Tale of the Heart Queen (Artefacts of Ouranos #4)

Chapter 49

C HAPTER 49

GAbrIEL

A tlas’s capture does nothing to quell the chaos churning through Aphelion. I’d hoped it would simmer some of the boiling tempers, but all it’s done is stoke the fires.

I suppose I was being too optimistic. Or rather, naive.

They know he’s alive, sitting in a cell, and they want his head. But the low fae won’t be satisfied with Atlas’s death alone, and I understand. Undoing the century of damage he caused will take a long time. Laws need to be repealed. Reparations need to be made. I have no actual idea of what the finances of this kingdom look like—that has never been my responsibility—but I hope we can do something to compensate them, even though gold can never make up for the stripping away of one’s dignity and rights .

The problem is I’m already acting on a thin edge of authority, and I don’t have the power to do any of this.

A fact I’m reminded of as I sit in the council chamber to Tyr’s left as the heads of the districts continue to argue. He didn’t want to join us, but I convinced him that he needed to be here. He’s been spending most of his time working with his magic, trying to regain enough power to destroy the ark. For now, it sits safely in the study in its case. I’m not sure what he’s waiting for—how will he even know if he has enough magic unless he tries?

But Lor and Nadir said we have a bit of time, and I’m not pushing him yet.

Erevan sits across from me, and no one in this room trusts him. They know he’s the Primary now, but these nobles all hate him.

“He blew up half of my district!” the head of the Twelfth District, Virgil, shouts. “What is he even doing in this room?”

Every eye swings to Erevan, who glares at Virgil.

“You all deserved it and worse,” he says, his voice cold with fury. He’s not even trying to win them over. I sigh and rub my forehead with two fingers, trying to massage away the ache building behind my left eye.

Though Atlas initially encountered some opposition to his new rules when he took over, the nobles quickly realized that it was beneficial to have the low fae corralled and “managed.” They could pay them next to nothing to work in their homes and businesses, and any complaints were swept under the rug. They became far too comfortable with this new normal. There have been grumblings from a few corners of late, but not enough to compel anyone into upsetting the status quo .

So Erevan is right about all of it, and I understand the source of his anger, but this baiting isn’t getting him anywhere.

“You hear that?” Virgil exclaims. “How can we support a king who believes this of his most valuable citizens?”

Oh shit, that is precisely the worst thing he could say.

Erevan presses his hands to the table and stands up, leaning towards him.

“Most valuable citizens?” he hisses. “No one in this room is more valuable than anyone who lives out there.” He scans Virgil from head to toe. “In fact, I might argue the opposite is true.”

“How dare—”

“How dare I? How dare you sit here in your fancy clothes and with your fancy houses and cast aspersions on people you’ve all taken advantage of and who are just trying to survive?”

Erevan slaps the table.

“The only right thing to do is repeal every law against the low fae,” he says to a chorus of shocked whispers and gasps. “I had hoped that you sycophants would finally see reason and agree because it is the right thing to do, but the longer I sit here listening to you windbags, the more I realize you are all lost causes. You care for no one and nothing but yourselves.”

Erevan hunches forward.

“You are not the king here yet!” accuses a female High Fae—the head of District Thirteen. Or is it Fourteen?

“No,” Erevan says, “but Tyr agrees, and he is the king. In case any of you have forgotten?”

Every eye flicks to Tyr, who sits quietly with his forehead crumpled in worry. It’s actually more emotion than I’ve seen from him in a while. Tyr does agree with Erevan. I’ve been there to witness many talks the two of them have had over the past few days. Well, Erevan talks, and Tyr nods and listens, but I understand that in Tyr’s heart, he knows Erevan is right. He will free my brothers and me from our chains, and I know he wants to do the same for the people of his kingdom.

Something in me suspects he’s waiting for Erevan to come around to the idea of ruling. He’ll descend when he knows Aphelion is finally in good hands. The thought sends a cold dread spreading through my chest, but I know it’s selfish to wish he’d remain here with me. And I also want him to find peace.

“Is this true?” Virgil demands of Tyr, who opens his mouth and closes it. Though Tyr is the king, he cannot repeal laws with impunity. The council was created many years ago, and any significant decisions like this must be voted on. While technically no one could stop him, it would be of little use to repeal the laws if there is no one actually to act on his wishes.

Though he can allow the low fae to move from The Umbra, these windbags, as Erevan so eloquently put it, can’t be forced to welcome them.

“It’s true,” Tyr says in a soft voice, but if he was planning to say anything else, it’s drowned out by a chorus of shouts and condemnations.

My eye catches on the door, and I recognize Halo, one of the Tributes. Seeing her frightened face and her hands clasped, my shoulders tighten. I was afraid of this.

Earlier this morning, Tyr asked that a message be sent to Apricia requesting she return to her home in the Twenty-Fourth District. He’d spoken with the Mirror, which confirmed it had chosen her through Atlas’s deception, and it wouldn’t be right to proceed with a bonding.

In fact, every remaining Tribute was granted a pardon and told they could return to their former lives. Some might be happier about that news than others.

The Mirror told Tyr that he could hold his own Trial to determine his bonded partner at a later time. I doubt that will ever happen, but I was all too happy to have the news delivered to Apricia. I wanted to handle it myself, but then I was called to this stupid meeting.

I was hoping she’d go quietly with her tail between her legs, but from the look on Halo’s face, I know that was also naive and wishful thinking. She spots me and then scurries to where I’m sitting. No one seems to notice; everyone is too busy arguing amongst themselves.

She bends down and whispers, “We need help. Apricia hasn’t taken the news of her dismissal well.”

I notice Cornelius Heulfryn eyeing the two of us from across the table. I try to decide whether soliciting his help would be better or worse. Can he calm his daughter down? In hindsight, maybe I should have discussed all of this with him to begin with. He’s always struck me as a reasonable man, but I rushed through the process in my excitement to get Apricia out of here.

“I’m coming,” I whisper to Halo. Then I look over at Cornelius and jerk my chin towards the door. He nods and pushes himself up, proving that he’s also a smart man.

I stand too as Erevan gives me a quizzical look .

“Sorry, I need to go,” I say. I feel bad leaving him and Tyr, but I have no authority here, and they’ll have to sort this out on their own.

Cornelius and I follow Halo out of the room and through the palace into the queen’s wing. Even from a distance, I hear the screech that’s so adept at shredding every eardrum located within a square mile.

Halo walks in front of us with her hands clasped and tosses a worried look over her shoulder.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cornelius asks, peering down the hallway.

“I regret not telling you this earlier,” I say, “but this morning, Tyr released the Sun Queen Tributes from their obligations and they were told they could return home.”

“Could?” Cornelius asks, looking at me.

“Were asked to return home . . . in the case of your daughter.”

The truth is the other Tributes were invited to remain at the Sun Court, but Apricia’s letter made no such offer. I think Tyr couldn’t stand the reminder. I think if he were a crueler man, he might have sent Apricia out of Aphelion altogether.

“I see,” Cornelius says, his lips pressing together.

“It seems she’s not taking the news well.”

That’s an understatement, I realize as we draw closer. The very walls seem to be vibrating with the sounds of Apricia’s tantrum. Glass shatters, and furniture breaks. We pick up our paces, entering the large bedroom suite that has been the former residence of a line of Sun Queens to witness a most pitiful sight.

Apricia is a frenzied nightmare of screeching, wild hair, and tears. She’s trashing the entire room—ripping the sheets, smashing the mirrors and trinkets, and kicking furniture into the walls.

“I was supposed to be the queen!” she screeches. “That bitch stole it from me! I will kill her!”

I can only assume she means Lor, who is obviously responsible for none of this, but there was never any love lost between those two.

“The Mirror chose me! I was going to be a queen!”

She repeats the same mantra over and over, and she picks up another chair and hurls it at the fireplace. It smashes apart and pieces land in the hearth, a few splinters catching flame.

I’m worried she’ll burn the entire place down at this rate. Cornelius watches his daughter with a mixture of sadness and resigned exhaustion. I don’t know what kind of relationship he has with her, but then he says, “She’s always been . . . difficult.”

There’s a threadbare weariness in his words that makes me take pity on the man. Perhaps he thought he’d gotten her out of his hair too. What a perfect match she could have made with Atlas. They could have driven each other insane until the end of time.

“Shall I call for more guards?” I ask over the backdrop of more glass breaking and furniture shattering.

“No,” he says. “I’ll deal with it. Grant her this dignity, at least. Everyone will already know within the hour anyway.”

I nod and step back, allowing him the opportunity to calm her down. He approaches her with his hands in front of him like he’s trying to trick a wild animal into trusting him .

When Apricia sees her father, she stops, a jewelry box poised over her head.

“Apricia,” he says softly. “Put it down.”

She shakes her head. Tears coat her face, and her shoulders tremble. She clutches the box to her chest.

“I was going to be a queen,” she says with such broken agony that a tiny, withered part of my heart almost feels sorry for her. She too was brought here under a series of false pretenses and made to believe she was risking her life for a crown.

Whatever her faults, she was also a victim of Atlas’s betrayal.

Of course, she could have been a little more gracious about everything from the beginning, and nothing Atlas did excuses how she treated anyone. Including Lor. Maybe especially Lor.

“I understand that,” Cornelius says, his voice low and soothing. “But the situation has changed, and His Majesty has shared his wishes.”

“But why not me?” she asks. “Is he planning to find someone else?”

He shakes his head. “I do not know the king’s mind. But he is our king, and we must honor this request.”

Apricia clutches the box tighter, and then she truly breaks down, sobbing so hard she can barely catch her breath. Fat tears roll down her cheeks as she hiccups over her loss. Cornelius approaches her and wraps his arms around her.

She folds into him, sobbing into his shoulder as he runs a hand down the back of her head. He lets her cry for a moment, then directs her towards where I stand. Apricia continues to sob, still holding the jewelry box. While he might have difficulty with her, it’s clear that Cornelius Heulfryn loves his daughter.

A pungent bitterness coats my tongue at that realization.

My own father was a mean drunk who killed the only family I had. While I’m certainly far from perfect, I didn’t deserve that. No one does. I hope Apricia uses this moment to take a hard look at herself and the person she wants to be.

As they pass me, Cornelius stops and nods.

“I apologize for this. Please send the bill for repairs to me. I’ll take care of it.”

I tip my chin. That’s probably not necessary, but again, this isn’t my call. I’m just glad she’s getting out of here.

Apricia looks at me with bloodshot eyes. For once, there’s no anger or calculation in her gaze. It’s just flat and emotionless. I try to feel something other than relief. Maybe she’ll find someone that can handle her and make her happy. Or maybe she’ll live out her days as a miserable shrew. I don’t really care either way if I’m honest.

Then Cornelius shuffles Apricia out, and I hear him say softly, “Come, my girl. Your time is done here. Let’s go home.”