I kneel alongside Tug, facing the stairway and the ruby palace doors. Scattered around me the Duke's soldiers are all down on one knee, heads lowered, as stable hands weave around us, leading our horses away.
Queen Usas greets the Duke, telling him to rise. He takes her hands in his and mutters words of regret and sorrow. She nods, eyes scanning the Prince. She sways towards him, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
Images streak through the mind-world, so fast I only comprehend snatches and fragments, struggling to decipher one moment, while the next streams forward to submerge it.
Hands on a bloody bed sheet. A frozen face marbled with burst blood vessels. A distressed wailing.
A man's voice. "I have lost my best assassin. And I will not lose you." His hands in hers. "Promise me you won't try anything." The King's eyes. Tenderness, strength.
The Red City sprawled before her. "You must see Lady Calmi is married." She turns to her husband. "See she is married and send Jakut north for the princess."
The mind-world settles around the Queen. With my head lowered, I squint to watch her staring down at the kneeling Prince. The images were confusing, out of chronological order. But the love she felt for the King is indisputable.
"Your father is dead," she says.
"May his spirit follow the path of Rhag," the Prince answers, remaining bowed in the deepest sign of respect. The faintest trace of surprise alters the Queen's cold expression.
"The King's head arrived at the palace two days ago. We are preparing a body for the ceremony of departure."
In the vast entrance gardens, from the surrounding foot soldiers, right up to the Queen's personal guard and council on the terrace, no one moves.
The Prince slowly raises his head. The moment his eyes meet her my flesh tingles. I cannot see his expression but I see the memory that has shaken loose from the darkness of his past.
Black flags with the royal crest flapping in the wind. Young men sparring. Queen Usas drawing a Bo staff. Striking. The Prince ducking. Striking back.
A tournament. Sparring with the Queen. I wish I could examine the Prince's face and see his reaction to remembering Usas. Then I would know whether he has lied about the sketches. Lie or not, there can be no doubt now, the Prince's past is emerging.
What if this is the tiny shift that causes an avalanche? How long before all the pieces rise and find their places and the Prince is under Strik's influence?
The Queen steps back and nods, signalling the Prince may rise.
I lower my gaze as she strides through the soldiers. My chest sinks when I realize she is coming towards me.
"Princess Aliylah?"
A shiver prickles up my spine. I shake my head.
"The King told Prince Jakut not to return to the Red City without the Princess. Am I to understand he has brought you instead?"
I stare at her shoes, the soft leather moulded around her feet for comfort and nimbleness. All Deadran's preparation, the Prince's test in Lyndonia, deceiving the Duke and Duchess, nothing has prepared me for this. I feel like I have shadow weaver written on my skin, crawling across my face, and she has only to look closer and she will see it.
She stands before me, silence stretching out like a promise of the silence that will meet me in my grave.
"Rise," she orders. I push to my feet, while the mind-world flashes with a lithe female figure, swinging and ducking. Queen Usas is remembering a younger version of herself, training with a smaller, female warrior. "Look at me."
I breathe in deeply, the pain in my ribs vying for attention. Her eyes are as blue as the sky in the summer and behind the intelligence, the anger, the hate, swirls a storm of grief.
"You do not look Rudeashan. Your coloring and face resemble the Eteans."
I struggle to swallow, unable to steady my rapid heartbeat. If I claim to be the Duchess's niece who no one has ever heard of, turning up to find a suitor in the Ruby Court when the King has just been slain and the kingdom is in turmoil, the Queen will distrust the Duke and me as fully as she is convinced of the Prince's betrayal.
This Queen lives in a world of vipers and politicians, kingdoms, crowns and wars. Unlike the isolated Duke and Duchess she will not believe a flimsy lie.
My presence is not inappropriate. It is inexplicable.
Her gaze fixes on the scratches at the side of my face.
"Rise!" she proclaims, extending her arm across the soldiers. The Duke's men stand. Their leather boots creak, their scabbards clink against belts and buttons. They stare forward while her eyes roam across them, lingering on the fresh, honey-sealed gash above Tug's eyebrow.
"My master-at-arms will allocate your barracks," she announces. A man with gray hair, fit for his years, steps out from the formation of royal foot soldiers and bows to the Queen. "Prince Roarhil," she turns to the Duke, "your men are exhausted from the journey. I would be honored to organize your personal guard if you wish your men to rest."
The Duke bows in consent. Commander Fror's face hardens, but refusing the Queen's offer would be a declaration of distrust.
"And Prince Jakut," she says turning to Jakut, "Officer Resnit will be happy to serve as your personal guard as he has always done."
The Duke's soldiers line up to follow the master-at-arms. Tug moves to join them but she stops him. "You will come with us," she says, casting me a final look before sweeping off to the Duke.
Arm-in-arm, she and the Duke walk forward to ascend the palace steps. The Prince follows, accompanied by the man who descended and bowed before the Duke. It is the same high-ranking officer who brought her news of the Prince's arrival in the city, and beseeched his Queen not to act rashly.
Tug and I leave a respectful distance before bringing up the rear. My panic ebbs and sours at the thought of climbing so many steps while trying to hide signs of my injury.
"She is no dupe," I murmur to Tug as he escorts me in the same manner the Duke escorts the Queen. "She's already got rid of the Duke's men. If Roarhil tells her I am his wife's niece, she will not believe him."
"The Queen," Tug answers, "will want the Duke on her side when she tries to have Prince Jakut arrested. And questioning whether he's lying about you will not be the best way to go about it."
"You think she means to arrest the Prince?" We have only begun the climb and I'm growing short of breath. Speaking is an extra effort. The muscles in my thighs tremble. I suppose I should be grateful Tug took away the Nocturne Melody. Two hours ago I could barely stand.
"She will have to convince the council the Prince betrayed the long-sleep locations of the Carucan army, before confining him to the dungeons. You need rest," he adds, glancing at me. "Tomorrow we will find the Lady Calmi and you will discover whether the Prince is responsible for the King's death."
"I am here to find who ordered the Prince's assassination, not the King's."
Our gazes lock halfway up the steps. In my imagination, I see Tug as an officer, rising through the ranks, developing military strategy with generals. He is ambitious, and driven. Driven by the desire to avenge the theft of his father's lands. And something more. Something worth risking everything for, even Duchess Elise.
The night at the Hybourg after we met Jakut, comes rushing back. Tug had just sold Kel to a Lyndonian royal guard. He wanted me to reveal the identity of the wealthy buyer who planned to take me to the Lyndonian fort as part of a test. Even before he knew Jakut's true identity, there was something restless about him. And once I told him we were dealing with the Prince of Caruca, a fire lit him up. A fire, which if I remember correctly, had scared me more than the icy impassiveness.
After twelve years of living on the outskirts of the Kingdom, drinking, gambling, fighting, and running from his demons, Tug glimpsed a road back. Not to Elise or his old life as Baron Keylore. But back into the heart of a turbulent, volatile Kingdom.
"You are not here for the Duchess," I whisper.
"You are not here for Kel," he answers in a low growl. I try to stab him with my eyes. "I would have let you go, Mirra," he says in response to my glare. "The Prince released you, and I would have let you go if it was what you wanted."
Anger forks through the center of my being. This is not the time or the place. Two of the Queen's guards remain stationed by the ruby doors. But a response flies from my tongue. "Now who's playing games with my head?"
"I made it easy on you," he says matter-of-factly. His manner rubs down my back, like he's peeling flesh.
"Easy on me?"
"You wanted to see this through. After everything that's happened, saving Kel is no longer enough."
I bristle. Beast-face doesn't understand my desire to help my people.
"When the Prince," he says, "doesn't turn out to be the man you hope, you might realize you and I are on the same side."
"The side that hunts glitter-eyed children and sells them to low-life, power-hungry serpents?"
"If I wanted to capture Uru Ana I would not hunt in the only northern forest reputed not to have any. I was simply there for the deer season."
"And that's why you took Kel."
"Brin took Kel."
"You let him."
"Not one of my proudest moments. You shot my dog. I was angry."
I glare ahead as we pass under a magnificent archway with matching ruby studs in the curves of sleek stone. In all our time together, I have never hated him more.