Cressida had waited for the crowd to quiet before responding. Now, she laughed even as her eyes grew cruel. “No. Whatever depravity we witnessed just now was birthed by hatred, not inexperience.” With great flair, she made a point of retreating a step from Bell, as if he were something dangerous to be feared. “Did something happen to you in the cursed lands? Did the Shade Queen poison your soul, perhaps, and then send you back here as a spy?”
Haven’s nostrils flared. Shadeling’s witch!
Fearful whispers slithered through the hall. “He could be changed,” someone said. “Who knows what happened to him over there?” another added.
A pleased smile pulled at the corners of Cressida’s painted lips. So this was how Cressida would undermine Bell, now that he was in the king’s favor again. Eleeza sent Haven a concerned look.
She might not be from this kingdom, but she understood the political machinations of the court enough to know Bell was in trouble.
Haven’s throat tightened as Bell sent her a desperate look. “It was an . . . accident,” he reiterated, but his voice was swallowed by the suspicious murmurs.
Sensing her opportunity, Cressida pivoted to face King Horace. “An accident?” Her tone was softer as she caught the king’s eye. “Everyone saw the prince send that monster to kill our son. Even a king as powerful as yourself, my liege, cannot deny the truth now.”
The nobles were quiet as they switched their focus to King Horace, whose face was finally regaining some of its color back.
With a flippant wave of his hand, the king dismissed his guards and strode to stand at the side of the table. His steps were confident, no trace of fear or indecision anywhere in his countenance. Now that the threat was gone, he could afford to act brave again.
He waited until he was sure he had the room’s attention before speaking.
“My son, Bellamy, the crown prince of Penryth and only mortal runecaster in Eritreyia, has much to learn about magick.” He cast a sharp glance over Cressida as he spoke, and his look wasn’t one of appreciation. “I am sure once my Sun Lord returns to train him, his control over his powers will increase.” A hush fell. “Tonight was an unfortunate accident. Thank the Goddess no one was hurt.”
As Cressida understood what the king was saying—that Bell would not be punished—she went still. She knew as well as Haven that’s not all he was saying. The king just publicly declared his allegiance to Bell, leaving little doubt Renk and Cressida were no longer in favor.
Cressida had played her hand—and lost.
Cressida’s lower jaw trembled, and for a moment, before she contorted her face into a docile look of acceptance, something dark and ugly came over her expression.
Her focus raked over Bell. Long enough for Haven to feel the hatred simmering there. Then Cressida snapped her fingers and two guards jumped to attention, following her gestures to help Renk from the room.
Haven’s hands—which at some point had balled into rocks to hide her magick—softened and stretched, allowing the blood to rush back into her fingers. She released a long sigh.
Goddess Above, she’d nearly messed everything up.
Bell’s arms hung limp at his sides, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if he actually thought he was to blame. He kept shooting glances at his father, ignoring the looks from practically the entire room.
Then he muttered something that sounded like an apology and fled the stage.
5
Haven tracked Bell to the stairwell close to the library. Somewhere along the way he’d discarded his cloak, and one of the guards shadowing him held it as they chased after the prince. Now that his father, King Horace, saw Bell as an asset, he had guards protecting him.
Even inside the castle.
Haven’s own guards hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. She grinned over her shoulder at them, raising her eyebrows in challenge. The biggest male, a thickset soldier who might have been handsome, if not for a nose so broken it was nearly flat over his face, sneered at her in reply.
Something about the broken-nosed guard put her on edge, and she found herself keeping tabs on him whenever he was around.
Pushing thoughts of her new guard aside, she diverted her focus to Bell as she loped up to him on silent feet. She wanted to touch him, to comfort him somehow, but thought better of it last minute.
They were beyond those innocent years when they could touch without awkwardness. Spirefall had seen to that.
Instead she walked silently beside him until he stopped to acknowledge her.
“I’m not mad,” he said by way of greeting, but his voice said otherwise.
“Okay, you’re not mad,” Haven repeated. She pretended to straighten the edge of her tunic. “But it’s understandable if you are. I have no excuse. If I had stuck to the plan . . .”
“Then the citizens of Penryth would have seen yet another glittery ball, and I’d be no more special than a pyromancer.” A bitter grin lifted his cheeks, and he ducked through the massive library doors and into his favorite place in the entire realm. “And it was a beautiful peacock,” he added over his shoulder, “even if I take affront to the implication.”
All four of their guards paused by the towering oak doors as Haven and Bell wound up the spiraling stairs to their spot near the balcony. The guards never came inside.
In their simple minds, the library was the safest place in Penryth.
If only they knew the truth. Magick was inside these books, dangerous, wondrous magick. The kind that could spark wars and fell kingdoms.
“Would you like to know its name?” Haven said at the top landing. “Surai called him Idiot, but I think that’s demeaning for a bird of his stature . . .”
Her words trailed away.
Bell was leaning against the iron railing—a twisted vine of roses—his profile facing her as he studied the floor-to-ceiling rows of books. He sighed and scraped a hand through his curls before turning his attention back to her.
Even sad and angry, he was handsome. His sea-blue eyes vibrant against his umber flesh, delicate features reminding Haven of the new statues the king had acquired recently from Solissian traders.
It was an infinitely paintable face, and already she’d seen his likeness sold in the market square on miniature canvases. There were even tiny busts of the handsome, Cursebreaking prince.
Sure, they were made from cheap plaster and broke apart at the slightest touch, but Haven had three lining the window of her room.
“Bell . . .” Haven began, but her throat tightened and any apology she might have said evanesced.
He slid down the banister and sat cross-legged. “You’re not going to sit?”
“Do you want me to sit?” she asked quietly.
“Of course I do,” he answered, and those four words eased the panic she hadn’t realized was strangling her chest.
“Fine,” she murmured.
“Fine.”
Flipping back her cloak, she dropped to her rear and scooted next to him.
When they were shoulder-to-shoulder, he let out a tired sigh. “I said I’m not mad, Haven, and I mean it. Unless you meant to send that . . . thing after Renk.” A pause. “Did you?”
She shook her head, feeling incredibly contrite. “Renk’s a complete and total droob, but I’m not that stupid. If I wanted to murder him, I wouldn’t do it in public. And I certainly wouldn’t let you take credit.”