CHAPTER 28

Love and Death

After two weeks in the north, trying to gain a foothold with Abiye in Gorman Province, Arcadimon returned to the capital with spatters of mud still clinging to his clothing. No matter. No one would notice in the wet weather.

Autumn had taken root in Corabel. Every afternoon, the rain came up from the south, drenching the city, the cliffs, the miles of white poppies bobbing on their stems. Everything from the sand-colored stones to the red rooftops of the city had a faint gleam, as if touched by magic.

Arcadimon traversed the lower halls, passing in and out of the milky light from the windows as the rain beat down on the glass.

He was looking forward to seeing Ed again. Ever since the kiss on the White Plains, Eduoar had been distant. And the more Arcadimon tried to talk to him, the more he shied away, spending long days in his rooms when even Arcadimon couldn’t coax him out.

They had to address the kiss.

And maybe repeat it.

The thought glimmered like a flame in his chest, but it was extinguished just as quickly when he remembered his duty to the Guard. Kiss him or kill him. You can’t have both.

Brushing the thought aside, Arcadimon took the steps to the throne room two at a time, his feet skipping over the stairs. But the room was empty.

Not unusual.

Except the attendants hadn’t seen Eduoar.

Captain Ignani and her guards hadn’t seen him either.

A king missing in his own castle.

Arcadimon raced to the kennels, where as a kid Eduoar used to spend his afternoons. He patted Frog and the other dogs as they came bounding around his legs, but Ed wasn’t there either.

Not in his bedchamber.

Not in the council rooms.

Not in the kitchens.

Among the rain-splashed flagstones of the courtyard, Arcadimon paused, squinting toward the gray skies as the damp seeped into his clothes. His gaze roved from window to window, searching for Eduoar’s slim figure behind the curtains, for his face in the glass.

He almost skipped over the royal bedchamber. It hadn’t been used since Eduoar found the Suicide King dead in a corner, and over the years it had been passed over so often it had nearly been forgotten.

But Eduoar hadn’t forgotten it. You don’t forget something like that.

Cold gripped Arcadimon’s heart.

He dashed up to the second level of the castle, to the third, until he was racing down the corridors calling for help, calling wildly for Ignani, the guards, the doctors, for anyone in earshot.

He reached the hallway to the royal chamber, cluttered with covered statues and rolled-up rugs.

The door was locked.

“Ed!” He hammered on the door, but there was no response. “Eduoar!”

Nothing.

Arcadimon rammed his shoulder into the door, but it didn’t budge. He wasn’t strong enough for something that had been built to withstand a riot. Sneaking a glance around the empty hallway, he summoned his sense of the Illuminated world.

Gold sputtered in his vision. He’d never had to live at the Main Branch, so he’d never been as well trained in magic as the other Apprentices—the realm of the Politicians was bribery and threats and governance, after all—but Ed’s life depended on him now.

He palmed the air. The fine metalwork warped. The door cracked. But it didn’t open.

He struck out again. Boards fractured.

Come on.

There were voices in the stairwell. Arcadimon swept his hands at the door—and then it was open, breaking as he stumbled into the room.

The royal bedchamber hadn’t been touched in over a decade. White cloths draped the canopied bed, the chairs and tables, the portraits on the walls. The rugs had all been stored in the corners, and dust floated from the stone floor as Arcadimon dashed inside, rushing past the white sheets, his passage exposing the arm of a chair, the corner of a table.

It was empty.

His stomach dropped. He spun, checking the bed, the hearth.

No.

No.

No.

Then Arcadimon saw him—Eduoar—curled in a corner of the room, as if he hadn’t wanted to be found.

“Ed!” The word broke from Arcadimon’s mouth as he flung himself down. Eduoar was pale and cold, with a sheen of sweat on his face and neck.

“Ed,” Arcadimon repeated, softer.

There was so much blood. It was everywhere. On his boots and shins and knees. On his hands. Arcadimon ripped a sheet from the nearest table and wrapped the wounds on Eduoar’s wrists.

“Help!” he called. “In here!”

There was some Manipulation that would slow the bleeding. That was how Rajar had saved Tanin. But Arcadimon could barely break down a door. He couldn’t do something as delicate as this.

Cradling Eduoar’s body against his chest, he pressed hard against the blood-soaked sheets. “What have you done?” he whispered, his lips moving against the king’s damp hair.

Eduoar had followed in his father’s footsteps.

Just like the Guard had wanted.

For a moment Arcadimon let up on Eduoar’s wrists. This was what he’d been planning for, all this time.

The death of the king.

A tragedy, just like his father.

Darion would want him to let Eduoar die. The timing was off—he still needed the support of Gorman Province if he was to succeed in his coup—but he couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity.

Eduoar’s eyelids fluttered. “I couldn’t let the curse get you.”

Arcadimon clamped down on his wrists again. “I’m not a Corabelli, you fool.”

“You have the love of a Corabelli,” Ed whispered. “For us, love and death are the same.”

People flooded into the room. Guards. Servants. A doctor, maybe. The sounds of their footsteps mingled with the sounds of the rain. They were speaking. They were trying to pull Arcadimon away.

He hugged Eduoar tighter in his arms.

Someone was nudging Arcadimon aside. Someone was putting pressure on the king’s wrists. They were taking him.

“Besides,” Eduoar murmured faintly, “you were taking too long.”

Arcadimon’s grip went slack. The king’s fingers slid from his own.

Eduoar knew about the poison—How long? All this time?—and he’d taken it anyway.

They whisked Eduoar’s body out of the room, and Arcadimon was left sitting in a pool of the king’s blood, alone.

You were taking too long.