Page 12 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

“I would never speak of the resistance’s secrets,” she swears adamantly.

I soften my voice as I look at her. “I know. I trust you, Tienne. I just don’t want anything to happen to you. For now, help me ensure that Bella lives long enough to answer our questions.” Tienne sighs but agrees, bidding me goodbye as I leave the chamber and make my way back to the barracks. But despite the late hour and how tired I am, sleep eludes me. Instead, my mind replays my time in that dungeon. It clings to every second I could have stepped in, even as I remind myself that doing so would have only made the king distrustful of me. This is the price of my existence. I need to be close to the king in order to understand how best to take him down, and I need the resistance because I alone am not enough. Between those two truths, I have to live with the fact that I let people get hurt in the king’s name. That I hurt them too. It makes me wonder if, when my plans come to fruition and the dust from the toppling of my father’s reign has settled, I will know who the man reflected back in the mirror is anymore. If I am not bound to a king or a rebellion, where do I actually belong?

The scent of the extravagant meal laid out on the extended dining table on the evening of the next day is enough to make my stomach rumble, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since early this morning. King Dolian sits at the table’s head, his richest and most supportive nobles and councilmen surrounding him. Standing behind him, I take in the massive amounts of food that glisten beneath the glittering chandeliers above. The nobles pick at their meals with their forks, engaging in meaningless chatter. None of them are concerned about where their food came from, about what it cost the farmers and merchants to bring it to their plates. They don’t think about the castle workers, the very people who clean their clothes and quarters. They move about this world with their feet light and their minds empty of worry because of money that comes from their names. From ancestors who pillaged and stole, who befriended kings and abandoned decency if it meant gold lined their pockets.

“It has been an eventful few weeks, Your Majesty,” Sir Merriwick says from where he sits a few seats down on the king’s right, one hand gripping his fork, the other playing with the end of his mustache.

“Indeed.” King Dolian swirls the red wine in his chalice, gaze lost down the center of the table. “With the Cruel Death taking so many guards, I am considering implementing a short-term draft.” Surprise stabs me between my ribs, but no one else reacts. Why would they? A draft would not affect them.

“A draft is unfortunate, as is the Cruel Death,” Sir Merriwick responds, dropping his mustache-twirling fingers to the table. “But I was talking more about the incident that took place outside of the tower.”

King Dolian’s shoulders stiffen, the movement only noticeable because I’ve spent so much time gauging his moods based on the smallest shift of his body.

“What you speak of is being handled internally,” Simon cuts in, the king’s advisor sending an icy glare towards the nobleman. As the owner of multiple masonry businesses spread throughout the kingdom, the nobleman’s opinion holds more value than most for the king. A fact Sir Merriwick is aware of and, apparently, too stupid to properly use to his advantage.

“Internally,” he muses, sitting back in his chair. “Come now, I know I am not the only one with questions.” At the silence that follows, and nervous glances cast the king’s way, Sir Merriwick laughs.

King Dolian sets his chalice down, interlacing his fingers in front of him. “By all means, Merriwick. Ask away. I am nothing if not an open king.” I resist the urge to fucking snort.

“I know the princess is a hush-hush matter around here, but I can’t help but notice that there are no longer guards stationed at the tower’s base.” His words are said jovially, but there is an undercurrent of suspicion laced within them. One I’m sure the king doesn’t miss. He also doesn’t respond, letting the silence grow thick and uncomfortable until Sir Merriwick breaks it. “Alright, I will ask it bluntly. Does the princess still mourn in her tower? Or has she freed herself from her grief?” The unasked and if so, what does that mean for you is implied.

“Princess Rhea is not of concern to any in this room save for the king himself,” Simon answers smoothly. “Now that is—”

“It is true.” At the king’s interruption, Simon shows a rare break in his calculated facade before he blinks and lowers his head in supplication. King Dolian stands, swiping his chalice from the table and taking a large gulp of the wine within it. “Princess Rhea has left the walls of the tower.” Murmurs rise as the nobles lean closer to speak with each other, the king beginning to pace the length of the table opposite Sir Merriwick. “But she did not leave of her own volition. No, she was kidnapped. Stolen. Lured out into the world.”

“Stolen?” Lady Almeena murmurs, her voice barely audible over the others. She presses a trembling hand to her chest, her distraught act one easily seen through. But as he passes her, he lets his fingers trail across her shoulders, brushing her deep brown locks to the side. He’s always favored her, particularly for the amount of coin she brings in. As the curator of the most visited brothels throughout Vitour, Lady Almeena is nothing if not tenacious. Though she wears her shock well, the corners of her red-painted mouth flicker beneath his touch. “Stolen by whom?”

“One of our own. A guard. A man sworn to serve me and protect her, yet he managed to break both vows.” I hold my breath, keeping still as eyes look suspiciously in my direction.

“Can we not trust these men?” Someone stationed near the end of the table shouts, their face too far away for me to identify.

King Dolian pauses as he rounds the table’s edge, looking back over his shoulder. “That is what I will be determining in these coming weeks. While I can guarantee most of my men are loyal to our kingdom, I don’t believe this guard acted alone. He must have received help from within in order to coordinate such an escape. I will find everyone who has betrayed our trust and ensure they pay for the crime.” King Dolian resumes his walking, his eyes meeting mine briefly. He doesn’t know what I’ve been planning. I’ve been too careful, too meticulous to arouse suspicion of any kind. I’ve followed my rules, and I’ve paid the price tenfold for it. He can’t know, and still, unease slithers down my spine. “The draft will not just serve to replace the men sick with the Cruel Death. They will replace the traitors. We will encourage all who are able bodied to join. To fight. To serve their kingdom with honor. And, to report those they suspect to be dissenters.”

The nobles nod just as King Dolian comes to a stop behind Sir Merriwick’s chair, his fingers reaching out for the back of it.

“And what of the princess?” the nobleman asks, his earlier amusement replaced with a shaky voice.

“I have men searching for her. We will find her and bring her home. We will ensure that she returns to the space that has become her haven.”

“And the traitorous guard?”

King Dolian smirks, lifting his chin. “We will hunt him down, and when we find him—and all who helped him—they will die for their crimes.”

Chapter Seven: Siyala

“You see this fruit, Little Kit,” Kenji says as he points to a bundle of deep red berries, my eyes squinting against the sun pouring in through the canopy as I follow his finger. “Those are safe to eat. You can tell because of how glossy they look.” He plucks a few berries from the bunch, holding his palm out to me to try them first. I pop one into my mouth, smiling as the sweetness bursts over my tongue. “Do you like it?”

I nod and watch as he eats one too before grabbing one of the branches and shaking it, small red berries raining down over us. I laugh as they gently bounce off of me, and his smile grows.

Kenji is always smiling. He might be the happiest person I know. It’s good for Papa to have such a nice friend, especially since he has been so sad lately. Mama tries to tell me Papa is just tired and that is why he is always alone in their room, but even though I’m only ten, I know that isn’t true. He is sad because he got the blight. It’s been years since he shifted into his animal, and now that I know how it feels to shift—how the magic calls me to do it—I can’t imagine not being able to anymore.

“Come on, let’s go a little farther. There are some dark piya berries that I want to show you.” Kenji lays his hand on my shoulder, his fingers draping over it as he sweeps his thumb back and forth on my back. My magic surges up my spine and throat, nearly choking me before I push it back down. It does that sometimes when I am alone with Kenji. When I told him, he gave me a funny look before explaining that even though I have been able to shift since turning eight, it can take a while for the magic to settle. He said sometimes it gets confused and that it thinks there is a threat when there isn’t. When I asked him if I should tell Mama and Papa, he shook his head, reminding me that Mama needs to help Papa now that his ability to shift is gone. And that it might bother them if I talk about my own magic because I can still shift.

Kenji pushes a large leaf away from my face, telling me to follow the small trail of yellow flowers as they lead towards a shadowy part of the jungle. I slow my steps, waiting for Kenji to push forward, as my heart begins to beat a little bit faster.

“It’s okay,” he says, giving me a reassuring smile. “The dark piya berries like to grow where the sun isn’t shining directly on them. They hide beneath other taller plants, taking nutrients from the ground to get what they need.”

“Is that why they have the word ‘dark’ in their name?” I ask, coming to stop next to him when he squats down and reaches beneath a large arastera leaf. The air smells like wet soil, and a chill works its way over me at the colder temperature in the shade.