“Your Highness, are you all right? I wanted to get Madame Jillian, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
It was then Andreus saw the small knife in Max’s hand and the alcove he was currently sprawled in. He couldn’t have been out for more than a moment, but the boy had pulled him into the protected space and was prepared to defend him against any attackers.
Andreus ruffled Max’s hair. This boy was special. His soul was made of the seven virtues and Andreus had to protect it—had to see threats coming and head them off the way his sister—
The way he couldn’t for Imogen.
She would want him to take care of the boy. He owed her that.
“Max, there’s something I have to tell you. Until the Trials are over, it is better for anyone close to me to stay out of sight. Once I win the throne, everything will be back to normal. Do you understand?”
Max bobbed his head. “Yes, I—”
“Good. Now, go.”
Max bowed, started down the stairs, then turned back. “I don’t want to work on the windmills no more.” With that he darted off.
Andreus put his hand on the wall and took deep, even breaths to try to slow his heart rate and encourage the attack to ease. He took the steps at a slow pace as the straining muscle pounded . . . but not as hard. The attack was easing. As long as he rested, he could encourage it to fade entirely.
The desire to storm through the castle, find his sister, and wrap his hands around her throat was strong. He could taste the need for vengeance. But he forced himself to walk slowly and to breathe with deeper and deeper breaths even as his frustration over the deliberate pace simmered.
His chest still ached, but breathing no longer set his chest on fire by the time he stepped into his hallway. He looked at his door, then strode down the hall past the guard standing watch and pounded on the entrance to his sister’s rooms.
When she didn’t answer, he shouted her name and demanded she face him. Elder Jacobs wanted Andreus to wait before making Carys answer for her crime, but Elder Jacobs hadn’t loved the woman Carys had struck down.
“Carys!”
The door opened, but instead of Carys or her maid, the irritating foreign lord stood blocking the threshold. Lord Errik was it? His hands were supported by the hilt of his sword, the tip of which was resting on the ground in between his feet.
“Move out of the way.” Andreus reached for his own sword.
The lord casually shook his head, but tightened the grip on his weapon. “The Princess doesn’t wish to be disturbed. She needs rest. There’s some kind of important event planned for tonight. I think you might have heard about it.”
Rage churned. “I am heir to the throne of Eden! I command you to let me pass.”
Lord Errik cocked an eyebrow. “You do that well. If and when you become King, I am sure I’ll obey you with appropriate speed. Until then, Your Highness, I will stay right here.”
He itched to draw his weapon. “You dare mock me?”
“I dare a lot of things that my family wishes I wouldn’t,” the lord said, his voice calm but his body tense—coiled—ready to strike.
“Your family is going to be sorry when I am King and you are made to pay for this disrespect.”
“My family might not agree with your assessment. But I would most certainly be sorry. Just as I am sorry that you have suffered so many losses this week.”
Was he referring to Imogen? Andreus drew his sword. “Do you think I care for your sympathy?”
“Not in the slightest.” The lord shifted his weight and gripped his blade with a casual efficiency that, despite his anger, gave Andreus pause. “However, I offer it, as well as this: I know more about Lady Imogen and her interest in the Palace of Winds than you or anyone in your family ever has. She is not what you thought she was.”
Andreus lifted his blade. “Don’t speak of her to me. How would a Trade Master from Chinera know more about Eden’s seer than those who actually knew her?”
“A Chineran Trade Master wouldn’t know anything. But I do. Do not make me strike you down over someone as trivial as her.”
Andreus shifted his grip on the sword. His hands were sweating. His chest still ached. He wanted to strike down the arrogant lord in front of him. He had chosen his sister’s side. Why? She was unliked. Spurned by nearly all who crossed her path. What did she promise him? Andreus wondered. She must have promised something. How many other dignitaries had she also made assurances to in order to secure their support?
Whatever she offered them would be meaningless when the Trials were over. And then—then he’d teach this foreign-born lord to be wary of whose name he found in his mouth.
“Very well,” Andreus said, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “I will let my sister rest, as you call it. But give her a message for me—will you?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” The lord bowed, but never took his eyes off Andreus.
Andreus looked past the lord, toward the doors to Carys’s bedroom. “Tell my sister that I look forward to seeing her on the battlements tonight. I plan on permanently resolving this matter there.”
He dressed with care in black pants and boots and a deep yellow doublet that Imogen would have admired. She’d wanted him to look every inch the King she believed him to be. In the pocket of his black cloak was a lock of Imogen’s hair tied with a ribbon of white. She’d looked so peaceful on the chapel dais—almost like she had when she slept beside him. Seeing her that way—keeping a piece of her with him during this trial—would give him the strength to do what he needed to do.
Elder Cestrum, Lord Garret, and several of the Masters were on the battlements when Andreus stepped from the stairwell into the cold air. He couldn’t help but look at the spot stained with Imogen’s blood. Then, tearing his eyes away from the place where she lost her life, Andreus looked to the front of the battlements that overlooked the city. There, Elder Cestrum stood between two platforms. One was yellow. The other blue. Neither had existed when Andreus was here earlier. Each had ropes attached to them that stretched up and over the castle’s white walls.
Andreus strode across the stone, accompanied by the sound of the windmills that he’d always loved. The Chief Elder turned toward him as the Masters hurried to inspect some wires and metal cones that Andreus hadn’t noticed before. They were used to spread the sound of the gongs throughout the castle and to the base of the steps in the city to warn of a Xhelozi attack. The Masters had improved the design of magnets and wires and coils that were powered by the wind over the last decade. Andreus had been drawing out some new improvements himself, but had never found them to be as important a task as the wind-powered lights.
“Prince Andreus.” Elder Cestrum stroked his white beard to a point as Andreus approached. “I trust you have recovered from your trying time this morning.”