I let the subject drop. I have another plan at the edge of my mind—a scheme that'll take care of that little problem—but I’ve already said too much. While there are still spies and traitors in Whitecroft, I should keep my own counsel as much as possible.
My eyes trail across the room to my grandfather. "You did well, thinking of the heart stone in Hardrock. Without it, we wouldn't have been able to build any shield."
Alven nods, his spine stiff. "I knew it was used to anchor many a spell, offensive and defensive alike. I didn't want it in the hands of our enemies."
My attempt to smile doesn't reach my eyes. "And what purpose did you imagine we'd use it for, I wonder?"
My mother and father, Meda and Drusk, all look between us, attempting to read the room. They can feel the tension, though none of them know its cause.
I'm waiting, and Alven knows what I expect from him. What I need him to do now.
He can either be honest, or get out. Out of the war council, and out of Whitecroft.
"It's not what you think, Vlari."
It's exactly what I think.
Silence stretches. Though I don't think anyone here thought to suspect him, they're hardly surprised.
I've had endless hours to think back to that night. To the way our defenses were taken out on various fronts, and so precisely. It's clear our enemy knew just where and how to hit us, although the secrets of Tenebris aren't shared with many. The common folk don't know the army's rotation, or ways around the curses and shields of the various courts. And how had the immortals even entered Hardrock?
The obvious answer was that a traitor had whispered in the ears of the immortals, but whom? Alven was the obvious choice. I could have been wrong, but Alven had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Besides, he was the only one conveniently away from the halls when every other member of his family—our family, I suppose—was killed.
He doesn't deny it.
For years—centuries—he’s been forced to relinquish his power and dance to the tune of the queen. She chose him as her consort, forcing him away from his court, taking his power, turning him into nothing more than an ornament, and the breeder she used to father her heirs.
I understand him completely.
I can even forgive him.
I take one of the untouched glasses of wine on the tree stump. “How did you do it?”
There’s no point asking if. I know he betrayed Tenebris.
“Noira,” he replies, caressing the bird on his shoulder. His familiar. “She came to me one day, not long after Morgana sent our daughter away and welcomed a human pawn in her stead.”
I can only nod, and take another sip.
“You’re not asking why I did it.”
I shrug. “That much is obvious, Grandfather. You wanted Morgana out of the way. They promised you that you could be high king if you helped take down the current government.”
Alven closes his eyes. “Do you think me a fool?”
Alven is a dominant, domineering, proud gentry with a considerable amount of power, and she’d all but filed his claws.
“Certainly not. I think you were desperate.” I down the rest of my drink. “And truth be told, if they’d come to me with a way to kill Morgana, I would have signed on the dotted line without looking too much into their motivations, either. I didn’t even have to share her bed.” I grimace, imagining what sort of a wife the old queen would have been. I sincerely doubt Alven has been given many chances to lead the dance, so to speak.
My grandfather pushes a brow up.
“I don’t judge you for turning your back on Morgana, Alven.” I cannot call him anything but that, not now, with everything that has passed. He isn’t king consort. He isn’t quite family. He’s just a potential enemy. Or an asset.
“I simply need to know whether you’ll turn your back on this crown. On my mother.” On me.
I don’t say it, but the meaning is clear.
Mother wears the crown, but I am the one who protects it from the shadows.
