The Broken Kingdoms of Osvolta (Kingdoms of Osvolta #1)

23. And Unexpected Guests

Chapter twenty-three

And Unexpected Guests

Q ueen Asta’s tearoom sat in the heart of the highest tower. Spanning an entire floor, surrounded by windows draped in lacy curtains that led out to sun washed stone balconies. Intricate mosaic tiles made up the floor. The walls were lacquered white and decorated with delicate, hand-painted flowers and vines. Candles and incense lay sporadically around the space, giving a heady smoke to the air as it worked to mask the ever-present stench of damp. Except the result was an overpowering sickly-sweet smoke, as though they were in the workshop of an expert herbalist.

Solveig was the last to enter, late as her brother had said. Still wearing the deep green gown that matched her eyes, a black choker gracing her neck to hide the imperfection beneath that she knew her mother would hate. Asta eyed her sharply as she drifted toward the table, not missing the twin daggers adorning her hair. But there were more that she couldn’t see. They’d strapped an ornate iron dagger to her thigh beneath the dress too. The same one she had used to give Killian the scar that marred the right side of his face during a sparring match as teenagers. He would claim a prisoner had attacked him, but they both knew it was her. His little sister had bested him, and the shame had eaten at him until he’d grown to hate her.

She walked around the table to sit between Gabriel and the queen. Servants poured their tea, and a myriad of plates adorned in small sandwiches and delicate iced cakes appeared on a golden cart.

“Thank you for inviting us, Your Majesty,” Leader Ezekiel spoke first, as he sipped his tea. “I must confess, I look forward to your mysterious concoctions whenever we visit.”

“Old family recipes,” Asta said with a wink as she delicately stirred her tea with a small golden spoon.

Leader Ezekiel laughed. “Perhaps we shall be fortunate enough to share them once we unite our houses.”

Solveig remained silent, her gaze on the artwork behind the leader’s head. Ezekiel, Gabriel, and the queen ate and sipped their tea in silence for a few moments. Solveig touched none of it. Not only wary of her mother’s family recipes, but her stomach twisted with sickness from what she had learned in her father’s office as she stared at Leader Ezekiel. The voice of The Oracle in Torrelin, who had taken that power and subjected countless prisoners to torture by the device in The Oracle’s name. Gabriel placed his cup down with a clatter, hand trembling slightly. Solveig’s gaze snapped to him as he stood and then knelt before her.

“My love,” he whispered, his eyes conveying none of the false warmth his mouth vomited. “I must rectify the loss of your ring at once, if you would be so gracious as to accept once more.”

Deftly, he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket to reveal a stark white diamond, overly large and completely obnoxious.

“Solveig Aila Maleen,” Gabriel swallowed, “will you marry me?” She stared down at him, feeling as though the weight of the entire world crushed her. They were trying to force the chains back around her, and she could see no way out, not without the files at Luxenal Mine. Gabriel knelt there, waiting silently, ashy brown hair gleaming in the sun, hazel eyes with a vicious glint stared back.

“Yes,” she whispered reluctantly, and Gabriel slid the new, larger ring onto her finger. Solveig fought back the memory of when Aldrik had done the same, with a smaller ring that the king and queen had forced her to bury with him. Memories she had locked tightly away that The Oracle’s invasion had set free.

“Fantastic.” Asta exclaimed, clapping her hands loud enough that Solveig jumped slightly in her chair. “Now that Solveig is back,” the queen continued. “I see no further reason to delay the wedding. We should set a date as soon as possible.” Ezekiel nodded as he chewed on a strawberry tartlet, the red jam smudged like congealed blood on his cheek. “Spring perhaps? Once the snow thaws enough to allow visitors to reach the city. Let’s see… ” A knock at the door interrupted her before she could suggest an exact date, much to Solveig’s relief.

“Yes,” the queen called in a clipped tone as one of her many ladies-in-waiting entered with a white knuckled grip on the copper handle, her eyes downcast.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” she whispered, bowing low, “but the princess has a visitor, and I am afraid they are demanding to see her at once.”

“And who, pray tell, would turn up unannounced demanding an audience with my daughter?”

“The Duchess Xanthe Whitlock, Your Majesty,” the girl whispered, as Asta sat back in her chair.

“That woman,” she hissed. “Fine, you’re excused, Solveig. We will hammer down an exact date later.” Solveig wasted no time leaping to her feet as she hurried from the room, leaving her tea untouched.

“I shall receive the duchess in my quarters, have her escorted up.” Solveig said to her mother’s servant as she raced for the stairs.

Solveig threw the door open before the duchess had even finished knocking. The two women stared at each other when the duchess pulled her into a tight embrace, and Solveig burrowed her face in Xanthe’s neck as tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Solveig, my dear, I came as soon as I heard.” The princess lifted her face from the soft warm skin at the duchess’s throat, blinking back her tears to meet the icy blue gaze that was identical to Aldrik’s. Xanthe’s eyes were full of concern as Solveig gripped her hands tight. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered.

Xanthe led her into the room, shutting the door behind them as they walked over to the chaise. “Come sit, tell me what’s happened. I’m sure it can’t be all that bad.”

“I should be dead. Or locked away in Luxenal.”

“Come now, you’re a princess.”

“For two years, Xanthe, they had me kill their test subjects. I followed every command without fail. Never once questioning whether any of them were truly guilty of anything more than going against the trio’s orders. I broke a prisoner out, killed three guards, and they swept it all into the shadows. They used to relish any opportunity to focus public discourse in my direction. I laid a golden opportunity at their feet, and they aren’t using it.”

Xanthe wrapped an arm around Solveig’s shoulders, pulling her close.

“You know I’ve always thought of you as a daughter, no matter what you’ve done or will do. My son loved you, and you loved him.” Xanthe turned, facing her.

“I must ask you though, if you are thinking of taking them to task, how far are you willing to go?”

Solveig blinked. “I don’t understand.” Her head tilted to the side slightly.

Xanthe caressed Solveig’s cold cheek. “My dear, they’ve beaten you down for over a decade, but you must know they’re afraid of you now more than ever. Why else would they be doing this, shoving you into the spotlight to disguise all their misdeeds, tarnishing you so they could shine?”

“I’ve tarnished myself plenty without their help,” Solveig scoffed dismissively.

“Perhaps, but they’ve done everything in their power to make it known.”

Solveig frowned, eyes downcast. “What is it, dear?” Xanthe asked.

“At my offering ceremony, something strange happened.” She blew out a deep, shaking breath. “I … I coughed blood. I was choking…” Her eyes searched unseeing as she tried to make sense of all that had happened. “Like what Aldrik went through that night.”

Xanthe went stiff at her side. “What are you saying?”

“They told me Aldrik died of poisoning, but what if he didn’t? What if he was simply a victim of the curse that’s killed countless others?” she implored, eyes unfocused, lost in her thoughts. “Or maybe he was poisoned, and I executed the wrong man?”

Xanthe remained rigid. Voice tentative. “From what I’ve heard, you suffered severe physical and spiritual damage during your escape.” She gripped one of Solveig’s hands. “Is it not possible that all of this could be but a culmination of that experience?”

“Perhaps,” Solveig hedged, “but what if it isn’t?”

“Then you won’t stop until you discover the truth.”

The princess and the duchess talked for hours, each filling the other in on all they had missed in the last two years. They talked until the sun hung low in the sky, and the scents of dinner wafted up through the cracks in the old stone walls.

“It’s getting late,” Xanthe said. “I should make my way.”

“Stay,” Solveig whispered. “You’ll never make it to the keep before dark now.” She pointed toward the orange hued sky. “Stay, eat some food, rest a while and you can leave at first light instead.”

“Sounds perfect.” Xanthe smiled.

Solveig had Teris bring their meals to her room that night. Queen Asta had never approved of their close bond and Solveig refused to subject the kind-hearted duchess to her mother’s scrutiny. She slept on the chaise, allowing the duchess her bed. It was the best sleep Solveig had had in four long years, without the aid of medication.

At dawn, they shared a tearful goodbye, hugging each other tight with a promise to visit as soon as they could. The queen stood watching from her balcony as Xanthe took Solveig’s hands in hers one final time.

“My dearest child.” She smiled, ice-like eyes overflowing with warmth, “how I wish things could have been different for you and my son.” She cupped the princess’s face with a gloved hand, stroking her cheek gently. “Don’t let them snuff you out, you’re stronger than they could ever hope to be. Whenever you are ready to take that step, you’ll have a supporter in me.”

“Xanthe…” Solveig murmured, but the duchess squeezed her hand once more, a silent gesture to let the princess know it was okay, that she understood. Her carriage pulled up, and Xanthe headed down the steps to meet it. Solveig pulled her cloak tighter. As she turned away, the chill morning air seeped into her bones, when a sound beyond the chorus of birds and the howling wind drummed in her ears. A sound that sent an arrow of ice straight through her heart that had nothing to do with the wintery mountain air.

Xanthe had coughed.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

An awful, wet, gurgling sound echoing as she clutched her throat.