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  “Then how do you explain these attacks? And how can you be so sure? Fighting with a black sorcerer on your side virtually guarantees a victory in battle. Who could resist that, if one offered to help? How can you prove that it’s impossible?”

  “I can’t guarantee that it’s impossible — I suppose anything is possible. But you must trust me. I can promise you that not one general or captain would accept their offer. Not in Blevon.”

  “If it comes down to the possibility of another war with your kingdom, you will have to find a way to prove your claim. Otherwise, the people of Antion aren’t going to accept that what you’re saying is true — not when they’re dying at the hands of a black sorcerer who’s leading some part of the Blevonese army.”

  Eljin stared at me for a long moment. “Then I will have to find proof. But I am not at liberty to tell you why I am so certain. I’m sorry.”

  I considered this silently. What secret could he possibly be keeping — and why would he refuse to share it if the alternative was war? “Why do you want to ask me about it, then?”

  “I want to know the details of what happened, though I understand that it might be quite difficult for you to talk about. But it’s vital that you think of every last detail you can remember of what happened that day. What you saw, what you heard, what you smelled and felt — all of it.”

  My stomach turned over as my mind unwillingly dredged up the images of my parents lying broken and burned on the ground in front of me all those years ago. “I remember the horn being blown from the watchtower, warning us that the enemy had been sighted nearby,” I began.

  “Not here.” Eljin stopped me. “Everyone needs to hear what you have to say.”

  “Do you think the two attacks are connected?”

  Eljin peered at me, then turned on his heel without answering and walked back toward the door. I sighed and followed him. Just before reaching for the handle, he paused and said in a low voice, “I believe so. But there are still so many unanswered questions….” He trailed off and then shook his head.

  Oh, how I hated unanswered questions.

  Without another word, he opened the door and announced, “I believe Alexa might be able to help us shed some light on this situation.”

  The conversation that had clearly been underway — and appeared to be heated — immediately stopped, and all heads turned toward us. Or toward me, rather.

  I took a deep breath and walked into the council.

  I THOUGHT I ORDERED you to go rest,” Damian said sharply as I strode into the room with Eljin close behind me.

  “We need her opinion, Sire,” Eljin said.

  “I couldn’t sleep anyway.” I decided to answer honestly.

  The library had a massive desk where Damian sat with two rows of chairs set up in a semicircle in front of him. The walls were made up of shelves filled with books of every size and subject known to our people. It had been a dusty room during King Hector’s rule, hardly ever used. But Damian had it cleaned shortly after his coronation and spent a great deal of time here ever since, turning it into a makeshift office.

  There were no empty chairs, so I walked to the side of his desk and stood, half turned to the king and half to the rest of those gathered. General Ferraun was there, as well as a few men I didn’t recognize but who were dressed in the uniforms of the Antionese army. Another woman, who appeared to have been crying, sat next to one of the men. Rylan and those from the guard who were in the room sat behind them, and Eljin moved to stand just behind Damian’s left shoulder.

  “I think it’s important that Alexa tells us what happened to her own parents in an attack very similar to this,” Eljin said. “It will help shed light on the similarities between the attacks — to see if they might be connected.”

  “But that was years ago, during the war,” Rylan pointed out from his seat.

  “If my theory is correct, these attacks were not related to the war — at least not directly. Or, Blevon was not responsible for them, I should say.” Eljin folded his arms across his chest.

  “What do you mean? What theory?” Damian turned to look at Eljin.

  Eljin ignored Damian. “Alexa, go ahead.”

  Damian nodded curtly, and I started describing the horror we’d felt when we’d heard the horn warning us of the enemy’s approach. The memories of that day threatened to overwhelm me as I dredged up the details I’d spent years suppressing. The fear on Mama’s face as she’d begged Marcel and me to hide in the protective cover of the jungle that cradled our house, the sternness in Papa’s voice when he’d forced us to promise not to come out and fight. We’d obeyed, but we’d watched what happened through the massive leaves we crouched behind. The determination in Papa’s stance as he’d fought the Blevonese soldiers. He’d been unstoppable, almost single-handedly keeping the army from advancing into our village — until the sorcerer had ridden up and coolly dismounted from his dark horse. He didn’t even pull out his sword; he just lifted his hand, and I’d watched in horror as first my father and then my mother were devoured by his unholy fire and left on the ground like nothing more than dross. Charred. Dead.

  Eljin was sympathetic, but determined, as he questioned me for details. What did the army wear? Were their uniforms new or tattered? What did they all look like? I didn’t remember clearly — it had been too traumatic. But I easily recalled the sorcerer: He’d been tall, pale, and terrifying.

  “So he was pale skinned, not olive toned like us?” Eljin pressed, gesturing at me, Damian, and himself — all of Blevonese descent.

  I thought of the sorcerer standing over my parents’ bodies, his cloak billowing, and shuddered. “He didn’t look like us; he was very pale. His hair had a lot of gray in it, but it looked like it had been light brown.” As I forced myself to think of the man I’d spent years trying to forget, something dawned on me. “Actually, he looked a lot like Iker.”

  Damian’s expression was grave as he listened. I knew that of anyone in the room, he understood how hard this was for me. But he wouldn’t look in my eyes, staring instead at his desk, or my shoulder, or Eljin.

  “He was not Blevonese, then,” Eljin said. “Perhaps he was also from Dansii?”

  “He was definitely not Blevonese,” I agreed.

  “Which doesn’t matter, as Blevon could have hired a black sorcerer from another nation, if they had wanted to,” General Ferraun pointed out. “This is all very interesting, but I’m not sure what you’re trying to prove.”

  “An army from Blevon — a true army from Blevon — would never hire a black sorcerer,” Eljin said.

  “What are you getting at?” The general sounded impatient. “Spit it out already.”

  Eljin leveled a piercing glare at him. “I don’t believe these attacks are coming from Blevon.”

  There was a pause of surprised silence, and then the general began to laugh. “Oh, you don’t, do you? Even though the attack on the village and the one on the king were done by the Blevonese army? That’s really ripe, especially coming from a Blevonese sorcerer. Of course you want to protect your nation, but that doesn’t mean —”

  “How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” Eljin bit out coldly, cutting him off. I wondered what General Ferraun was thinking, baiting a sorcerer. “I’m not protecting my nation — I’m stating fact.”

  “What proof do we have of your loyalty to us, other than King Damian’s belief in you? You abducted him and killed two of his best men to do it!” General Ferraun was on his feet now.

  “And why should we trust you? You’ve been fighting out on the borders of the war for years — the borders where many black sorcerer attacks happened that were falsely blamed on Blevon!” Eljin shot back.

  “I have risked my life and the lives of my men for years to protect this kingdom, you arrogant, little —”

  “Both of you, stop immediately!” Damian jumped up, throwing out his arm to keep Eljin from storming forward. “General, that is enough. Eljin did not kill those men — my father did
. And Eljin abducted me at my request as part of my plan to overthrow my father. You know that.”

  General Ferraun seemed about to say something else but snapped his mouth shut instead.

  “And, Eljin, I trust the general, and that’s all you need to know about that. Now, I need you to explain yourself. Share with us the reason why you can guarantee that Blevonese armies would never hire a black sorcerer.”

  Eljin’s eyes, above his mask, were unwavering on Damian’s. “I cannot in present company.”

  “You know I trust you, Eljin. But you may not have a choice, if you wish to help me avoid another war with your kingdom,” Damian said.

  They locked glares, caught in some sort of silent battle.

  “What secret is Blevon keeping from us? Whatever it is, it doesn’t make me inclined to trust you or your people,” General Ferraun interrupted.

  “I do not believe Blevon is behind these attacks — during the war or after.” Eljin finally turned away to face the room again.

  “If not Blevon, then who?” the woman suddenly cried out, pointing a shaking finger at Eljin. “Who killed my husband? I saw them — I saw your army marching in behind that sorcerer.”

  “The men you saw — did they look like me or your king?” Eljin leaned forward, putting his hands on the edge of Damian’s desk.

  “They looked like murderers, is what they looked like! All of them! Come to kill us all under the pretense of a truce!” She began to wail, her words turning incomprehensible.

  “Was there anyone else there who could describe the men?” Eljin ignored her outburst.

  There was a knock at the door, and a servant entered and bowed to the king.

  “Yes, what is it?” Damian asked, his voice curt.

  “Sire, dinner will be served shortly. I was sent to let you know that Lady Vera requests that her taster be allowed in the kitchen to sample her dishes before being served, merely as a precaution.”

  Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shutting briefly. “Yes, of course. That is fine. Show him where to go.” He waved his hand, and the servant backed out of the room, bowing once again. “It appears that our meeting must draw to a close for now. General Ferraun, please see if you can bring us any other witnesses from this village. And see to it that the orphans and widows are taken care of, please.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” General Ferraun stood and bowed to the king.

  “I also would like to know anything that can be learned about the Blevonese soldiers who came here today. What direction did they come from? Did they talk to anyone else and what was said? Anything. It’s rather suspicious that the attack came shortly after the Dansiians arrived at the palace.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ve already assigned some of my top men to do exactly that.”

  “Very good. Bring me a report tonight, if you discover anything of note.”

  “Do you still desire my presence at dinner tonight?”

  “Yes, thank you, General.”

  The general bowed again and turned to leave, his men and the woman trailing after him. She glanced back at Eljin one last time, disgust evident on her face. If the people of Antion felt the same way as this woman, it didn’t bode well for our peace treaty — or our alliance.

  “Eljin” — Damian turned to his friend — “you’d better find a way to back up your claims. I can’t believe Blevon is behind the attack here today, or on the village, but the evidence is pretty damning, even with it coming on the heels of the Dansiians’ arrival. I need to know who my true enemy is — and soon.”

  His words made me wonder if his suspicions, like mine, were on Dansii and Lady Vera, who had supposedly come to bring a peaceful message from his uncle. The same one who had sent us Iker.

  “I will do everything I can to discover the truth. I know my nation is blameless. We sacrificed much to ensure this peace between us. No one would be foolish enough to bring more death and suffering needlessly on our people.”

  Damian studied him silently. “I hope you are right.”

  Eljin lifted his chin. “I am.”

  WHEN I RUSHED into the room where dinner was being served, Vera hadn’t arrived yet. Damian lifted one eyebrow at my own late arrival but didn’t comment as I strode across the room to where he sat at the head of the table. I took my place a few feet behind him. My heart beat an uncertain cadence in my chest as I let my hand drop to the hilt of my sword and silently waited for our guest to arrive.

  Rylan stood on the other side of Damian. When I glanced over, he was watching me, his expression questioning.

  Everything all right? he mouthed.

  I shrugged and turned to the table. How could everything be all right? A border village had been targeted by a black sorcerer again, the king had been attacked in his own palace, I’d just been forced to recount one of the most horrible days of my life after barely sleeping in the last forty-eight hours … the list kept going. A sharp pain began to throb beneath my skull with each beat of my heart.

  The reason I’d been late to the dinner was because I’d made a quick stop in the kitchen to meet this “taster.” I didn’t like the fact that Lady Vera had supposedly traveled all this way with a taster. It seemed like a rather wasteful person to drag along on a jungle trek. Unless she was expecting to be poisoned. Or wanted to place someone in a prime position to poison one of us — including the king.

  I don’t know what I expected when I walked into the kitchen — to see a stranger huddled over the soup, perhaps — but I couldn’t even find him at first. The chef had to point this taster out to me. The man was of average height, his shoulders slumped, his eyes on the ground. His hair and beard were the same remarkable shade as Vera’s, dark mahogany, but I couldn’t see the details of his face, since he cowered in a darkened corner of the massive kitchen as though he were afraid of his own shadow.

  “You there,” I’d called out, and he’d flinched, not looking up at me. “Are you Vera’s taster?”

  He’d nodded, swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple shot down his throat, then back up again. He lifted his head a little bit, but his eyes stopped when he saw my sword.

  “Why are you hiding in the corner?”

  “Sorry, miss. Just trying to stay out of the way.” He’d spoken softly, his accent thick.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Rafe, miss,” he’d responded, his gaze dropping back to the floor again, and I’d finally given up. He wasn’t armed; he looked completely harmless. Looks could be deceiving, which I knew better than anyone, but as he bowed to me and scuttled back against the wall when a servant rushed in between us, carrying a board laden with four steaming loaves of bread, I sighed and turned away. “Keep an eye on him,” I muttered to one of the sentinels at the door, jerking my head toward the taster.

  My attention was drawn back to the dining room when Damian shifted in his chair, impatience evident in the taut lines of his body. There were a number of people at dinner tonight. Damian usually preferred to dine alone, or with his closest advisors — which was a very small group. But he’d apparently decided to increase his circle tonight. I had to wonder if it was for Vera’s benefit or his own.

  Four other men and five women sat at the table. General Ferraun was one; he had entered shortly after I did. And I knew two of the other men were part of the royal court — Duke Tussieux and Baron Durand. But the last man I knew only by face.

  Duke Tussieux’s wife sat next to him, as did Baron Durand’s. I recognized two of the girls from the hallway earlier, when Jax and I had been walking together. My fingers tightened on the hilt of my sword, but otherwise, I gave no indication of my unhappiness that they were included in the dinner.

  The three unmarried daughters of the royal court glanced at Damian coyly while waiting to be served. They were obviously thrilled to have been invited to eat with the king, a rare honor, and one that I was pretty certain he’d never given any females from court since his ascension to the throne. Again, I wondered what he wa
s hoping to accomplish. At least half of the court had left the palace after his coronation, choosing to return to their homes and lands now that Hector was gone. Damian’s father had forced the nobility to reside at the palace, prey to his every whim and desire for a party or lavish dinner, but Damian had given them the option to stay or return home. It hadn’t escaped my notice that most of those who had chosen to remain had unmarried daughters.

  My stomach twisted unhappily as I forced myself to look away from the table and stare instead at the door, waiting for Vera to arrive.

  If I’d admitted to Damian that I still loved him that first time he’d come to see me after I’d been burned, if I’d ignored my conscience and followed my heart, how different would this dinner be? Would I be seated at his side, dressed in something finer than anything Vera owned, with a ring on my finger proclaiming me the king’s betrothed?

  A giggle from the table caught my attention, and I glanced down to see two of the young women whispering to each other. The one who had shushed her younger sister earlier looked up at me — or at my scars, to be more accurate — and then quickly away when she realized I was watching them. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to keep my expression impassive. It was amazing how quickly the gratitude of the court had changed; the first few days after the coronation, I’d been nearly overwhelmed with expressions of appreciation. But all too soon, many stopped looking me in the eye, stopped saying thank you, their gazes lingering elsewhere as they whispered behind their hands.

  I watched the third girl glance at me as well, but her eyes were on my pants while she whispered to her friend.

  This was exactly why my fantasy was nothing more than that — a useless dream. I would never be seated next to the king, not as his betrothed, never as his queen, not even as his friend. I was his scarred guard, and this was what I would remain.

  Damian suddenly stood, his chair scraping back, and I snapped to attention as Vera finally swept into the room, accompanied by two of her guards and the man in the black and white robes. If it was possible, she looked even more stunning than the first time I’d seen her. She’d changed into an ivory dress with deep blue embroidery lining the sleeves and hem. Her hair was a mass of rich auburn curls, pinned up so that the graceful slope of her shoulders and neck was enhanced to prime effect. I felt my own unsightliness acutely in comparison, particularly after having just let myself daydream for even a moment about what might have been between me and Damian.