“Yes,” Silver Watch repeats. “We are here to decide whether or not a scrawny, dirty, Nameless orphan can successfully preside over the entirety of Seriden without allowing the city to descend into chaos and riots. Where do her loyalties lie? With Seriden or with the Nameless?” He turns his sour gaze to me. “We are not in the business of doing favors for the likes of you.”
I want to stuff Silver Watch’s silver watch down his stupid throat, but I have to control myself or I’ll prove his point. His aura teems with indignation. He wants to trip me up, catch me off guard. He’s angry. My best defense is to speak calmly and turn his words against him. Let him be the petulant child with a temper.
Belrosa stands up before I can. Her chair screeches against the floor, regaining everyone’s attention. “That is enough. We are civilized citizens of Seriden. We do not stoop to threats or insults. Corwin, you do not speak for this council. You speak for your temper alone, and I’ll not have that be what drives us. Dear, your agreement and willingness to negotiate garners goodwill with us. As long as you keep your head down and attend Royal etiquette lessons—to learn our manners and customs, which will help you adjust to life here—I see no reason we can’t meet your demand.”
It’s at this point that I realize no one knows what to call me. I’ve been “Your Highness” and “impossible heir.” Belrosa even called me “dear.” Esther and Glenquartz must not have told them I go by Coin.
“I will submit a formal request on your behalf for her release,” Belrosa says. “It may take a week or so to convince the prison guards that the request is genuine and then for the request to be processed through the judiciary. During that time, you can stay here in the palace, proving you can coexist with the Royals and not cause any problems, and I’ll make sure she’s released. As long as you agree to pass the tattoo along peacefully during the Assassins’ Festival, there is no reason your stay here should be unpleasant.” She places an arm across her chest, as if a salute means anything to me.
“Agreed,” I say, rising and extending my hand. I ignore the feeling of everyone watching me as Belrosa walks around the edge of the table toward me.
She removes her white gloves as she pivots around the corner of the table, and she takes my hand and shakes it.
Then my whole body turns to fire. It’s like what happened with the Royal in the market and with Glenquartz in the dungeon: I’m inside someone else’s memories and thoughts. Except this time, I’m trapped. Fire and fear coil around every bone and muscle, every sinew and strand of hair.
Images flash through my mind as fast as Belrosa thinks them: a Nameless man hanging from the gallows, a Nameless woman tied with chains and thrown into the harbor, and a Nameless child having her fingers smashed with the butt of a rifle after picking the wrong pocket. Then, something worse than memories: the image of Royal guards by the legion, stomping and marching down the streets, rounding up the Nameless and shooting them with expensive rifles. Hundreds of Nameless, killed in droves.
I return to my own body, and Belrosa offers a kind smile, and even her eyes reflect the same joviality, but her hand is ash in my grasp.
That’s when I lose it.
I twist her hand inward toward her body, putting pressure on the joints in her wrist with my thumb. Belrosa gasps in pain.
With a single strike, I could send her sprawling, dislocate her wrist, or snap a bone. A dark flare in my chest wants to do it, to rip her down from her pedestal.
With my only measure of restraint, I push her twisted arm up against her torso. Beneath my fingers, I feel a muscle spasm radiate through her wrist and arm. I let go, giving her one last shove. She stumbles into the jovial Royal behind her, sending them both to the floor.
“Highness!” Esther scolds, on her feet, her aura sharp with alarm.
Glenquartz’s smooth, supportive aura is buried by the rising auras of shock, fear, and anger from the rest of the room. Belrosa hobbles to her feet.
Silver Watch appeals to the council members. “She is obviously not suited for this.”
“Obviously?” I question.
“You are, as far as I’m concerned, a magical fluke and a Nameless cretin who is prone to violence,” he says. “I don’t know what you did to get that tattoo, but we will not sit here as an illegal Nameless takes the throne.”
“So stand. Face me,” I command, and he doesn’t move a muscle. Silver Watch chews his lip as he considers my words.
This is all a game. A con. These are the players, the marks. They’ll do anything to put me down. Silver Watch with his threats, Pearl with her snide insults, Belrosa with her cruel thoughts. At least on the streets, when someone has a problem with me, they just take a swing at my jaw. Here, everything hovers above the skin, like flies above a corpse. No punches, no swings, only a building buzz of energy.
The room waits for Silver Watch to speak, to rise or respond. Belrosa gets to her feet, giving an apologetic gesture to the room. I almost snarl. She’s pretending to forgive me, as if it was an accident that I shoved her to the floor.
“There’s a reason you haven’t killed me yet,” I say. “Two, actually. One: I’m Nameless, and you have no idea what that means for magic. If I die, maybe the crown disappears forever. Maybe Seriden’s magic vanishes entirely. And the second reason you haven’t killed me is that I am Nameless.” I pull the blade from my sleeve and stab it into the table. “Go ahead and try.” If they’re accustomed to polite Royals and formality, they won’t get it.
I remember my promise to Glenquartz. Be a lady. Well. The general is still clutching a sprained wrist, there’s a knife sticking out of the table, and everyone’s gaping at me. If I can’t show restraint, I’ll show strength.
I square my shoulders, stand up straight, nod pleasantly to the room, and stride out through the doors just as gracefully and as ladylike as I entered.
Let that be their first impression of me.
CHAPTER 7
I stomp down the hall in my boots. I’ve made them afraid of me—which is great—but I’m terrified too. And angry.
Hurried, heavy footsteps catch up to me at an even jog. I sense who it is before I see him: Glenquartz. He matches my stride.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I stop short and turn on him.
His leather boots squeak against the marble floor as he comes to a sharp stop. “Why would I, Your Highness?”
“Because I screwed up Royally in there.” I pace the corridor. “Make a good impression, you said. Be a lady, you said. I failed on every count.”
Glenquartz doesn’t say anything for a while, watching me pace, and even his aura is patient. “If you don’t mind my forwardness, we might need to work on how you express anger, my lady.”