At the sound of Cressida’s stabbing gait, Bell’s shoulders sagged into his light frame. He quickly slunk down the spiral staircase to meet her, seeming to shrink a little more with each step.
Haven was about to follow when she glanced over the page the book had opened to when it fell from Bell’s lap. A pale woman covered in a headdress of black raven’s feathers stared from the page, so real Haven felt the icy stare of her bruised-blue eyes prickle over her skin.
Just like the Shade Lord, a pair of onyx horns curled from her head. The name Queen Morgryth Malythean was printed at the bottom of the page in heavy, imposing font.
Haven shivered, a gust of cold air washing over her. The illustration began to move, shadows unspooling from her body and lifting off the page—
Haven snapped the book shut and tossed it between two runespell texts, the whisper of a name on her tongue.
Shade Queen. Curse Maker. Darkcaster. Ruler of the Netherworld and Queen of the Noctis.
Haven had never noticed the drawing before. How was it not burned, anyway?
Mortals were superstitious by nature, and most believed the Shade Queen could spy on them from any likeness of herself.
Silly, yet Haven felt the deepest urge to rip out the picture of the dark queen and toss it into the fire burning in the fireplace below.
Cressida’s sharp voice dragged Haven back to reality. She loped down the stairs, her teeth clenched so tight they ached.
One hand gripped the hilt of her sword as an internal war waged within her mind, the practical side ordering the impulsive side not to murder the king’s mistress right here in the library, if only for Bell’s sake.
But in Haven’s present mood, she couldn’t promise anything.
Haven reached the bottom of the library stairs just in time to see the king’s mistress towering over Bell, her ageless face—manipulated by magick, no doubt—twisted into a sneer.
“Bellamy,” Cressida snapped in a voice like ripping fabric. “Why aren’t you properly dressed and ready to meet our guests?”
Bell quickly bowed his head. “My apologies, Cress—”
“The Crown Prince does not apologize. Now stand up tall and try to look the part.” Cressida brushed a lock of brassy hair off her shoulder, the jeweled dahlias pinned to the top of her head sparkling. “And do hurry. The king and Renk are hungry, and my hair won’t keep much longer in this humidity.”
Renk was Cressida’s son and Bell’s half-brother, and the only person Haven had ever gotten close to smothering in their sleep.
Bell sighed. “I’m sorry, Cressida. I wasn’t thinking how my actions would affect you and Renk and . . . His Highness.”
Haven’s blood boiled in her veins, and the hand on her sword itched to wield it. Yet if she acted against Cressida now, it would only make Bell’s life harder, so she cracked her neck and tried counting runes.
“Also,” Cressida continued. “You should know we have guests at the table. King Thendryft and his daughter. Do try to look interested in her.”
Bell’s Adam’s apple dropped low as he swallowed. “I told my father . . .”
“What?” Cressida lifted her drawn-on eyebrows. “You will marry her, Bellamy, for Penryth. I almost feel pity for the poor girl.”
“I won’t.” But Bell’s voice was soft, his eyes downcast.
Cressida clicked her tongue. “Selfish, selfish boy. Your mother should have taught you better. It’s a shame she’s not here today. Although perhaps that’s a relief, considering the way you’ve turned out. The Goddess Above knows I’ve tried, but I can only do so much for a boy of your kind.”
Mid-count, Haven grasped her sword and slipped it part-way from its sheath, the sound like a den of serpents hissing. Runes, she’d tried not to murder the woman.
Now it was time to let the steel talk.
Cressida flicked her cold gaze to Haven for the first time since entering. “Touch a hair on my head, girl, and yours will be rolling down the hill before you can blink. Or perhaps you’ll be staked outside the walls and left for the Devouring.”
A ribbon of dread unfurled inside her chest at the thought.
“Is that what happened to Master Grayson?” Haven asked, enjoying the way the skin at the corners of Cressida’s eyes tightened with displeasure.
Years ago, near the end of the competition to become Bell’s Guard Companion, Cressida had approached Haven and asked her to spy on the prince. In exchange for feeding Cressida important information, she would guarantee Haven the position.
Haven had said no, and not meekly.
Afterward, Cressida told Haven’s mentor, Master Grayson, not to let Haven win.
In an act of defiance that humbled her to this day, her mentor still awarded her the position.
As punishment, he was cast outside the runewall. Haven never saw him again, but the memory of watching him disappear into the dark woods at dusk still haunted her.
Cressida grinned. “Be careful, girl. You are just as replaceable as that old fool was.”
Turning on her heels, Cressida crossed the library, her long hair swaying behind her as she called over her shoulder to Haven, “What a shame you’re not a boy. Even someone like you would make a more suitable prince than Bellamy, I fear.”
The air lightened as soon as Cressida left. Bell seemed to grow a few inches taller. Haven unclenched her jaw and tried to keep her face neutral.
The last thing she wanted was for Bell to have to worry she would do something rash and stupid—which she almost had.
Bell studied the toes of his polished black boots. “Shadeling’s shadow, she’s horrible. I thought today would be different. I thought, because it was my Runeday . . . never mind. I might as well expect a scorpion not to strike.”
“Maybe someday she’ll strangle on that garish hair.”
Bell managed a weak laugh.
But she knew there were no words she could say to comfort him. She tried and failed a hundred times before, each time only making things worse.
“You should leave me, Haven. Go somewhere exotic and beautiful.” There was a finality in Bell’s voice that terrified her.
“Why would I ever do that?”
Bell met her gaze, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I’ll be married soon, and everything will change—”
“I’m not leaving you.”
He sighed. “You’re my best friend, Haven. My person. But I don’t think you were made to live in anyone’s shadow—even a handsome prince like me. Someday you’ll realize that and escape this prison.”
“Never say that to me again,” she snapped, letting her anger at Cressida get the better of her. “You’re the only family I have, and I’m never leaving you. Got it, droob?”
One corner of his mouth shifted upward. “What the runes is a droob?”
“An idiot,” she fibbed. She’d picked the word up from a Northern trader who taught her a few curse phrases of Solissian.
“Okay, now what does it really mean?”
She grinned wickedly. “Knob. Wanna hear another one? Rump falia.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“It means butt-face.”
Bell laughed, but the sound was strangled and quickly morphed into a sob. Tears streamed down his face. Two fat, horrible tears that cruelly reminded Haven there were parts of Bell she couldn’t heal, even with famous Solissian insults.