He’s right though; I need to get off this island. And fast. I just have to figure out a way to do it without Farin tagging along.
Somehow, I doubt he’ll let his guard down long enough for me to kill him.
I turn my attention back to him, hoping he doesn’t notice.
That proves to be ineffective, given he’s still watching me. This time, it’s his turn to glance away. Just not before I catch the glimmer of concern in his assessing gaze.
CHAPTER 56
KIRAN
The males who shoved Fin and me in the back of this cart must have taken the entirety of our father’s incense supply, because one of them comes to burn it directly under our noses once every few hours.
I’m trying to keep up with the days, but it proves difficult when I’m unsure how long the incense knocks me out. Judging from the cycles of light and darkness I’ve been able to keep up with in my waking hours, I know we’ve been trapped in the back of the wagon for at least several days by the time the wagon comes to its ultimate stop.
“Welcome home,” says one of the males, climbing atop me and Fin, not bothering to watch where he steps. Then he lights the incense, and I am lost to oblivion.
I wake, not in a dungeon as I expect, but on a marble balcony facing the city of Meranthi, the city I’ve called home my entire life. I recognize it immediately as an alcove specifically made for nobility to watch the royal ceremonies occurring on the main balcony of the palace.
The alcoves are carved directly into the marble of the palace and hewn to block the sun from the onlookers. The placement affords their tenants privacy from the crowd.
And there is a crowd.
I can tell by the murmurs the wind carries up to the balcony, along with the dust, though most of the crowd itself I can’t see through the marble wall. The stage, on the other hand, is in full view below. It’s been decorated with crimson sashes and a litany of rose petals.
It’s a relief when, even through my grogginess, I find I can at least turn my head slightly. Doing so reveals Fin beside me, his gaze fixed on the balcony below, a sort of deadness in his eyes I’ve never witnessed.
“What in Alondria is going on?” he says, his voice dry with dehydration and disuse.
I stare down at the balcony below and heave a sigh. “I believe,” I say, fighting the slur in my words, “that we’re about to witness a coronation.”
By the time the ceremony begins, Fin and I have had our faculties returned to us long enough to infer that Azrael must have figured out our illegitimate heritage. That seems to be the most reasonable explanation for what is going on, given our sleazy father sold us to the highest bidder. It seems just as likely that he also peddled the information of our heritage to Azrael’s hired hands, a fact that would have easily been confirmed by demanding the vizier’s records be made public.
The vizier. The acid in my gut sours at the thought of him.
At the thought of what Azrael might have done to him upon discovering the truth of my heritage.
“Is it possible that we accelerated exactly what we were trying to prevent?” asks Fin.
“Seems more probable than anything,” I respond.
He sighs, leaning his head back and resting it on the back of the chair to which he’s strapped.
There’s a guard stationed outside the balcony, which has had bars added to it since I’d last been home, but he hasn’t responded to either my or Fin’s inquiries.
It appears even my guards don’t answer to me anymore.
For the first time since Asha and I split our paths, I’m grateful for our separation. At least if Azrael had to discover the truth that he is the rightful heir to the throne of Naenden, Asha is far away from civilization at the moment, safe in the ambiguity of the plains of Charshon.
I don’t exactly trust that the King of Dwellen wouldn’t have handed her over to prevent agitating the new ruler of Naenden, had Azrael asked for her.
Trumpets sound, and the ceremony begins, Fin fidgeting in the seat next to me.
Somewhat to my relief, the vizier steps out of the double doors first, a hush going out over the crowd.
My heart leaps to see my old friend, the only true father figure I’ve ever had, is still alive, but something also twists in my gut at the sight of him.
How is he convincing Azrael to keep him alive?
Rule one of a coup is to wipe out all those loyal to the crown. Azrael might be inexperienced in court politics, but he’s as crafty as they come, and paranoid, too. Surely he would have had the vizier swear allegiance to him, under a binding fae oath.
Something bitter wells up in me at that. Not that I wish the vizier would have died for my sake. But the change in loyalty leaves my chest tender.
The crowd quiets at the beckoning of the vizier, and when he speaks, his voice bellows across the crowd.
“I’m sure you are all wondering about the change in leadership that has recently occurred in Naenden. That is precisely why His Majesty thought it best that I present to you the records of his succession, as well as those of the previous owner of the throne.”
The vizier pulls out a scroll, one I recognize even from this distance. The scroll that records my and Fin’s birth, as well as our parentage. The secret the vizier kept for the sake of my mother all these years.
I’m surprised at the flush that creeps up my back and neck as he reads of my mother’s relationship with Solomon. He doesn’t go into detail, whether of his own volition or at the command of Azrael, I do not know.
But he reads it all the same.
The sound of my father’s heart slapping the ground, still beating, thuds in my mind.
I shouldn’t care, and I don’t. Not really, that he’s dead.
He betrayed us, after all.
