Kingdom of Scourge and Shadow (The Sightstone Series #1)

Chapter Eight: Alina

"After the death of the Unnamed Saint, leadership of the Order of Magiya passed from father to son through the House of Zima. Every son born in the paternal line has possessed the ability to control darkness–the power of the Unnamed Saint."

-Vasiliy Obolensky, A Brief Military History of Saroviya

***

The king's personal receiving room was a dark cavern that Alina avoided as much as she could. Unlike the rest of the palace, designed specifically to be bright and airy, King Mikhail's receiving room–his domain alone, and no one else's–was designed to intimidate and impress. It had been designed specifically for the king, completely renovated when he'd taken the throne, as it had been for everything king before him.

Dark intensity seemed to permeate his entire suite. Dark damask wallpaper lined the walls, and dark marble covered the floors. Thick curtains shrouded the windows and cast the rooms of the king's sanctum in shadow. The king's receiving room, in particular, seemed to embrace the theme. The wallpaper was the color of dried blood, a red so dark it was nearly black, and the only furniture in the room was a massive throne atop a black marble dais.

The throne itself was shaped from twisting strands of black metal with a red velvet seat, with the figures of Sankt Aleksandr and Sankt Pyotr, the first two kings of Saroviya, shaped from the same black metal, wrought in iron and flanking either side of the throne's high back. Behind it, tucked into a niche in the wall, hung a dark icon of Sankt Mikhail, the warrior saint and the king's namesake, depicted in red armor, riding a black horse, his sword held high as flames leapt behind him.

Alina hated that icon. It frightened her.

When she entered with Elektra at her side, King Mikhail lounged on the throne, the picture of luxurious boredom. He was tall and built like a former soldier, his brown hair starting to go grey, his blue eyes piercing. Though he was nearing sixty now, he hadn't let himself go, though much of his remaining fitness came from Alina's work. He still wore riding clothes in shades of black and red, somehow still spotless after a day on the roads. Privately, Alina suspected that he had a team of servants whose job was only to keep him clean when he traveled.

Lord Zima stood behind him, one hand resting on the back of his throne. Like the king, he seemed to belong in this dark and uninviting space. His hair and eyes were both jet-black, and he wore, as he tended to, all-black clothes, forgoing the uniform of the Order of Mages for his own tastes. All that black made his skin look unnaturally pale, and, in that ebon room, he looked more like a shadow than a man.

When Alina and Elektra entered, completely alien amid their somber surroundings in their white and blue jackets, his gaze flickered to the narrow space between them, to their tousled appearance, to the way Elektra slowly, deliberately brushed her hand against Alina's arm. His expression remained inscrutable, his black eyes fathomless, but Alina knew he'd noticed.

Together, Alina and Elektra stopped about six feet from the dais and sank into twin bows. They didn't rise until the king signalled that they could, and, even then, Alina avoided meeting his gaze. He always seemed to see too much, and, under his cold gaze, Alina always felt as though she had something to hide, even when she didn't.

"Ladies," Lord Zima said, his voice distant and more than a little annoyed. "We requested your presence a half-hour ago. Where the hell have you been?"

"Busy," Elektra drawled, glancing up at him, her dark eyes sparkling mischievously. "We're very sorry, of course. We only learned that we were needed a few minutes ago."

"We had guards looking everywhere for you," Zima continued his lecture, folding his arms. "You've wasted a colossal amount of time, and all you have to say to explain yourself is that you were 'busy.' Perhaps you could enlighten us and tell us just what it was that kept the guards from finding you."