled all around, and Seraphina’s breath caught in her throat as she searched the trees for any further sign of the scarred man.

Was he out there in the jungle now? Watching her?

Waiting for another opportunity to draw near?

When her Master of Ceremonies abruptly announced, “Welcome to Little Goldreach,” Seraphina nearly jumped right out of her skin. But the press of Tsukiko’s fingers against her arm slowly stilled her racing heart and saw her drawing her attention away from the deep shadows of the jungle and toward the makeshift city of painted canvas and wood her people had constructed.

The viscount and his assistants had truly outdone themselves.

Fashioned entirely from mere cloth, paint, and Elmorian ingenuity, the village of tents and pavilions looked utterly cozy and idyllic, nestled amongst the lush, tropical greenery. The lanterns strung from the trees sparkled like fireflies, and the makeshift streets hummed with the merry sounds of visitors strolling here and there, exploring the various structures.

Seraphina recognized most of the people as being from her own court, though there were a few dark-eyed Drakmori mixed in with the Elmorians. She dipped her head to all those she recognized and smiled graciously at the rest.

With another gentle press of fingers against her wrist, Tsukiko asked, “It is breathtaking, is it not?”

“Yes,” Seraphina sighed, happy to agree with her newfound friend, though she did her best to not think about just how much this summit was costing Elmoria.

It would be worth it in the end if King Edmund agreed to her fresh terms.

When they reached a large pavilion adorned with ornate designs, which her Master of Ceremonies signaled was to be her home for the duration of the summit, Seraphina slipped inside the temporary palace.

She was desperate to be indoors and away from the sensation that someone still watched her from the trees.

And though she knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her, desperate to remind her of her unpleasant first meeting with the Crow of Drakmor, her wrist that the man had dared grasp burned for the rest of the evening—as if his touch alone had been enough to forever brand her skin with the evidence of his impertinence.