Page 21 of Her Blind Deception (The Dark Reflection #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

‘ Y our Majesty.’ Lord Sherman bowed when he entered my sitting room, staying bent over long enough that I wondered if he’d gotten stuck and I’d have to pull him back up. ‘I have taken the liberty of reassigning the location of your audiences today,’ he said when he’d finally straightened. ‘There are a number of… angry… petitioners and they seem to have congregated by the throne room. I thought it best to dilute them. Perhaps have each audience in private.’

‘That’s fine,’ I said quickly, only half listening. He’d caught me in the middle of pacing the floor, my head spinning along lines of actions and consequences that were far above and beyond which room we sat in. ‘I assume you’ve already told the king?’

‘Naturally, Your Majesty,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘If you’ll just follow me.’

The room he led me to was one of the smaller halls, though when I say smaller, I mean it was still lined with huge marble pillars that dwarfed Sherman’s withered frame, and the ceiling was so high that all the gilding and plasterwork was completely wasted. Hardly anyone was going to stand craning their necks long enough to appreciate it. A network of glisoch crisscrossed below the ceiling, coating the mosaic tiles below in a golden glow that was paid for in blood. The room was completely empty, no courtiers waiting and whispering on the sidelines, my attendants locked safely outside for privacy.

‘Sherman, what’s that?’ I demanded, eyeing the raised dais in the centre of the room.

He blinked, then his gaze followed mine. ‘The… the throne, ma’am?’

In the middle of the dais sat a chair of gleaming mahogany sculpted to fan out behind the monarch in a spray of gilding and glittering gemstones. Beside it a squat, square table draped in a purple cloth stood awkwardly.

‘Yes, the throne. Why is there only one?’

‘Well, I… there’s always been only one.’

‘But now you have two monarchs.’

‘There is a chair for the queen.’ He gestured towards the lesser chair positioned slightly behind the throne, still elaborately appointed, but at a distinctly lower platform on the dais. ‘As there always has been.’

I offered him a pointed smile. ‘But it’s not a throne, is it?’

I ignored his blustering and stammering and approached the dais, thoughtful as I considered the throne. I had sat in one before, when I had been a widowed queen. There was no reason I shouldn’t now, just because I was a married one .

I mounted the steps to trail my hand along the decorative arm rest. As footsteps approached me, I drew my fingers over the rich purple fabric of the cushion, embroidered with threads of gold.

‘Are you going to fight me for it?’

I didn’t face Draven immediately. I needed a moment to banish the prickle of a smile that had pulled at my mouth. ‘What would you do if I did?’

He was clean-shaven and polished. He wore a deep-hued, ankle-length coat, embroidered doublet, polished leather boots and carried a sheathed sword in a decorative scabbard at his hip, and the whole ensemble sat at odds with the picture I’d been caressing of him in my head, of his hair tousled by my fingers, his sharp features shadowed, bare-chested and hovering above me, and it sent a shiver of conspiracy down my spine, like I knew a secret no one else did. He watched me steadily as with a flick of my skirts, I sank onto the cushion, curling my fingers over the armrests. With a quirk of my eyebrow, I dared him to make the next move. The silence that followed simmered and I could see what he was thinking about doing to me written all over his face. Heat flushed my skin.

‘The Grand Weaver is the first on the list, Your Majesties.’ Sherman’s voice cut through the tension, acting like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. My eyes immediately went to the door, remembering the note I’d received. Surely, that wasn’t the only warning he’d give me if he was intending to make a move. He said he’d keep me informed. A jolt of fear iced my veins. He was as trustworthy as a snake. Maybe he’d decided to keep me ignorant.

‘Then invite him in,’ Draven said, mounting the dais. As he reached me, he took my hand and bent low, pressing a lingering kiss to my skin .

‘Don’t let him in.’ The words tumbled out of me before I’d really even thought about what speaking them meant. He gave me a quizzical look as he straightened. ‘You’ve been too dismissive of the threat he is. I think he’s going to try something.’

‘Do you?’ His expression hardened. ‘Then I suppose we’re just going to have to find out what,’ he said, his own gaze flicking to the door, to where Dovegni was entering the room flanked by a handful of other druthi, a heavy frown scored across his face. Draven folded his arms as he watched them approach, and my heart began to race. A sense of foreboding sank over me.

The druthi clustered before the throne and all bowed before us. ‘Thank you for finally granting us an audience,’ Dovegni said as he straightened.

‘You’ve been a bit absent from court recently, Dovegni. What could have driven you away?’ Draven asked, his voice full of mock curiosity. As the two men eyed each other off, the air around us growing hostile, I remembered Draven telling me they had a history. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a friendly history, and I wondered how they could have possibly met before.

‘Court has become an unstable place to be,’ Dovegni replied. ‘But we’ll correct that soon enough.’ The druthi were moving, slowly spreading out to form a semi-circle around us. I tracked them warily.

‘Is there something we can help you with, Grand Weaver?’ I asked, trying to direct the conversation into less hostile territory.

A thin smile stretched his mouth. ‘Just stay exactly where you are, Your Majesty,’ he said, before reaching beneath the neck of his robes and pulling a mask up over his mouth. Immediately, I knew there was something wrong.

‘Guards!’ I cried, but there was none else in the room. Even Sherman had disappeared.

Draven was already down the stairs. ‘I hope you’re about to give me a reason to kill you,’ he snarled.

All five of them raised their hands in unison and slashed their arms down. With a shattering of glass, clouds of red dust burst into the air. I was on my feet. The dust hit me, scorching my throat, my lungs, and I doubled over as I coughed violently, holding my hand over my nose to try and block it out. My vision slipped, doubled, and my head swooped in a dizzying spin. I felt like I was going to be sick.

‘You know, it took me far too long to connect the dots, but I finally realised who you are. You’ve come a long way from that trembling boy in Salterre Castle.’ Dovegni’s voice. I was on all fours, now, trying to find my way forwards with my hands. I found the steps of the dais, tried to pick my way down them while they seemed to pitch and sway beneath me, like each step was suspended in water.

‘Then you should have known I wouldn’t go down easy.’ Draven’s words were strained, spoken with effort. I managed to look up, catching sight of him driving that sword it into the side of one of the druthi. Where was Dovegni? What was this dust? I felt like I was drunk and hungover at once. I slid to the base of the stairs. I needed to get help, needed to get to the door. My head pounded heavily and strange, tingling zings ran up and down my fingers.

A hand yanked at my neckline, drew me up. The world lurched and blurred at the sudden movement .

‘I told you to stay where you are,’ Dovegni’s voice hissed in my ear, muffled through his mask. The cold edge of steel bit at my throat. I shook my head, as though I could shake free the dizzy swooping feeling and the blade against my throat at once. Below, there was a body on the floor, blood on the mosaic tiles. The blurred shapes sharpened enough for me to see Draven frozen and looking at me.

‘I’m determined to slit her throat,’ Dovegni called. The knife pressed harder against my throat. I swallowed against the blade, felt the tickle of blood trickling down my neck. ‘You could try to bend my mind, but not quick enough to save her.’

Draven didn’t move a muscle, his gaze locked on the blade. Dovegni’s grip on my arm was a vice. I tried to breathe slowly, tried to keep the world from tilting around me, tried to focus my woozy and scattered thoughts. One of the other druthi was creeping up behind Draven, something like that collar they’d used on me strung between his hands. Draven would turn and tear him apart, and Dovegni would kill me.

‘Drop your weapon,’ Dovegni demanded.

Draven’s eyes met mine. His hand sprang open. The sword clattered to the floor.

The druthi made his move, shooting forward with raised arms. The collar was snapped against Draven’s neck. He dropped like a rag doll, falling heavily to the floor. I jolted as though I could catch him, but the sting of pain against the blade reminded me I couldn’t. We all stood frozen, staring down at him, at his limp body and closed eyes, as the dust settled to the ground, until Dovegni’s grip on me relaxed. The moment the pressure of the knife eased, I sprung away from him, my hand at my throat, my head swooping again.

‘That could have been a disaster,’ he said, wiping the knife against his robes, smearing the fabric with my blood.

‘You steaming pile of—’

‘There’s no need for insults. I never intended to hurt you, I just needed him to surrender.’

‘And what if he hadn’t? You would have slit my throat.’

‘No. I still need you as a witness. If I slit your throat, I’d be accused of staging a coup.’ He pulled his mask off his face. He still thought me an ally.

‘What was that… dust? What has it done to me?’ My legs were shaky, but I felt like my head was beginning to steady a little, even enough to take a few slow steps forwards.

‘It’ll wear off shortly,’ Dovegni said, looming above Draven, a satisfied smile smeared across his face. ‘Concentrated magic is toxic when inhaled, but we often use it to subdue fall spawn. It floods their system, makes it impossible to control their own magic.’ Producing a small silver knife, he knelt down, took Draven’s right arm and rolled up his sleeve before making a swift incision on his wrist. Blood welled and spilled in rivulets down his swarthy skin to drip to the floor. Using the same knife, Dovegni pricked his own finger, before he took up the strip of supple leather and began to weave.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked as I watched him. Draven had told me he wasn’t fall spawn. Why did Dovegni think he was?

He didn’t reply, his fingers working with quick efficiency, a blur of practised movement as he wound the cord round and over and under itself, pausing periodically to smear it with Draven’s blood, muttering a steady stream of words in a harsh, hissing tongue as he did. An intricate whirl of a knot, rusty-red with blood, emerged in his hands, growing as he worked.

He glanced up at me, narrowing his eyes as I slowly approached. Jabbing a finger in my direction, he nodded at one of the other druthi. ‘Keep an eye on her.’ Then he swept up the dais, taking his knot with him.

The man who approached me was the same one who’d collared Draven. He had a neat, pointed beard and ruddy skin, and he didn’t look nearly as wary as he should be. I smiled at him and when his frown softened a little, I moved in closer.

‘So why didn’t you tell me you were planning on acting in your note? You said you’d keep me informed,’ I said as the two remaining druthi snapped the cloth from the squat table by the throne, revealing a black box. One produced a set of prongs and fixed them to the box as the other fixed a crank to the side.

‘With all due respect, I didn’t trust your feminine sensibilities not to get the better of you,’ Dovegni said. ‘I’ve been hearing some… conflicting stories.’

Misogynistic pig. ‘It was a clever ruse Lord Sherman used to get us alone. And what timing, with the court all stirred up as they are,’ I said. I should have known that drippy old man would be allied with him.

‘It seemed too good an opportunity to miss.’ Dovegni was completely focused on the box, watching carefully as the crank was wound and a spark jumped from one prong to the other.

My gaze flicked back down to Draven, my throat tight at the sight of him like that, before I took another step closer to the druthi assigned to mind me. I touched at my hair, smiling again at him apologetically. ‘That dust has given me a frightful headache,’ I whispered as I withdrew my hair pin.

‘You get used to it,’ he replied, his voice gruff.

I swung my arm down hard and rammed the point of the pin into his flesh where his shoulder met his neck. He let out a cry and cringed back, his hand going to the wound as blood bloomed beneath the beaded flower. I dropped to the floor, fingers going quickly to the collar around Draven’s neck.

‘No!’ Dovegni was dashing down the stairs. I couldn’t get the thing off. The latch was strange under my fingers. I took up the discarded sword, tried to rub the thick, woven cord against the blade. His hand closed on my arm and he yanked me up.

Then he released me with a strangled gasp. On the dais, one of the druthi dropped the black box to the floor with a crash, before falling to his knees, clawing at his throat. The other followed. The one with the hairpin still embedded in his neck fell onto all fours, his body twisting as he seemed to struggle to breathe, and finally Dovegni was on the floor beside me, his chest heaving, his mouth gaping and closing like a fish pulled from water.

I looked back at Draven to see that his eyes were open.

The fallen king pushed himself up and looked around at each of the druthi, his face strangely blank. Then he turned on Dovegni, and with the speed of a striking viper, his hand shot out and gripped the front of his robes. He pulled Dovegni closer, and the colour began to drain from the Grand Weaver’s skin, his face becoming strained and gaunt, like the flesh was being leeched from his cheeks and chin. His eyes were glassy and skittish as they darted around the room, seeming unable to focus on anything. The druthi I stabbed collapsed completely and went still .

‘Do you feel that, parasite?’ Draven hissed as Dovegni began a strange, unhinged whine. ‘Can you feel death reaching for you? He’s hungry .’ Draven pulled Dovegni closer until there was barely a hand’s width between them. ‘He’s my beast, and I’m going to feed you to him.’

With what looked like the last reserve of his energy, Dovegni jerked his hand round and slapped the knot he’d been weaving against Draven’s arm, causing him to snarl with pain and release his hold. The Grand Weaver’s hands hit the ground, where he stayed doubled over, gasping for breath, his face still so strange and gaunt, like his skin was pulled too tight against his bones. The knotted cord he’d slapped on Draven’s wrist was moving, unfurling, slithering its way around his forearm, as he tried to pull it off. I dropped by his side and tried to help him, but it seemed to almost fuse to his skin as it went.

‘Cut it,’ he said, wincing as I pulled at it. ‘Before it joins.’

I scrabbled for the sword again, awkwardly balancing the blade against his arm. ‘Hold still.’ I began sawing at the cord, even as it kept inching along his arm, and in my haste, I slipped.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered as a fresh trickle of blood ran across skin already smeared with it. And then the cord split and I was tearing it off him as behind me the Grand Weaver was trying to rise, emitting a low, stuttering moan each time he moved.

Draven tried to get to his feet. Staggered. I grabbed at him, managing to catch him beneath his arms before he could drop. One of the druthi was climbing to his feet, his mouth stretched open as he sucked in a needy lungful of air. I didn’t wait to see if any of the others were doing the same .

‘Dovegni,’ Draven hissed, and the fool looked like he was going to try and turn towards the Grand Weaver, who was now on his feet and backing away.

‘Are you mad?’ I snapped. ‘We’re getting out of here.’ I half dragged him towards a nearby servant’s entrance. No one stopped us as I wrenched open the door and hauled him through it.

‘Guards!’ I yelled as soon as the door closed behind us, but Draven clapped a hand over my mouth.

‘No,’ he rasped. ‘We involve no one else.’

I turned my head away from his hand and it fell limply to his side. ‘Don’t be a fool. You’re the king, and they tried to kill you, or whatever they were up to in there. We need to have them arrested.’

‘No,’ was all he said, his voice faint but firm.

I groaned in frustration. ‘Fine. On your own head be it. Now will you help me get you somewhere safe, or am I going to dump you on the ground and leave you to fend for yourself?’

He seemed to rally a little, slinging an arm around my shoulders and carrying more of his weight. We staggered down one of the narrow hallways the servants used to scurry from room to room unseen. I gritted my teeth and ignored the first few doors we came across, since it was too obvious, before I picked one at random. I edged it open just a slither, finding an empty room beyond. A few tables, walls lined with bookshelves, and importantly, a collection of armchairs.

Draven seemed to be concentrating entirely on putting one foot in front of the other and I led him towards one of those armchairs. He slipped down into it, leaning his head back to look up at me with something of the usual gleam in his eyes .

‘You knew that was coming,’ he said between shallow breaths. I was glad that I could avoid looking at him by focusing on burrowing through my skirts to find one of my petticoats. I tore at it with my teeth. ‘Why did you help me?’

‘Because I despise you slightly less than I despise Dovegni,’ I muttered as I wrapped the fabric around his forearm in a shoddy excuse for a bandage. I didn’t know if it was too tight or not tight enough to stop the bleeding, but it would have to do.

‘Not so much a nemesis after all, then.’

I shot him a look. ‘Stop talking and wait here.’

‘So long as I get to do the ordering around next time.’ He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. I chewed my lip for a moment as I looked at him, noting the pale cast of his skin, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the blood smeared up and down his arms. Then I turned and all but ran back into the servant’s passage, knowing that at any minute Dovegni might come looking for us.