Tainted

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Alani

Alani chews her lip. Her fingers are so tightly linked together on her lap, her knuckles are turning white.

The room reeks of lavender and rose. So many nobles sent flowers upon learning the warden had died. Many of them held Alani's hands when they were leaving the duels, offering her condolences and asking if there was anything she needed during this difficult time.

She had to keep reminding herself to look sad.

The heavy oak door opens. The torches flicker in the draft as the king sweeps in, his green velvet cape swishing around his ankles.

"No word about the healer?" the king asks without preamble. He sits down in the plush chair against the wall. Only the bottom edge of his greasy, groomed beard is visible. The rest of his face lies in shadow.

"No," Alani says, her voice soft. It's true. Ever since Gregor left, she hasn't heard anything about, nor has she heard anything about Mira. The guards said they say someone leaving through the skylight in the dungeon, but they couldn't see Mira's face, and so they assumed it was Gregor.

Alani hopes that no news is good news.

And please know that I still love you, and that I'm so, so sorry. Alani briefly closes her eyes, praying that her message gets somehow to Gregor. She's been too afraid to go searching for him herself; she didn't want to accidentally lead any of the king's men to him.

The king tsks. He crosses one booted foot over a silken knee.

"Tragedy," he says. "Utter tragedy." He leans forward and takes the glass ball from the top of the decanter. He pours himself a glass of red wine. There are two glasses on the table, but the king doesn't offer any to Alani. He looks to the silver circlet still resting atop Alani's head. The fire crackles beneath the carved marble mantle.

"But perhaps you can carry on his legacy?" the king says.

Alani knows it's not a question. She takes a deep breath. She cancelled the duels in the wake of the warden's death, but she knew she couldn't stop them indefinitely.

She unclasps her damp hands and smooths the black skirts of her mourning dress. It's meant to be more conservative, but Alani chose a dress with a wide square neck. She didn't ever want to wear something with high collars again.

"I thought you might ask," Alani says.

The king leans back in his chair, his crown almost touching the tapestry of his father behind him. He swirls the red wine in the glass. It matches a few of the newer stains on the rug.

"That's not an answer, your grace," the king says, curling the last two words into a slur.

Alani keeps her face neutral. "And what is the legacy you would like me to carry out?" she asks.

Half of the king's mouth smiles. He takes a sip of wine, watching Alani over the edge of the glass. "Why, the persecution of the Ill-Fated, of course. Choravasi's most dangerous citizens."

"I would humbly like to argue that there are Fated and Un-Fated citizens of Choravasi as well, your majesty," Alani says. She keeps herself perfectly still. She's very aware that anything she says could make this round stone room the last room she ever sees.

The half-smile slips from the king's face. He takes another sip of wine. "I had hoped you would be more reasonable, but I suppose if it has come to this, then I must take matters into my own hands. Get the guard." The king waves his hand in the direction of the door. Three jeweled rings glint from his fingers.

Alani nods, her heart thumping, and stands. It's a few short steps to the door, but it seems to be the longest distance Alani has ever walked. She pauses for a just a second with her hand on the knob, before turning it and pulling the door inward.