The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 37: A Clash of Crowns

Slowly, as though he wanted to build up the tension for himself, Rabyatt dug his heels into the thick carpet that ran across the marble floor and spun around. His eyes glimmered like real rubies in the flickering torchlight. "Even when you attempt subtlety, your presence is simply too grand to go unnoticed, princess."

Inna stepped out into the light. A sigh settled in Arran's chest at the sight of her. As always, she stood tall and proud, her chin jutted up just a little too high to be accidental, her commoner's clothes doing nothing to hide the sheer magnificence of her. More than one soldier turned his head to stare at her, though they snapped at attention at a single look from Rabyatt. The Shah stirred in his throne as her hand brushed one of the armrests.

"Again with the compliments, Your Highness? I thought we were long past that." Her golden eyes squinted like a cat's. They flicked to Arran, absorbed his sagging shoulders, his drooping eyelids, and her mouth twitched in disapproval.

Slick scales grazed his forearm. He stroked a feeble hand along Zazi's writhing form, yet he did not, could not, tear his gaze away from Inna's, afraid that she would disappear if he let her go. He memorized every detail of her face, from her heart-shaped hairline to the full tilt of her lips. With death just a few breaths away, he wanted the last image he saw to be of her.

Call him a lovesick idiot, if you want. He was not bold enough to claim this princess's heart for his own, yet he was content to say that for a while, he had been hers.

And now she had come to save him yet again.

Inna drew herself up. "I believe it's time to come clean, Rabyatt. I'm done playing into your hands."

One corner of Rabyatt's mouth tugged upward. "So you've found the clues I left for you?"

"What do you want from me, Rabyatt?" So far for courtesies. "I know you planned everything, including this meeting," she spat. "You gave me the Sphere of Truths, the real one, not knowing what I'd do with it, but trusting that I'd figure it out. Why?"

He stalked closer, his hands clasped behind his back. An easy politician's smile played on his mouth. "You are a marvel of nature, Serafina. A child of the gods!" He spread his arms as if he was about to embrace her. "The Cult of Idran has informants everywhere, princess. When the High Mage learned about your powers, he took an interest in you. He wants to recruit you to his cause."

"And what cause is that?"

It was the exact same question Arran had asked a few hours earlier, and again the prince refrained from providing a clear answer. Instead, he offered his hand to Inna. "Join us, and I will tell you everything."

Inna barked out a low, hollow laugh. "That's not how it works."

"Then how does it work?"

She pointed a slender finger at her father. As the room's attention shifted to the throne, the Shah gave no indication whatsoever of a mental presence. Arran had seen addicts under the influence of opium with a greater sense of reality.

"I want to know what you did to our Shah," she growled. "Look at him. This ghost of a person hardly represents the father I know."

"Ah, yes, that's a pitiful side effect of the magic I used on him," Rabyatt replied, dropping his hand. A flash of regret crossed his face. "His mind cannot bear the constant external pressure."

"Then restore it. Now."

He sighed. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, princess." He beckoned to his soldiers. Two of them came forward, carrying a heavy trunk between them. Though the fog of his fever was seeping back in through the cracks in his mind, he swore he recognized the cumbersome thing. When the soldiers opened the lid and handed Rabyatt a glass sphere, he knew where he had last seen it.