And I have my own war to wage.
I enter the tent.
Secrets and Lies
Vlari
My blood is ice.
For a long moment, I don't understand what I see at all. It can't be real. It must be a nightmare.
My personal nightmare.
The tent doesn't look like anyone's idea of a queen's war council. There's no map, no plan, no table. Just one throne, and in a corner, one large bed with red covers and silk cushions. A lovers' nest. Except the girl on it has been bound at the ankles and wrists, to be used as the Vikus saw fit, no doubt. She doesn't even move at my entrance, so still one might believe her dead.
Violet is a broken slave.
And from the one throne in the room, Morgana Lilwreath smiles down at me.
At her side, kneeling on the floor of the tent, there are four women, all naked, their heads cast down. They do not move. I don’t think they can. They may as well be made of stone.
"You're dead," I reason. "I saw you burned to ashes."
As the words cross my lips, I know them to be a lie. Not the kind of lie I cannot say: I've seen a woman burned to ashes, and I believed it was my grandmother. It'd been a decoy, a fake.
"And you're incredibly gullible," she says, bringing a bloodred grape to her mouth.
I can't make sense of it. Whatever way I try, I just don't get what's going on.
So I give up. I just ask, "Why are you doing this to her? She's your daughter."
Morgana chuckles. "Yes, I suppose she's that. But I've no use for a treacherous worm, let alone an incompetent one. If she'd come to me in peace, I’d have pitied her and given her some land to lord over. Instead, she intended to take my kingdom. We can't have that, can we?"
I nod. So, Violet schemed without her knowledge. One small piece of the puzzle, but I still can't see the full picture.
"Why didn't you come to Whitecroft? Reveal yourself? Your people would have welcomed you with open arms. You're high queen."
She rolls her eyes. "Yes, that I am. High queen of Tenebris, a broken, poor kingdom that can't rival the northern fae, or hope to take any land to the west. Let's face it, the bright days of our history are in the past. No one would have remembered my name if things had gone on as they were supposed to. Now, I'm not saying my consort's betrayal was welcome, but it's certainly opened up some opportunities."
I can't be hearing this right. "You allied with the Vikus boy?"
She shrugs. "He wants to take on his father. I want to be right next to him when he does. And, well, if a sharp knife finds its way into his heart after the wedding, all the better."
"I see." I blink. "Where does this come into it?"
I gesture to the poor, broken girl on the bed.
Morgana smiles at me, batting her long lashes. On the floor, her snake slithers to circle her throne. I note her other familiars aren't here—away, or burned along with the decoy, I don't know.
"Well, he certainly can't marry me. I'm taken, remember? By my traitor of a husband. I suppose I could dispose of him and take Ceron myself, but I'm fond of Alven. I'll retrieve him, make him pay for his betrayal, and have him back at my knee, where he belongs. I've given Violet to Ceron, to bed and wed."
Ceron. That must be the Vikus's name.
I make my way to the bed and look at the girl. Her lips are chapped, her wrists and ankles raw. She must have fought against the bonds. Her wide eyes are red, as though she's long shed her last tear.
If someone had told me I'd pity Violet a few hours ago, I would have believed them mad.
I take her hand and heal her wounds, one after the other.
