Page 58 of Bloody Black

A Celestian wedding is a long, arduous, boring affair.

Separately, the bride and groom awake. They are blessed in multiple languages as they eat breakfast. This is tolerable, although the priests are aged men prone to mumbling. The bread is always dry, the wine smoky and red.

They are dressed by a fleet of attendants, draped in royal finery. This is always royal blue, accented with golden thread. Even the poorest of Celestians bear that blue, if only just a ribbon tied in their hair.

They must read the marital laws, of how mates submit to one another, and sign their names agreeing to this covenant.

Eventually, their fingers are pricked and pressed together, as the sharing of blood indicates the alignment of houses and families, the promise to share power willingly.

We humans bleed for tradition, of course, though in the magical creature communities, this particular ritual means much more.

There is a lunch between the bride and groom, which would be lovely if you were alone, but is instead witnessed by half a dozen clergy.

This is all before the actual ceremony. All in all, the event takes a full day, and by the end, everyone is exhausted. If nothing else, I’m glad I’ve already been through it, so I’m able to anticipate exactly where everyone will be.

At this time, for instance, William is most likely being bathed. Alone, if he’s faithful to Genevieve. Though I have no reason to believe he would be.

Due to his coup, almost every servant who’d known me was slain. But I’m still wary as we stroll through the castle, keeping my eyes mostly on the floor.

Domino chatters animatedly. “Look. Those flower garlands. Did you see the paintings?”

“Incredible.” Even Xandretta sounds awed; I can tell she’d like to stop and study them.

I don’t need to look up to see which ones they mean. Even as the princess who called this place home, I’m awed by the grandness of everything: the sweeping marble staircases, the gilded lanterns, the bronze statues, the tall ceilings with their painted frescos. Did I ever truly live here?

Unsurprisingly, William has made changes. New paintings. New sculptures and tapestries. Some of the rugs are now missing. Briefly, my mind recalls the dead bodies that lay atop them. Most likely, they couldn’t be cleaned .

Surprised he didn’t keep those as a memento of his victory.

This is just as well. If it were the same, maybe it would have felt as if the entire thing had never been, like I’d awoken from a bad dream. Or maybe I thought it would wound me to be back, to be walking down these halls full of old ghosts.

It didn’t. Instead, I touch the banister, cold beneath my hand, and feel… foreign. Like I don’t belong here. The rich, red carpet is so thick it muffles the sound of our boots.

Everything is gilded and decadent. I find myself losing track of where we are and what will be in the next room.

It doesn’t even smell the same—when I lived here, every room was rosewater and lemon.

My father’s preference, he had the entire staff spritz it everywhere to remind him of my mother.

Now everything reeks of lilies, heavy and cloying.

“Lord Stirling! What a pleasure to see you again!” A warm female voice coos, and a statuesque blonde swoops in. She curtsies before Teach, batting her eyelashes, smiling with red lips.

She taps her wrist twice as she bows; it’s our signal for ‘Not safe to talk.’ Her smile is flawless, but her eyes flick to me for half a second. Warning. “I just spoke with three of the most handsome soldiers you’ve ever seen. They were showing me their swords—I think there were four.”

Three guards at each of the four chapel doors. That makes twelve.

If he’s surprised to see Sable, my spy from Isla Lorah, it doesn’t show. Teach kisses her knuckles gallantly. “Why, it’s been too long,” he says, in perfectly proper tone, without a trace of his accent. He doesn’t say her name, obviously, as he has no idea what false identity she’s claimed.

“I’ve just come from the chapel,” she tells him. “The decor is absolutely magnificent.”

Good. Things are in place for our celebration.

A crowd of maids and servants passes us, all in a hurry. In the center of them is a tall man, dressed all in black. The lights glint off his bald head as if it’s been oiled, and even if I hadn’t recognized his booming voice, I would know him by the way my skin breaks into chills.

“I apologize, General Venka, but we specifically were instructed that everyone should wear blue for the royal—”

“I don’t give a shit. Black is my color. I want this fixed. I’ll be in the Egret suite. Send the seamstress.”

Venka. That’s him. And he’s telling me exactly where to find him.

The Egret suite, a set of bedrooms done in pale gray and silver, where portraits of my father and mother hang over the fireplace.

The coincidence, nay, the serendipity of the moment strikes me.

The Fates have smiled upon me. There will be a certain justice in it, to kill Venka at their feet.

If I do it now, before the wedding, it’ll make it all the easier later. After all, he can’t help defend William if he’s already dead.

I tug at Teach’s sleeve. “You all go ahead… I have something I need to do.”

“What? What about the plan? We’re about to go in.”

“It’ll only take a minute or two.”

Xandretta’s sharp eyes sweep the hall, catching every detail. “Two guards at the archway,” she murmurs, “and three more down by the staircase, pretending they’re interested in the tapestries. One of them is fiddling with his gauntlet, and the other two keep shifting their weight.”

“I’ll meet you there. Five minutes.”

“Didn’t we agree in the boat that you’d have someone with you?” Teach’s voice is deceptively calm, but his mouth is drawn tight in an obstinate glower. He stands like he’s bracing for a wave.

“It’s an order,” I snap. “From your captain.”

“Oh. Well. In that case…” Domino crosses her arms, cocks her head. “… we will continue to be defiant because you shouldn’t go alone.”

“I’m going after him. You all have to be in the chapel and get things prepared.”

Xandretta scans the corridor, searching for support. “There are guards posted at the archway,” she says, low. “And that one in the green doublet hasn’t stopped watching you since we walked in.”

Samson adds, “We are too exposed. We need to move, or we’ll be questioned. The guards look as if they’re about to chase us off.”

“I like being chased. Makes me feel wanted.” Tremaine winks at Domino, who rolls her eyes.

“That’s exactly why you need to be going,” I say. “Go on, into the chapel. Look bright-eyed and awestruck. No one will question what they expect.”

Still, they hesitate. “I’ve handled worse alone,” I lie. “Let me go take care of him.”

They don’t like it, but Xandretta nods. “Fine. Go. But if you’re not back soon—”

“You’ll send someone after me. I know.” Not that they’ll know where I am. There are more than a hundred rooms.

Domino spots two guards near the archway, stiff in posture but not alert—yet.

A third man, older and pretending to polish a lantern, hasn’t taken his eyes off us since we arrived.

“Come on, team. We have people to be and a wedding to ruin.” Then to me, she whispers: “If you die, I’m first mate. Aye?”

I barely suppress my laugh. We walk a few more steps forward, enough to turn the corner and put the lantern-polisher out of sight,then duck into a corridor, and leave my crew behind.

I walk with purpose but not speed, careful not to draw attention.

Just another late guest, maybe, or an indecisive noble with a touch too much curiosity.

The group of servants is still in view ahead.

They weave through the corridors like a school of fish, parting instinctively around obstacles.

Venka is unmistakable in their center—tall, bald, clad all in black.

His shoulders are so broad that he automatically intimidates everyone around him.

My rose dagger is tucked safely in my bodice. Invisible, unless a man gropes me.

Beneath the heavy gown, sweat trickles down my spine.

I reach the landing that leads up to the royal wing, and pause.

The last time I climbed these stairs, diamonds hung from my ears.

A blushing bride. When two guards emerge from a side hall, I fall back, hiding behind a marble pillar.

I wait, breathing. One. Two. Three. Once the sound of their boot heels fades, I peer out.

I’ve already lost sight of them. No matter; I know where they are going .

After a quick glance to and fro, to make sure I’m not observed, I press my ear to the door. Nothing. Not a whisper of a breeze inside. No voices, no creaks. I try the handle, slowly easing the door open, the tiniest breath.

Empty. No one is there.

Dammit. Where did he go?

Gritting my teeth, I check the next three doors, but there is nothing. Everyone seems to have already left for the chapel, and now their rooms lie empty.

One opens unexpectedly, and a woman runs straight into me—

A maid. The impact sends the pile of fabric nearly tumbling from her arms.

“Oh gods, madam! I do apologize!”

“Oh, of course not. The fault was mine,” I lie. “I’m just searching for my husband. He was looking for the infirmary.”

“Ah. You’re in the wrong corridor.” She gives me a polite smile. “Go straight down until you reach the silver dragon, turn left, and then it will be the fourteenth door.” The housemaid is polite, perfectly dressed. Knowledgeable too.

“Lovely. Thank you.” I wait, holding my breath, to see if she’ll say anything else. If she’ll recognize me.

She moves on with barely a glance.

After a brief hesitation, I do too, but with considerably less confidence in my steps.

Should I go back? Give up? Rejoin my crew?

In a daze, I pass the silver dragon without remembering, then I stop, uncertain.

I didn’t check every room, and now I’m not sure which ones I already did.

It’s a long corridor, its red and gold carpet passing more than a dozen doors .

Anne, what are you doing? This is the palace. He could be anywhere. You don’t have time to go rummaging through—

I press a hand to my forehead to steady myself. I should go back, carry out the plan. Rejoin the ceremony, smile sweetly, wait until we’re all in place. Venka will undoubtedly be there.

What the Fates have decided, no man can sway. Venka will die. He must die, because that is what is just. It must be by my hand. By my blade. Today, so help me God.

I take a breath to move, but before I can, fingers like iron clamp around my upper arm, yanking me sideways. My back slams into the wall, the door slamming shut behind us.

Twisting silently, I grab for my knife, but as soon as I can draw it, Venka rips it from my hand.