“I see you have returned,” a velvety, feminine voice bled into the room like shadow itself. “And you’ve brought guests?”
Leighton was the first to straighten, his brothers doing the same after. “We traveled far and wide in search of the traitor, Queen Signe, and I am proud to report we found him.”
With a nod to his brother, Efrem removed the burlap sack from Thom’s head. His hair was more disheveled than usual, and when Kestrel realized his goggles weren’t atop his skull, something panged in her chest. Thom glanced around the room, his eyes adjusting even though there wasn’t much light.
When his gaze crossed hers, it snagged. Shattered. Unspoken fear and a thousand pleas reverberated in the space between them. Never before had she seen him more disappointed.
Before he could speak, Efrem jerked his attention forward.
“Ser Darius Graeme.” The queen had been lounging in her throne, her legs as long as spiders where they had rested over the armrest. Now she straightened at the sight of him, her dark eyes blooming with something like hunger as she took him in. “My, my, it has been a lifetime.”
“Signe,” Thom said. He snorted something grotesque as if he was about to spit snot at her feet. “I see you’re faring well after the mess you caused. Although those eyes of yours, they’re much darker than I remember them being last time. How’s that curse treating you?”
The slightest twitch wrinkled beneath Signe’s left eye. Before it could fully form though, Efrem kicked the back of Thom’s knees, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
Kestrel couldn’t stop herself.
“Don’t hurt him!” she screamed, her voice an ominous echo that reverberated throughout the room.
It drew the queen’s gaze toward her. Kestrel felt like a fly that had just flown intoa spider’s web.
“Oh? And who do we have here? Is this one of your pets, Darius—” But before she could finish the thought, the queen’s brow twitched, a hint of curiosity wriggling into her expression. It warred with the denial that reared up after, as if whatever possibility she had imagined couldn’t be true. Signe stood, the black length of her gown spilling to the ground as she made her way across the room to them. With cold fingers, she grasped Kestrel’s chin, tilting her this way and that way. “It cannot be.”
Leighton stepped around them, angling himself into the queen’s peripherals. “I believe so. We spotted her in Mutiny Bay, same place we found him. The similarities were uncanny, but it wasthisthat put my suspicions to rest?—”
He had to shift the gold-embroidered tails of his tunic out of the way to reach the pocket in the side of his trousers. From it, he pulled out Kestrel’s ring.
Suddenly, she became all too aware of the barren spot on her finger where the ring belonged. After everything that had happened in the Fortress of Thirst, she hadn’t even thought about demanding it back, and now that he was showing it to the queen, she feared she was too late.
Leighton presented the ring to the queen, and out of the corner of Kestrel’s eyes, she saw Thom’s head droop. Signe inspected it thoroughly, or as thoroughly as she could with just her eyes. Kestrel noted the way she seemed averse to touching it.
“So it’s true then,” the queen said at last, breathless. “You must be her daughter.”
Leighton tucked the ring back into his pocket. “Queen Signe, allow me the pleasure of formally introducing you to whom I believe to be Kestrel Highmore, your niece and the lost princess of Caelora.”
Highmore. The foreign surname echoed in Kestrel’s skull.
It sounded so…so regal.
So poised.
Sonother.
But Kestrel didn’t want to appear offended or caught off guard, so she bowed her head, like she’d seen the princes do upon arrival, hoping that it would convey her good intentions toward the queen and their meeting.
The queen chuckled, bringing a torrent of flames to Kestrel’s cheeks. But it was to Thom who she spoke, “My my, Darius. You have been quite devious indeed these past few years. Keeping my niece from me.”
“The girl is innocent,” he bit out, so fiercely that even Kestrel snapped her attention toward him. Efrem’s hands were firmly pinning his shoulders down, keeping him in place, but it was clear from both of their struggles that Thom was pushing against him, trying to stand, maybe trying to lunge. “Let her go! It’s me you want.”
Efrem raised a fist, ready to slam it across Thom’s jaw. Kestrel’s heart lurched out for him, her mouth opening to scream her protest.
But it was the queen’s command that saved him, a lazy wave of her delicate hand.
“Don’t you worry, Ser Darius, you and I will have much to converse about later.” Bringing her gaze up to Efrem, she added, “Take him to the dungeons with the rest of the traitors. I’ll deal with him when I see fit. For now though—” she twisted back toward Kestrel, her voice honeyed and singsong in a way that made Kestrel’s stomach churn. “For now, I’d like to get acquainted with my darling niece.”
“Let her go!” Thom screamed as Efrem dragged him out of the throne room. A few other guards rushed in to help, securing his thrashing arms and legs and shoving the sack back over his head. None of it deterred his wails. “Don’t believe a word she says! Signe is poison! She’s the whole reason your mother?—”
And then, he was gone.
