The singing had stopped in the distance, and several shouts went up in alarm. They feared Nerezeth’s heir would break his neck; but it wasn’t his neck in the noose.
Vesper wrapped one gloved hand in Lanthe’s mane and slid sideways, holding on with his legs. They came upon the captive figure in a rush of wind. Shouting, Vesper caught the rope around its neck with his free hand and tugged as they passed. The head ripped free and plopped to the ground—bursting open with a splatter of seeds and stringy pumpkin pulp.
Vesper spun his horse and dismounted. “A proper beheading,” he grumbled, “ends with a gutting.”
Taking his rapier, he split the jousting dummy’s decapitated body from neck to groin, gouging out the stuffing, sans any grace of form, until all that remained was a limp casing of gold, orange, and white cloth upon a stake’s drunken slant. The prince stood there and panted—sweat beading on his forehead where strands as purple-black as a winter plum hung across his eyes. Overpowered by the scent of raw pumpkin, he felt vicious and unfulfilled.
A hand caught his shoulder from behind, and only then did he realize that the people stood silent while startled birdcalls filled the air.
“Quite a spectacle, Your Grace.”
Vesper stiffened at the stern voice of Sir Andrian Nocturn, his father’s Captain of the Guard. The prince turned to the serene, delicate features that reminded him more of Cyprian’s each day. “I feel no shame.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
Vesper’s ears flushed with heat; he wasn’t being entirely honest. He knew his display had been callow and reckless. But there was a purpose to it. “My people need to know that I will always avenge them.”
There was movement in the crowd as Cyprian stepped out from the line of guards to make his way over.
“A true leader inspires harmony and provides anchorage for his people,” Sir Andrian said. “There is a time for vengeance, yes. But it isn’t now. This is the time for you to lead.” Awkward silence ensued as they awaited Cyprian.
Upon arrival, Vesper’s friend offered him a sympathetic smile. Sir Andrian released Vesper and patted Cyprian’s back in greeting. No doubt the captain considered himself blessed by the night to have a son so calm and reasonable. So unlike their prince.
Vesper ground his teeth.
“The queen requests your presence in the shrine,” Cyprian said to Vesper, compassion darkening his purplish eyes. “Your father’s passage is at hand.”
The prince squashed a pumpkin rind under one heel as he fought the sting burning his heart and blurring his vision. “I should see to Lanthe first.” He stroked his stallion’s purplish-hued flank. The horse nibbled some grass, seeming no worse for wear despite their harried run. “He needs a rubdown.”
“That’s for the grooms to do.” Sir Andrian picked up Lanthe’s reins. “I’ll take him to the stables. Go now, be the man your family . . . your kingdom . . . needs you to be.”
Vesper didn’t respond, though he intended to do exactly that. Taking up stride with Cyprian, they followed the path that led to the shrine.
“Take heart. My father doesn’t appreciate the art of pantomime.” Cyprian eased the tension with his usual good humor. “I, however, am an enthusiast, and I say it was a fine portrayal of Eldoria’s fallen sovereign.”
A half-hearted grin tugged Vesper’s lips. How long had it been since he’d smiled?
Cyprian clapped his back. “Shall I clean up his remains for you?”
“Leave it to the birds,” Vesper answered. He glanced over his shoulder at the black crows and grayish-purple jackdaws flocked upon the ground, pecking at seeds and gathering stuffing that blew softly on the breeze. “His innards came from my eiderdown mattress. Let them nest in royal luxury.”
Upon their arrival at the latticework structure, Cyprian returned to the line of guards. Vesper made a point not to look at any faces, then ducked through the tall, arched opening in the framework. He paused inside, careful of the royal pets. The glossy white-and-black crickets scrambled about, their chirping songs the one comfort in this place of sorrow. His sister, Princess Selena, knelt with their lady mother at the king’s deathbed: a dais formed of woven moonflowers and twigs soaked in cinnamon oil. A canopy of crystallized cobwebs hung over his ailing body.
Being younger than Vesper by two years, and doted on by their lord father, Selena was taking this tragedy harder than anyone. She laid a bouquet of moonflowers on the pillow beside the king’s iron crown and kissed a face resembling Vesper’s own. During Vesper’s younger years, vicious rumors abounded that he was a bastard child . . . that his queenly mother had been unfaithful. King Orion never believed a word of it and was rewarded for his faith, for as Vesper grew into manhood, none could argue their relation. Other than the differences in his coloring, the prince was the mirror image of his father: virile and aristocratic with the same high cheekbones, long, straight nose, and angular jawline. Though now, with muscles atrophied and skin tight and sunken, the great king appeared gaunt. The tracery of veins running beneath his diaphanous skin from neck and ears to cheeks and eyelids seemed to writhe as his choked inhalations gave way to a rattling cough.
“Lord Father!” Selena wailed at his unconscious struggle to catch another breath. She’d been spending so much time here and in the gardens, her long, pale curls shimmered periwinkle in the dimness, a few shades lighter than her violet tears.
Queen Nova helped her daughter stand and nodded to the three guards in black-enameled armor behind Vesper. One stepped around to aid the queen but teetered in an effort to miss a cricket. Vesper instinctively reached out to steady him. The guard’s eyes widened beneath his great helm—his expression caught somewhere between fear and revulsion.
“Thank you, my young lord,” he mumbled while quickly withdrawing from the prince’s grasp. The strain in his voice didn’t match the gratitude of the words. He tried to hide the act of rubbing his arm with a gloved hand. Even through the leather, he considered the prince’s touch tainted.
Vesper suppressed a growl. He hadn’t asked to be born so useless his people had to alter their way of life. For lampposts to be erected where none used to be. For more trees to be hewn down so they might have torches at every turn—a staple for the only Nerezethite prince who’d been born night-blind in centuries.
Frowning, Vesper moved aside so the guard could lead his weeping sister out. The prince grasped Selena’s hand as she passed. They exchanged meaningful glances, then she squeezed his gloved fingers before releasing him. He took his place beside their lady mother while the other two guards resumed their positions at the shrine’s entrance.
The smoldering incense and therapeutic herbs around the deathbed stung Vesper’s nose. The twinge offered a less shameful explanation for his tears. He wiped away the clear streams from his cheeks.
“It is time to release our king unto his eternal rest, my son,” Queen Nova said with a catch in her throat. “He cannot light his star in the dark firmament until we’ve all said our good-byes.” Her fingertips gently cupped Vesper’s hand where he clenched the scabbard beneath his sable cape.
Compared to the king’s blue sodalite–encrusted broadsword, hanging as heavy as a bag of apples from a hook on the canopy’s frame, Vesper’s rapier was a customized blade of steel—slight enough for graceful parries and thrusts—with a narrow grip for younger palms and fingers. Moments before, he’d used it to enact his rage upon a cloth dummy. His lord father’s weapon now belonged to him, and he had plans for breaking it in, too. Just as his lady mother knew nothing of his jousting performance yet, he didn’t want her to bear witness to the second act he had to play, either.
Queen Nova squeezed his hand. He couldn’t miss the starkness of her bluish-white flesh against his black glove. Uncovered, the contrast between their skin was equally startling. Vesper released his scabbard and laced their fingers together.
Assure him we won’t let his passage be for naught—his lady mother’s thoughts tapped his mind privately, lips pressed tight and tongue held motionless—that you’ll honor his legacy and bring the sun back to Nerezeth; elsewise, more of our people will die from the illness that struck him down.
Two years ago, Vesper’s head had already aligned with the queen’s. Tonight, he was almost as tall as his lord father had been and had to look down to see into her eyes. The calm resignation there was as different from the disquiet that filled his soul as her pale heather irises were from his own—such a deep brown they were almost black. She’d always said his gaze was unnerving, fierce and unflinching as a raven’s. He used that to his advantage now, to underscore a refusal to respond.