Page 116 of To Kill a King
Aliya peeked out from under her hood at the long line of humanity waiting to enter Lions Grove. The queue stretched over a quarter mile, each merchant, traveler, or artisan hoping for admittance into the King’s city to better their fortunes. When she’d last been here—was it only a little over six weeks ago—her wedding procession skipped the wait and marched right through the gates.
This time, she hoped for a much more inconspicuous entrance.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she pictured the letter she’d found slipped under the door of the inn she’d stayed at the previous night.
Your Majesty,
We will meet you in Lions Grove on the morning of the Solstice, at the corner of Park and Oak, two hours after sunrise.
Long Live the Queen.
-M.U.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and pushed the note from her thoughts.
The crows cawed, circling above, their attention focused on the bodies strung across the way like Yuletide garland.
Covering her nose, she winced. She didn’t remember this gate into the city smelling quite so…ripe before.
The line shuffled a few steps forward. Her gaze slipped to those gruesome decorations.
Oh, gods. Her heart froze and plunged to her feet.
Those were her father’s men. The birds had long since pecked out their eyes. The soldiers had been tortured prior to being hung to rot in the late spring sun.
Aliya slapped a hand over her mouth as her gorge rose. Her chest burned, and she couldn’t breathe. Against her will, she searched their faces. There he was. Hart. And next to him, Captain Davin.
Her eyes stung as her vision turned watery. She ducked her head, blinking as the world tilted sideways and fought to keep her balance. This was a message she alone would understand.
The rest of the gates to the city were doubtless adorned in a similar fashion.
Likely, none of her father’s men had survived. Her father was probably dead, as well. Her guts twisted. The baron hadn’t been the best person, but he’d raised her, and hadn’t packed her straight off to the Mage College when her magic first manifested like the law demanded. He’d protected her, at least, for a while. She hadn’t wanted him dead. Malkov hadn’t been bluffing, and she’d refused to believe him. Their deaths were all on her hands.
Her stomach curled in on itself until she was nothing but a hollow shell. The bitter taste of bile burned her throat.
If any of the Larimar men still lived, they’d more likely curse her name rather than welcome her rescue. But she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she confirmed none of the Larimar’s people still suffered.
She’d never forgive herself.
A heavy hand rested on her shoulder.
She jumped, spinning away from the contact.
“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” The man behind her, a farmer judging by his wagon full of grain, met her gaze with a sorrowful one of his own. “They’ve been up there over a week, with no sign the King plans on ordering them cut down.” He took a deep breath and dropped his voice. “Reduced to carrion. It’s a bad omen for the solstice, mark my words.”
It was all her fault. Her limbs went numb. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded before turning her back on the old man. Speaking was beyond her at the moment. Bracing herself, she took a shambling stride as the line moved.
She could do this. Malkov wanted to break her, but he’d only succeeded in making her angry. Revenge would be hers. For Elessan, Lady Cressida, her father’s men, and all the magic users Malkov had killed.
She pressed her teeth together. Standing straight, she wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks then steeled her muscles against the reek and the sound of the birds’ cawing.
“Hurry up, step forward!” The guard glared at her.
She licked her lips, taking two strides to face him.
“Name, and business in the city?”
“Cressida Smith. Here to visit my aunt.”