Page 132 of The Turncoat King
“You watch your tongue in there, Ava.” Herron’s hand clamped down on her shoulder and he squeezed hard enough for her to try to get out from under him.
“Or?” She wrenched herself away. She despised this man, and she would not even pretend to obey him.
He said nothing in response, and Ava was aware not only Balrick but the guards as well were listening to every word.
Herron’s eyes told her she would be very sorry if she told her aunt what he’d been doing to her for the last few years.
She was going to be sorry no matter what, so she’d make his life as difficult as possible.
She turned her back on him, and Balrick looked at her with a flash of approval before he opened the door.
The throne room was just as Ava remembered it. It didn’t seem to be altered at all in the twelve years since she’d been here.
It was a simple room in some ways. There wasn’t a lot of furniture or wall hangings.
The focus of attention was the throne and the queen herself, and the gloss and beauty of the veined peach marble that clad the walls and floor.
A long carpet ran from the door to the throne.
It tended to focus the eyes on the dark wooden chair on which the queen sat, carved with images of the sea. The back of the chair resembled a rising wave, and Ava wondered if Luc had known that when he’d named his rebel army.
She’d forgotten about it until now, but it surely couldn’t be coincidence.
“Ava!” The queen stood as they entered, and Ava walked the long carpet train, hands demurely together, head bowed, until she reached the bottom of the dais.
“Aunt Freida.”
“You don’t go by Valestri anymore.” It was a strange opening statement, and Ava wondered if her aunt was still smarting from the final words she’d had with Ava’s father.
“My father took my mother’s name after you refused to disband the Chosen camps,” Ava said. “I’ve used Yngstra for the last twelve years.”
“Was it that long ago?” the queen mused. “It feels like yesterday. How is my brother?”
Ava blinked, looked up at her to see if she was being cruel, or if she really didn’t know.
“Herron had him murdered two years ago.” She stated it as calmly as she could.
It was the queen’s turn to blink. “Herron?”
Herron had followed her down the length of the room, but off to the side, where guards lined the walls.
“She is—”
“Did you have my father killed?” Ava snapped, her voice cold as she cut through his bluster.
“Yes.”
He looked surprised to have answered her, and Ava hid her elation by looking at her feet.
Her motherhadworked some extra details into the jacket. Like the ability for her daughter to be obeyed, if she should ever be in the same room as Herron while he was wearing it.
“How?” the queen leaned forward on her throne, and Herron looked as if he were weighing up the benefits of coming clean.
“I paid bandits to ambush him and his wife.”
“Why?”
“He was coming to rescue me. Herron had abducted me by then and was holding me in your northern fortress.” Ava linked her fingers together. “You held me for two years, didn’t you, Herron?”
