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Chapter eighteen

Seraphina

T hat morning, Seraphina dressed for war.

Her gown was sapphire blue and beaded across the bodice with the gold de la Croix stag. Around her throat, she wore the bright sun of the Lord on High. On her right hand rested Olivia’s poison ring. Inside her bodice was hidden both the dagger her godmother had gifted her when she first came of age and the parchment packet Olivia had insisted she carry.

And painted on her lips was her most brilliant smile.

She had exactly one opportunity to win back Drakmor’s affection and secure King Edmund’s aid against Arath. She couldn’t fail now.

“Have we considered advising Sir Tristan to perform poorly?” Seraphina asked her godparents as they strolled toward where the day’s festivities were to be held. “To ensure His Majesty is in a good mood for the negotiations tomorrow?”

Duchess Edith crinkled her nose. “The Drakmori have long admired their own prowess on the battlefield. No doubt they’ll see our losing on purpose as a sign of weakness.”

Duke Percival rumbled his agreement. “We should encourage Sir Tristan to eviscerate whichever champion they present. The king might very well be less inclined to play coy tomorrow if we remind him of our own ferocity today.”

Doubtful . From what she understood of Edmund Hargrave, there wasn’t a force in all Avirel that could keep the young man from playing coy.

But she supposed she would see for herself soon enough.

The blare of a trumpet heralded their arrival to the tournament grounds, and Rogue barked in reply while loping on ahead. With a bright chirp, Alyx swiftly followed.

Though it was only late morning, the day was already hot and bright, with little shade in sight, making her even more grateful for the parasol her godfather held aloft for both herself and Duchess Edith.

Banners boasting the gold stag of House de la Croix and the silver griffin of House Hargrave decorated the tournament grounds. Ropes sectioned off a makeshift tiltyard for the joust and an arena for the melee that was to follow. The Viscount of Arlund’s assistants had even erected wooden seating for each side of the pitch, with a royal "box" to match .

Drakmor’s box still stood empty. Clearly, the king and dowager queen had yet to arrive. Likewise, she didn’t see Oracle Tsukiko and her Redguard anywhere, though she supposed that was to be expected. The Kunishi woman had departed from the pavilion they shared earlier that morning to introduce herself to King Edmund before the festivities began.

“I do wish Olivia were here,” Duchess Edith sighed while they all settled into their seats within the Elmorian royal box.

Seraphina’s heart ached in agreement. It was strange being away from Olivia. They had been nearly inseparable ever since they were girls.

Lifting her eyes skyward, Seraphina watched Alyx swooping through the air alongside the black usuru again and agreed, “I do so enjoy her ruthless commentary during these sorts of things.”

Duke Percival grunted and laid his cane across his lap. “She’d just spend the entire time complaining about how hot it is.”

Duchess Edith arched an eyebrow and countered, “As if you’re not?”

A sudden blare of a trumpet drew Seraphina’s attention away from her godparents and back toward the tourney grounds, just in time to witness the King of Drakmor’s arrival. Even from that distance, it was easy enough to see he had been blessed with every physical advantage where his elder brother had not.

Edmund Hargrave was tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of ebony curls and a complexion of burnished bronze. He was beautiful—gloriously beautiful—and the smile curving his full lips strongly hinted that he knew it, too .

Oracle Tsukiko walked alongside the king, a vision as ever in her white and gold veils. But the woman on King Edmund’s opposite side gave Seraphina pause.

“Surely that is not the dowager queen,” she murmured aside to Duke Percival and Duchess Edith. The raven-haired beauty promenading with the king looked more of an age to be his sister than his mother.

So far as she knew, though, Edmund Hargrave didn’t have a sister.

But before yesterday, she would have sworn he no longer had a brother either.

Duke Percival considered the woman across the green for just a moment and muttered, “Unfortunately for us, that does appear to be Charlotte Hargrave, yes.”

Seraphina balked. “But she is far too young.”

Duchess Edith sighed. “You must keep in mind the dowager queen was only eighteen when she was married to King Warwick, Your Majesty.”

Eighteen ? The very thought turned Seraphina’s stomach. King Warwick would have been in his forties at the time of their union.

Her heart went out to the Drakmori woman when the king, dowager queen, and Oracle Tsukiko halted in front of Elmoria’s royal box. Her attention was only for the king, though, when he hooded his umber eyes and presented her with an inviting smile—the sort of smile she imagined a cat might gift to a wounded bird .

“Your Majesty,” he called. “At long last, we meet.” His smile took on a more mischievous cast when he suggested, “Won’t you come down and greet an old fiancé with a kiss?”

Seraphina quirked an eyebrow before lifting her fingers to her mouth. She blew him a kiss instead. “There is your kiss, Your Majesty!” she called back, relishing the look of surprise he so desperately tried to hide in the wake of her rejection. “Though I fear I dare not come down.” Leaning forward, she braced her hands against the railing and confided to the king, “After the latest surprise Drakmor has dealt us, one can only wonder at what others you might yet have in store.”

Though the dowager queen huffed out a quiet breath and looked away, clearly studying the faces of the Elmorian courtiers who still filtered into the tourney grounds, the king but deepened his smile for her.

His right cheek dimpled with the expression.

“You can only mean my brother, Your Majesty. How terribly sorry I am to have caught you unawares.” Placing his right hand over his heart, he bowed his head and added, “But just as Elmoria has brought her champion to the tournament, so have I brought mine.”

Seraphina raised both her eyebrows at that. Was the Crow truly the best Drakmor had to offer?

As if merely thinking about the man was enough to summon him forth, she soon spied the Crow in question in the distance. He rode a massive black destrier, with all twelve of the fighting men her Master of Ceremonies had mentioned riding just behind .

Just as before, the man was dressed like a mere common mercenary in a suit of black armor she could only imagine was roasting him alive. He wore a black eye patch and a scowl to match.

While she watched, the dark-scaled usuru Alyx had taken such a liking to suddenly abandoned its play in favor of swooping toward the Crow. She blinked when the creature promptly tangled itself about the man’s shoulders, as Alyx so often did to her.

She had yet to meet anyone else who kept an usuru for a pet.

When the Crow’s one good eye abruptly seared a path toward her, though, she looked away and returned her attention to the younger Hargrave.

Seraphina gifted the king another of her smiles. “I did not realize one must be remade a prince to serve as Drakmor’s champion,” she sweetly commented.

King Edmund’s smile was just as saccharine when he countered, “I did not realize the titles were mutually exclusive.”

Seraphina held the king’s gaze for a time before she finally shifted her attention to the dowager queen and prompted, “Your Majesty, I have a present for you.”

Charlotte Hargrave’s eyes were as sharp as obsidian blades when they cut back her way. “A present for me, dear child? You did not have to.”

Child? Seraphina was less than a decade younger than she.

“It was my pleasure to do so,” she insisted with another smile. Reaching to the side, she accepted the gift from Duchess Edith. “I am so terribly honored to meet you at last.” Leaning further over the railing, she held out her present for the dowager queen to take .

Charlotte merely stared at her for a few moments more before finally accepting the gilt-inlaid box. “It is a rare treat to meet in the flesh the first woman ever to sit a throne of Avirel,” the other queen murmured at last. “Though from one woman to another, my dear, might I advise you invest in a larger parasol?”

Charlotte Hargrave’s gaze flickered across her in cold study when she added, “The one you have now doesn’t seem capable of protecting…all of you. And it’d be such a shame to ruin your complexion.”

Whatever sympathy Seraphina had felt for the dowager queen and her circumstances were doused in an instant. She forced another smile to her lips.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for your wise counsel,” Seraphina managed through the tight set of her jaw.

Duchess Edith reached over and grasped her hand. She gratefully accepted her godmother’s touch with a gentle squeeze.

King Edmund’s gaze veritably smoldered with his amusement as he gazed up at her. All he offered in way of farewell, though, was another dip of his head and a warm declaration of, “May the best champion win, Your Majesty.”

Seraphina watched the king and his mother finally depart for their own seats, all the way on the opposite side of the tournament grounds. But even that great distance didn’t feel like enough.

More trumpets blared. Horses whinnied. The joust was soon to begin.

Seraphina looked to where Oracle Tsukiko and her Redguard still lingered nearby. Her irritation over the dowager queen’s cattiness melted away when her eyes locked with the prophetess’s silver gaze.

It was difficult to feel out of sorts with Tsukiko’s calming presence so near.

I wish you could stay , she thought, feeling rather silly while she did so.

But Tsukiko had no reply, verbal or otherwise. The Oracle merely bowed low and turned to glide across the tourney grounds, making for the Drakmori side of the field. She was to spend the rest of the afternoon in King Edmund’s company.

For the sake of neutrality.

Without the Oracle’s nearness soothing her swiftly fraying nerves, Seraphina became entirely too aware of the fact that the Crow was watching her again. She was aware of Aldric Hargrave in the same way she imagined a doe would be aware of a wolf.

Her blood hummed with warning. Her mind raced, desperate to understand what role the man was meant to play in her current battle of wills with his younger brother.

And with the dark danger all of Avirel seemed to face.

Who was Aldric Hargrave truly?

King? Pawn? Madman? Murderer?

Seraphina turned her head and met the Crow’s one-eyed gaze stare for stare. No doubt, Edmund had simply resurrected his brother to catch her off guard. Perhaps even to intimidate her.

But she would not be cowed by House Hargrave’s clumsy attempts to unnerve her .

Tightening her jaw, Seraphina tore her attention away from the Crow in favor of slanting a look at her godfather. “Your Grace? Please send word to Sir Tristan. Tell him that I want him to eviscerate the competition. It’s high time we showed these Drakmori what we are truly made of.”

Her godfather entertained a small smile. Lifting a hand to summon his valet, he murmured, “I thought you’d never ask.”