So did she.
Tempest bowed and then turned on her heel, her mind reeling. Her grief felt wrong compared to the princess’s. Tempest had not just lost her brother. Nor did she have a murderer for a father.
But you will have one for a husband.
She swallowed hard. If she wasn’t careful, she’d become the king’s next victim.
Thirty-One
Tempest
A few minutes into her journey from the barracks, a heavy hand fell on Tempest’s shoulder, roughly pulling on her. She stopped in her tracks, ready to punch whoever it was in the face for getting in her way. Spinning, she shrugged off the hand and blinked as she came face to chest with Maxim. He reached for her arm, and she jerked back.
“Leave me,” she said, voice icy. The Hounds were all working for the king. They did his bidding without protest. Mindless killers. She loved her uncles, but they had sworn an oath just like she had. The Crown came first, as it should. She wasn’t beholden to them, even if they’d raised her. “Leave me alone.”
“There are soldiers looking for you, back at the barracks. I do not think you will find peace there.” A pained expression crossed Maxim’s face. “What were you thinking? You will be taken back to the palace and watched every second for the rest of your life.”
“What do you propose I do?” she exclaimed, feeling trapped and panicked by her ever-shrinking options. Tempest drooped her head, feeling useless. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You can follow me.”
For a moment, Tempest didn’t know what to do. Trust didn’t come easy these days. Could she trust any of her uncles? They had clearly been part of the reason mimkia had spread. They were guilty through and through, whether they knew exactly what they had been doing or not. Even so, she didn’t doubt they loved her, but was that enough for them to betray their king? She peered up at Maxim, scrutinizing him. He’d never lied to her before, and true concern colored his expression.
“Make a decision now, lass,” he said softly. “There isn’t much time.”
“All right,” she whispered. “Lead the way.”
A fist squeezed around her chest when he reached out and lifted the hood of her cloak over her head and tucked her hair away. She felt like a child again, and heat pressed at the back of her eyes at the sweet gesture. Maxim pulled his own hood up and bid her to follow him. Snow and ice cracked beneath their boots as he led her deeper into the capital—the streets unfamiliar—but eventually she recognized the back entrance of a tavern that her uncle frequented. Out of habit, she scanned the area, noting a few drunkards who were lazily leaning against nearby buildings. Nothing too suspicious, but still, something set her off.
“This isn’t right,” she murmured, her gaze straying to Maxim’s back. “I think we’re being watched.”
“We are. Now, hush,” he said, voice lowered. “And let me do all the talking.”
That sounded foreboding. She snapped her mouth shut and examined the street once again. Her uncle knocked on the back door with some impatience. After a few seconds, a silent servant with white, grizzled hair, opened the door and waved them in, taking them up a flight of stairs and then another. The scent of stew, bread, and unwashed bodies permeated the area. The servant lifted a broom and rapped on the ceiling. Tempest observed in silence as a trapdoor opened in the ceiling and a rope ladder was tossed down.
The servant stepped aside, his gaze averted to the wall. Why wasn’t he looking at them?
“You first, Temp,” Maxim said.
Her attention snapped back to her uncle. “What is going on?”
“Just get up there.”
She frowned at her uncle and ascended the ladder, reaching the attic floor. Her mood soured when she spotted who awaited her. “No,” she muttered and tried to go back down, but Maxim was already behind her.
He smacked her on the rump. “Climb, lass.”
“Traitor,” she hissed, her nerves on edge as she climbed into the room. The rest of her Hound uncles—Dima, Aleks and even Madrid—stood there watching her, faces ranging from concern to anger to complete desolation.
Maxim came up behind her and closed the trapdoor. Tension so thick it could be cut with a sword swelled in the room.
“What is going on?” she asked in a level tone.
“We should ask you the same thing,” Dima replied, a bite to his words. “How could you do such a thing?”
Were they speaking about her association with the Jester or her betrothal to the king? Time to play stupid. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Maxim crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “That won’t work on us, lass. We raised you.”
“You cannot marry the king.” Madrid stepped away from the wall, his dark gray eyes narrowed. “It was foolish to encourage his attachment to you. Just what were you thinking?”
Oh no, he did not.
He did not get to deal out judgement when she knew his hands were soiled with the blood of their people.
“You think I chose this?” she hissed, stepping closer to Madrid. “All I have wanted is to be a Hound my entire life. If I’d had a choice, I would have run far, far away from the king. I’m not naïve. How could you expect me to turn down the king’s proposal? I’m not suicidal. If I had refused him, my life and yours would be in jeopardy.”
“Your life already hangs in the balance,” Aleks said.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye but made sure to stare down Madrid. “You and I know he gets everything he wants without consequence. I am no exception.”
“Careful,” Dima said. “Your words are sounding a bit revolutionary.”
“Oh, come off it,” she said heatedly. “I’m not stating anything that isn’t true.”
“You could have come to us,” Aleks said in his soft-spoken way.
That was the last straw. She turned the full force of her loathing on her uncle. “And when would I have done that? Between your mass poisonings of your people?”
“Tempest,” Dima barked.
“No!” She held a finger up and glared harder at Aleks. “You cared for me when I was sick and were more of a father figure to me than anyone.” Her chest ached painfully. “I’d always hoped you were my real father, now I pray to all that’s holy that it’s not true. I couldn’t bear the thought to have the same blood as someone who kills innocents, children no less.”
“That’s enough,” Madrid cut in.
“No, it’s not nearly enough.” All the pain, worry, and confusion were pouring out of her, and she couldn’t hold it all back. She scornfully eyed the four men. “You four are leaders of the Hounds. I know you’re not ignorant about the mimkia. I’ve seen the devastation it’s brought to our kingdom. How could you do such a thing? We’re supposed to be protectors, not executioners!”
“I had to do it,” Aleks said. His eyes were mournful and full of shame. “At first, I did not know the full extent of what I was being asked to do, but I would be lying if I said I was still that ignorant now. I admit it: I am the one responsible for purifying all of the mimkia to be shipped into the villages. I am guilty of it all.”