Page 21 of Evermore (The Never Sky #3)
I locked eyes with old Barty, my gaze as much of a weapon as any blade to his fucking throat, and that little bob in his throat proved it.
I dove ruthlessly into the depths of his mind, tearing through his memories like a savage beast. The council chamber faded away as I plunged into the murky waters of his past.
Flashes of decadence and debauchery swirled around me, lavish parties, illicit affairs, backroom deals made in smoky taverns. But I pushed deeper, searching for that one crucial moment. And there it was, glimmering like a poisoned jewel in the muck of his consciousness.
Barty hunched over a desk, quill scratching furiously as he penned a letter.
His face was illuminated by candlelight, sweat beading on his brow as he sealed the parchment with trembling hands.
The memory crystallized, and I could see every detail with perfect clarity, the way his eyes darted nervously to the door, the slight tremor in his pudgy fingers as he pressed his signet ring into the hot wax.
The letter was addressed to a northern king, detailing Aldus’s planned trade routes and the exact numbers of his army. Vital information that could cripple the kingdom if it fell into the wrong hands. And there was Bartholomew, practically gift wrapping it for the enemy.
I pulled back from his mind with a vicious wrench, leaving Bartholomew pale and shaking in his seat.
I stood slowly, my chair scraping against the stone floor with an ominous screech.
The room fell silent as I circled the table.
Lord Bartholomew’s face had gone from ruddy to ashen.
Tuck cleared his throat. A warning to remember we were in a room full of mortals, no doubt.
It wouldn’t do to fucking terrify them. But I knew that already.
Still, even their king sat quietly as I moved.
I held my voice low and measured. “I really didn’t want to have to do this in front of everyone, but it seems, Your Majesty, that we have a traitor in our midst.
The council members shifted uneasily in their seats, eyes darting between me and Barty. I could smell their fear, sharp and acrid and fucking delicious.
“Not long ago, I had the misfortune of intercepting a rather interesting letter,” I continued, pausing behind Bartholomew’s chair. I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling him flinch beneath my touch. “A letter penned by none other than our esteemed Lord Bartholomew here.”
The portly lord began to sputter, but I squeezed his shoulders, silencing him.
“This letter was addressed to King Rhovan Caltheris. In this letter, our dear friend drew your enemy a fucking map with every planned stop on the trade routes.” I resumed my circuit around the table. “Now, why would he need that?”
I’d planned to sit and observe this meeting, but I guess a little meddling in Aldus’s affairs was due.
The Fates kept us from controlling royalty, but there were always gray areas for truth and lies.
The council chamber erupted into chaos. Lords and ladies leapt to their feet, shouting accusations and denials.
Bartholomew’s face had gone from ashen to purple, his jowls quivering as he stammered out weak protests.
“Lies! All lies! This… this scoundrel has no proof! He seeks only to discredit me, Your Majesty!”
Aldus raised a hand, silencing the room with a gesture. His eyes, once warm and trusting, had turned to chips of ice as he regarded Bartholomew. “Is this true? Have you betrayed me? Betrayed our kingdom?”
Barty’s eyes darted wildly around the room, seeking an ally, an escape.
Finding none, he slumped in his chair, defeated.
“Any of you would have done the same. Securing an alliance was necessary for protection.” He turned to Aldus.
“You’ve been sitting in this castle for years letting your son and his army poison this kingdom while you mourned a lost love.
You call yourself a king? Where’ve you been Aldus? While we suffered?”
The mortal king opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Evert Brand standing from his seat, growing in size and anger as he rose to his full six-foot, seven-inch frame.
“You wouldn’t know suffering if it crawled into your bed at night and bit the tip of your dick off, Silk.
” The way he spat the last word settled in the room like he’d breathed fire.
“The Salt stayed. We searched the streets, even with the Cimmerians. We never gave up on our king, even when it meant dying. Or being tortured in the Maw like my damn wife.”
“Enough,” Aldus barked. He turned to the guards at the door. “Take Lord Bartholomew to the dungeons. We’ll deal with him later.”
As the guards dragged the blubbering lord away, I caught Minerva’s eye across the table. A ghost of a smile played at her lips, and she inclined her head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. Whatever game she was playing, she seemed pleased with this turn of events.
The king stood, locking his frail hands behind his back as he began to pace the long aisle on the west side of the room.
“I’ve never claimed to be a perfect king.
I’ve made foolish decisions and I’ve paid for those.
We can either heal together, or we can destroy each other.
Those are the only options going forward.
” He turned to stare each of the council in the eye, even me before he moved on.
“There is a clear divide in this country and I?—”
The heavy oak doors burst open with a thunderous crash, silencing the king mid-sentence. All eyes turned to the entryway as two fucking goddesses sauntered into the council chamber.