The man that currently sat on the throne was dancing with Mazzulah because Quinn was gone, and Draeven could not stop the guilt from eating at him. For what was to come was as much his fault as it was the mad king’s, and the boy now being eaten alive paid the consequence.
“He’s going to bring Triene down on us,” Dominicus hissed between his teeth.
“I’m fairly certain that’s his intention,” Draeven replied, equally hushed. In the silent throne room, only the sound of flesh being stripped from bone and the screams of a young man could be heard. The new court that he and Draeven had formed were in shock.
Lorraine had spent the month arranging this party.
He knew this wasn’t the way they’d been planning to welcome them.
Then again, no one had seen or heard from Lazarus in two months.
Autumn was nearly upon them when the king barged through the throne room and finally took his place once more. Only to show them what kind of king he intended to be.
When the screams faded, the kuras dragged the boy’s body back up the steps and sat down beside its master, eating the messenger as if it were a dog with a bone. Blood dripped down the marble steps, pooling around his boots.
Draeven swallowed, and Dominicus cursed beneath his breath.
“This is madness,” the master of swords said.
“This is consequence,” Lorraine said, her voice hard. They both looked to the stewardess of the palace. Unlike the ladies of the court, she hadn’t shielded her eyes. Back stiff and posture straight, she stared at the corpse without emotion, and didn’t fidget as blood soaked her sandaled feet. “A foreign nation aided our enemies. They were the cause of the right-hand’s death. For him to not respond would make him look weak. They decided their fate when they killed her. Lazarus is simply showing them and the rest of his new court what happens when you betray him.”
“You can’t be okay with this—” Dominicus started.
“It doesn’t matter if I am or not,” Lorraine replied, her voice like the crack of a whip. Draeven had never heard her speak so harshly to the man he was fairly certain she loved. “I am loyal to Lazarus above all, just as I was loyal to Quinn. Triene took one of our own. For what he asks of each of us, I’d expect nothing less than him waging a war when someone means to ruin his house. He wouldn’t be worthy of the loyalty we give if he didn’t.”
Dominicus seemed to be struck speechless as Lorraine turned and walked out of the throne room. Only when she was gone did he speak again.
“I didn’t realize . . .”
“How hard she took Quinn’s death?” Draeven supplied.
“I knew she grieved for the girl, but this . . . she sounded like she wants blood as much as Lazarus.”
“She was the daughter she never had. When Quinn killed Lord Callis, Lorraine cleaned her up. When she murdered and schemed in N’skara, Lorraine covered it up. Never in the ten years I’ve followed Lazarus have I seen Lorraine go against his wishes, but I think if it ever came down to it, she would have for Quinn.”
Dominicus grew quiet—they both did—as Lazarus stood once more.
The head of the messenger was in his right hand, while the left pet the creature beside him. He wondered whether Lazarus knew that even subconsciously it was always the left that feeds, and the right that strikes.
“My lords, my ladies, Triene has aided my enemies and brought death to our door.” When he spoke, it was the voice of the king he’d always followed. Strength and might pervaded it. Despite the dark circles that lined his eyes and the way his tunic was loose whereas before it had been taut, Lazarus gave the impression that he was king in power, even if that were far from the truth. “They insult me with the head of their puppet,” he continued, the first hint of his ire showing. Dark shadows peeked out of his sleeves and a red glint entered his eyes. “We cannot stand for this. The Trienian Empire may be strong, but we and our allies are stronger. Rally your bannermen. Tell them to prepare. We are going to war.”
Lazarus did not wait for them to respond. He didn’t give them a chance.
As fast as he’d come, he walked back down the stairs with the beast at his side and left the throne room.
Dominicus turned to Draeven, his expression somber.
“Someone needs to talk to him.”
“He won’t be dissuaded,” Draeven sighed. “And even if he was, it’s no use. After what he just did . . . Lorraine is right. War will be our only option. What’s important now is that our allies will indeed join us.”
Dominicus snorted derisively. “As soon as Imogen sees what’s become of him, she will chew him up and spit him out. The Ciseans might be brutes, but they won’t follow us to their deaths.”
“There’s a contract,” Draeven reminded him, though he worried Dominicus was right.
“Contracts won’t mean a damn when the emperor’s army comes for us. You’ve heard the whispers just as I have. Nero has gone to great lengths to make himself untouchable, and we will need more than just Norcasta if we are to survive this.”
Draeven looked away. Whispers had broken out in the throne room, but after the show the king had put on, there was little good in quelling them.
“I’ll talk to him, but I’m not making any promises.”
“I’d be questioning your sanity if you did,” Dominicus answered.
Draeven left the throne room in search of his king. As he walked down the halls toward Lazarus’ wing, silence crept in. The shadows took on a more menacing form. He sensed rage and knew that the kuras wasn’t the only beast Lazarus had unleashed. As he rounded the corner to the study, the dark void of the wraith came forward.
He didn’t try to fight it. Nor did he step around it.
“Tell your master I’ve come to speak to him,” Draeven said lightly, clasping his hands behind his back.
The creature had no face that he could see, but it turned and disappeared through the wall.
He took that as a good sign.
A moment later, the door opened.
Draeven stepped forward. Tentatively, he reached for the gold handle and swung it open the rest of the way. Lazarus stood with his back to Draeven, examining the spines of books along the wall. On the corner of his desk, Amelia’s head sat. Juices dripped from it. Her sallow skin resembling a melted candle. Draeven’s lips pinched together.
“How long has it been?” the king asked. Of all the things Draeven expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. He closed the door behind him, his eyes going to the spot where he’d slain two of the three lords on Lazarus’ previous Council. Even after multiple cleanings, red still clung to the ornate rug.
“Two months, give or take a few days.”
“Hmm,” was the only answer he gave.
Draeven frowned, not sure what to make of that.
“Lazarus,” Draeven started, coming to stand behind one of the two chairs on his side of his desk. He rested one hand on the back of it. “What happened in the throne room . . .”
“Needed to happen,” Lazarus said, leaving no room for discussion.
“Perhaps, but in declaring it, we only have so much time to prepare. Our allies must be called on, and while I can write the letters—I cannot be the one to ask them to take their people to war. That has to be you—”