The Blood Spell, page 5
“My Lady, your solicitor stopped at the house and said this was urgent.” She pushed the parchment into Dinah’s hand and stepped back.
Lady Chauveau, please come see me immediately on a matter of some urgency.
Dinah read it twice and then stepped into the carriage. “Go to my solicitor’s office. Hurry.”
Had one of her export ships been robbed? She’d heard there were issues with pirates on the stretch of sea between Llorenyae and Ichil. Had one of her buildings burned? Or was there an issue with payment from one of her many business interests?
The scenery flew by the window as the coachman drove the carriage quickly through the cobblestoned streets. Dinah settled against the cushions and forced herself to be calm. Whatever had happened, she would deal with it quickly and decisively before any hint of a problem reached the queen’s ears and weakened the appeal of a betrothal to one of Dinah’s daughters.
She wanted that throne. Needed it. It was the key to making sure no one could ever break her and leave her powerless again.
Her solicitor rented space above a bakery. The smell of warm, sugary bread followed Dinah as she marched up the outside stairs and entered his office.
He greeted her, gestured for her to take one of the wide wooden chairs that sat in front of his desk, and then gathered up five sheets of parchment. A bloody fingerprint marred the back of one sheet.
“A messenger delivered this to me earlier today,” he said, fishing out a pair of spectacles so he could read. “I didn’t send for you until I’d personally visited both your bank and the city clerk to ascertain the truth of the matter.” His shoulders sagged. “I regret to inform you that your husband is dead.”
Dead. The hit of shock faded quickly as a host of possibilities emerged. Without James in the way, Dinah would be the true head of the Chauveau family. She could make sweeping decisions without forging his signature or manipulating him to give the orders she wanted him to give. She could stop worrying that he’d make a mistake that could cost her everything she’d worked toward. She could—
Her solicitor cleared his throat, and Dinah’s gaze snapped to him.
“Thank you for informing me. I suppose we’ll have to wait for the reading of his will before—”
“James was murdered,” he said. “By the creditors he was indebted to.”
She drew back. “How could James possibly have accrued enough debt to be worth killing? I had him on a very strict allowance.”
Her solicitor looked at the stack of parchment. “I’m afraid he fell in with someone far more clever than he. Whoever was floating him the money he used to gamble gave him the idea to forge your signature.”
A quick slice of panic left her shaking. “What did he do?”
“He deeded all your property back into his name and then used it as insurance against his gambling. He also cleaned out your bank account. I’m afraid all you have left to your name is whatever coin you have at your home and whatever valuables you can pack up before the new owners move in.”
“New owners.” Her voice was a whisper of its former self. Stupid, self-serving, lazy fool of a man. If she’d known he’d cause this much trouble, she’d have killed him herself before he ever had a chance to ruin her.
“I’m afraid it gets worse.” Her solicitor cleared his throat and handed her the parchment.
Worse? How could it possibly get worse? He’d bankrupted her right before her final bid for the royal betrothal. Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d sacrificed for, was disappearing in front of her eyes. She glanced down at the parchment and froze.
The solicitor’s voice was sympathetic. “I’m afraid some of his debt remains, and as collateral, he put up—”
“My daughters.” Her voice shook with fury.
“They will be claimed for their family name. Once the inquiry into James’s death is finished, the creditor—a Mr. Dubois—will own your mansion, your business interests, and your bank account. When he claims a daughter in marriage, he’ll own the Chauveau quarter as well.”
“Not if he’s dead.” She stood abruptly, rage snaking through her blood like fire.
“He’s quite well guarded, my lady. His message this morning said that he knows you are the force behind the Chauveau empire and that if he feels threatened in any way, one of your daughters will be the next to die.”
Dinah crumpled the parchment in her hand, her pulse pounding against her ears until it drowned out every thought except for a single word: powerless.
Her vision narrowed, her mouth went dry, and every breath she took fought a battle against the fist of panic that was squeezing her chest.
Unless she could pay off James’s debts before the inquiry finished, she would lose her wealth, her empire, and her quarter. Once word reached the queen about Dinah’s ruined status, she’d lose any chance at the betrothal as well.
She had a few weeks before the estate would come up for review before the royal magistrate.
She needed coin, and she needed it fast. No creditor would loan her any. Not when she’d lost all her collateral. And she couldn’t go to the rest of the Chauveau family because the bulk of their wealth had been tied to her empire, so they would be nearly destitute too. It was unthinkable to ask another head family for help. She might as well roll over and show a rabid wolf her soft underbelly and then wait for her blood to spill.
No, she’d have to find a different way to get enough gold to pay off her husband’s debts, ransom her daughters out of Mr. Dubois’s heinous contract, and restore her position before anyone was the wiser. Maybe there were businesses James hadn’t known about that she could quickly sell. Maybe one of her contacts in Akram, Ravenspire, or Súndraille would be willing to float her a loan, though the thought of being so far in debt to any of them was sickening.
Or maybe there was a faster source of coin right here in Falaise de la Mer if she was willing to do whatever it took to get her hands on it. She’d killed before to get what she needed. She could do it again.
SIX
RESTLESSNESS CHURNED INSIDE Kellan as he dictated his response to yet another invitation for dinner or tea or . . . he’d forgotten precisely what he’d been invited to this time. It hardly mattered. It would be another test. Another game where the lies were pretty, the questions were pointed, and the calculation was shrewd. He’d smile, flirt, parry, and test the waters of loyalty and power with pointed questions of his own, just as he’d been doing every day since he’d returned home.
And then he’d return to the castle; navigate meetings with his advisers; hear concerns or offers from representatives of the head families, significant merchants, or magistrates from far-flung cities; and wear his careless charm like armor as he walked the castle halls. He never knew who’d be waiting and watching around every corner.
He caught himself sighing and tried to pay attention to his secretary, who was still discussing the invitation before him.
“The delightful Miss Cherise Sandovar, whom you played cards with yesterday, should be in attendance, though I doubt that you’ll get more than two words with her if Lady Chauveau has anything to say about it, even if Cherise is one of the Chauveau nieces. She is most keen on making sure you only spend time with her own daughters,” the prince’s secretary said as he wrote Kellan’s response to the invitation in bold, slashing strokes, oblivious to the prince’s wandering focus. “There are three other invitations to be dealt with, though each is from lesser families, so not as urgent. And the queen has requested your attention on the matter of the ball’s menu. I’ve compiled a list of suggested dishes for your approval. If you have any friends from school you’d like to invite, give me a list so those invitations can go out on the morrow. I’d also like to . . .”
Kellan wandered to the window that overlooked the royal family’s private garden, letting his secretary’s words fade into the background. He’d been home for a week now, playing the part of the flawless prince, and it was wearing on him. There wasn’t a minute of his day that hadn’t already been scheduled before he awoke. Never an instant that he wasn’t on display.
And there’d been no time to face the numbing void within him at the thought of taking his father’s place when it was his fault his father wasn’t still on the throne.
He needed to get out of the castle. Without his guards or his advisers or the seemingly endless parade of people who wanted his attention. He needed the space to breathe through the pain of being back where the loss of his father was a ghost that haunted every corridor.
He needed to feel alive, and there was only way to do that.
Turning back to his secretary, he found the man waiting for a reply to . . . whatever it was he’d just said. Kellan gave him an easy grin and said, “I’m afraid you lost me for a bit. So many girls to think about.”
The prince winked, and Jacques chuckled. “Would that we all had your problems, sir.”
Kellan’s grin slipped.
Oh yes, he definitely needed to get out of the castle. By himself. And the only way to do that was to trick Jacques into leaving him alone while also tricking his guards into thinking the prince was still safely inside his office, working on the tasks his mother and advisers had set for him.
“Let’s get started with the list of those to invite to the ball,” Kellan said, walking to the desk and clapping Jacques on the shoulder. “Invite all my local friends, and also send an invitation to Prince Javan in Akram.”
It would be good to see Javan again. The journey from Milisatria Academy in the northern kingdom of Loch Talam to his home in Balavata had only taken Kellan five weeks, but it felt like he hadn’t seen his former roommate in months. Of everyone in Kellan’s life, Javan—whose mother had died when he was young, leaving him with the heavy burden of living up to her final wishes and his father’s high expectations—was perhaps the one person uniquely suited to understand the pressure Kellan was under now. It was almost a shame that Kellan had been too busy pursuing girls and mad escapades while at the academy to seriously discuss his future with his friend.
Almost.
He couldn’t truly regret his many adventures at the academy. Especially the ones that had involved the kind of risk he craved now. At least at the academy, he’d only had to worry about evading the headmaster and the pairs of guards who’d patrolled the academy’s grounds.
Here, everyone was focused on Kellan. Especially his mother.
Jacques finished his list and reached for a stack of requests from various advisers. The chain around Kellan’s chest tightened, and he nudged Jacques’s shoulder.
“You hungry?”
The secretary blinked up at him. “Hungry, sir?”
Kellan grinned. “You’re only a bit older than me, Jacques. I walk around feeling like I have a hollow canyon for a stomach most days. We’ve been at this for hours. Are you hungry?”
Jacques smiled slowly. “I could eat.”
“Say no more.” Kellan leaned over the desk, shifting parchment until he found what he was looking for. “This list of dishes my mother wants me to approve for the ball seems very fancy.”
“Quite fancy, sir.”
“I’ve been eating academy food for so long, I’m not sure I remember exactly how each of these tastes.” Kellan raised an eyebrow at Jacques.
“It would be a shame to approve a dish and then have it be a disaster on the day of the ball.” Jacques spoke gravely, though there was a twinkle in his eyes.
“Exactly.” Kellan handed the list to Jacques and stepped back. “Which is why I’d like you to go down to the kitchens and order a sample of each.”
“Me, sir?” Jacques looked askance at the pile of work still waiting on his desk.
“Something like this requires a personal touch. Tell the staff you’ll wait. No, tell them I’m up here waiting. That will get them moving.”
And if there was any luck left in the world for him, cooking samples of each of the twenty-six dishes on the list would take at least two hours. Plenty of time for him to sneak out of the castle, figure out a way to feel truly alive, at least for a little bit, and then sneak back in with no one the wiser.
“But, sir—”
“I’ll look over these while you’re gone.” Kellan took the pile of requests from Jacques’s hand.
“But this could take hours.”
Kellan was counting on it.
“My good man, do you have any idea just how many girls have been introduced to me in the past week? And just how fast my betrothal ball is coming? I have a lot of thinking to do.” Kellan gave Jacques a meaningful look, and the man shook his head, a resigned smile playing at his lips.
“Very well, sir.”
Kellan held his careless smile in place until the door closed behind Jacques, and then he whirled toward his bedchamber. It had been years since he’d last used his balcony to escape the castle, but the process couldn’t be that different from the many times he’d done something similar to leave his third-floor dorm room at the academy after hours.
Several harrowing moments later, after nearly missing his leap from the balcony to the solid old oak tree whose branches painted shadows on his bedroom wall at night, and after almost being caught on the south lawn by a pair of representatives from the Faure family, Kellan slipped through the hedges that bordered the southern edge of the castle’s estate.
He’d had no real plan other than escape, but he found his feet hurrying toward the path he’d often taken as a child beside his father when they would go south, skirting the city, to visit his father’s old tutor and friend Pierre de la Cour at his little farmhouse beside the sea.
Not that Kellan wanted to see Pierre today. Or, luck forbid, Pierre’s interfering, know-it-all daughter, Blue, the tiny ruiner of many of Kellan’s best adventures when he was younger. But there was a comfort in walking the familiar trail through wild seagrass and scattered groves, the city sprawling to his left. He could breathe in the delicate scent of salt and sun-warmed dirt and pretend he was eight again, his hand swallowed up by his father’s, his world still beautiful and perfect.
He could pretend he’d made different choices. That he’d recognized the risks in swimming so far out that day. That Blue had seen him and tattled like she always had. Anything that would change the fact that he’d thrown himself into dangerous waters and that his father had thrown himself in after, desperate to save his son.
Kellan had been saved, but he’d felt lost ever since.
The thick, damp heat of the summer’s day lay on Kellan’s skin like a wet blanket as he neared the de la Cour farmhouse. Skirting the edges of the property, he took the well-worn path down to the cliff that overlooked the glittering expanse of the golden Chrysós Sea.
The waves hurled themselves at the strip of white sand that lay between the cliff and the sea. Beyond their foamy caps, a dark shadow threaded its way beneath the water, changing the color from light gold to a deep bronze.
That was the shadow that had taken his father from him. The current that ran through the channel deep beneath the surface had snatched him. Flung him away from the prince and then sucked him under.
Kellan had been throwing himself into danger ever since. Daring the world to take the life it should’ve taken in the first place.
Ignoring the steps carved into the side of the cliff, Kellan stripped off his shirt and pants, and stood poised for a moment at the edge of the precipice.
It was a long, treacherous drop. He’d have to pull up out of the dive fast, or he’d slam into the sea floor and break every bone in his body. He’d have to fight the current that would want to drag him beneath the waves and into the channel. If he got hurt, there was no one to rescue him. If he was caught in the current, no one would ever know where he’d gone or what had become of him.
There were a hundred ways it could all go wrong, and for the first time since Kellan had set foot in Balavata again, he felt wonderfully, gloriously alive.
Spreading his arms wide, he drew in a deep breath of the salt-tinged air, and dove. The wind rushed past his ears, and then he plunged below the surface, the shock of barely warm water slapping at his skin and sharpening his senses.
He curved upward, angling his body so that his dive was as shallow as he could make it. Still, his stomach scraped the sand, a rough bite of pain that shrank the numbness inside until he could almost believe it didn’t exist.
There was nothing but the dangerous waters of the Chrysós. Nothing but the sun on his back as he surfaced and the tug of the current against his legs.
For one brief moment, he stopped fighting. Let the current drag him toward the streak of bronze that marked the channel.
Maybe this time, he’d let it have him. Let it take what it should have taken nearly eleven years ago. A penance for the heavy price his actions had cost his family and his kingdom.
He closed his eyes and waited, his body buffeted by the waves even as the current dragged him closer and closer to the channel. Waited for peace. For a sense that he was finally doing the right thing after years of running from it.
Instead, he saw Nessa’s face. Heard his mother tell him the head families didn’t believe his sister could rule and would be only too happy to remove her from the line of succession permanently. And he felt a quiet, insistent desire to be alive, even though it hurt.
His eyes snapped open, and he was stunned to see the shadow was already gaping beneath him. Kicking, he began fighting the current with strong, measured strokes. For an instant, it held him, pinning him above the crevasse that had taken his father. But Kellan wasn’t his father. He wasn’t concerned with snatching a foolish child from the jaws of death, even at the expense of his own ability to survive.
He was young. He was strong. And he had more to live for than he’d thought when he’d come to the edge of the sea. He fought harder, coordinating his movements to harness the power of his height and physical strength, and in another moment, he was free.
As he swam toward the shore and the mountain of responsibilities that waited for him, the void within him throbbed, a single shaft of pain that tethered him to the shadow he was leaving behind.
