Chapter 40

This day is the picture of perfection.

The sun shines high in the sky and caresses my skin in its warm embrace as I scan through parchements, overlooking the Lizabetan river near Moonstone. The world is bathed in a calm silence, only the rush of the river and the chirp of the birds to be heard.

Fish jump in and out of the cool water. The cherry trees are in full bloom and it smells faintly of lemon verbena with a touch of Trilisa odoratissima.

It looks perfect, but it is far from faultless.

Valerie Dupont sits next to me, in an all black suit that looks rather flattering on her, sipping tea and taking bites out of a scone as she waits for me to say something.

Her face is relaxed and for all the world, we look like two normal friends. I am going through the morning paper and Valerie makes idle chatter as she eats away at a lovely breakfast of raspberry almond buttermilk scones and green tea.

I've been trying to build my courage all morning, but the first attack should be happening in a few days and I've diverted all attention to the harvest ball happening in five months, not the upcoming one.

Valerie carefully puts her teacup down, her delicate, pale, fingers flexing, "What are the reports?"

I look away from the words glaring into my soul as they condemn me to misery and flick my eyes to meet Valerie'e, "I'm an awful person."

Her gaze softens for me, ever the sweet girl at heart, "they don't know about the attack, do they?"

My fingers wrap around the steel arm of my chair and I grip it, my fingers trying not to tap. "Aaliyah, Draven and Leander do. Not the court. Half of them may die."

She takes another bite of a scone. "Do you remember what you told me the day we met?"

"Life does not allow one to sing with the angels, to be cast in light and joy or goodness. It does not allow for peace or respite, happiness or love, without consequence." I recite carefully and softly, my eyes locked in a battle of wills with Valerie.

Her throat bobs as she swallows and takes a sip of green tea, washing the scone down. "And when I asked what you meant?"

"Life is a balance. In happiness we face tragedy. In greed we face consequence."

She shrugs her boney thin shoulders, "No offense, your court deserves to burn. Let it burn."

O0oo0O

Draven marchs up to me, furry lining everyone of his steps, his actions. His face is set into something cold and dangerous. I don't fear him, but that look says I should.

"Lucas Wright was found dead today. This morning at four sixteen suns." It's not exactly a question, but as his eyes entrance me, I'm compelled to give an answer I don't have to a question that wasn't asked.

It's like staring into a frozen tundra, the snow trying to consume you as the wind fights at your back, propelling you into snows embrace. It's a lose lose game that's designed to leave you broken.

His suit is all black. Good Flame, did someone die today or what?

I calmly motion for Draven to sit as he reels his anger back into him, going cold as ice, locking his emotions down.

"I may or may not have killed him."

"We aren't preteens Evelyn. This isn't the game you want to play today."

I kick my feet up, propping them on the wooden surface of one of the many third floor meeting rooms, "I can't get drunk, per say, but I was a little tipsy, maybe. Lucas Wright was on my shit list and I can't always control where I lead myself when out of my right mind." I shrug, trying to get him to drop the whole subject. The last thing I need is me and Draven at odds.

His hands go into his pockets as he sits down in the seat next to mine, his posture the opposite of mine. Straight back as ever, he responds, sounding rather pissed off, "Lucas Wright was my friend and ally, and heir to a high house," He cuts himself off, trying to remain in control while talking to me. I can tell this is taking a toll. "You can't just do these things without consequence."

"Then I killed your friend and ally. I don't see the issue." I fold my hands behind my head, tipping back as I pretend to relax into the chair.

"You killed Lucas's father as well, leaving the house of Wright reeling when we need them strong."

"Is that an attempt to make me feel a semblance of guilt?" I question, trying not to let any genuine emotion show. Shove, shove, shove until you slowly die of suppression, right?

"His decision to withhold the information about the Southern borders was a bad judgement call, but well within his right. He was a child. No more that two hundred years old. He didn't deserve to die."

My eyes snap open, going cold. I lower my feet, my carefree mask slipping as I level a harsh gaze on his perfectly sculpted face, "He was coddled for two hundred years, blissfully unaware of reality. He was in no shape to anything but die. He had his chance to become something. He threw that chance out a window and smashed it."

Dravens jaw clenches, his gaze moving to the left, trying to avoid my violent storm of rage, "He was a child."

"I was, what, a baby, then. When I became queen? I was just barely about to turn sixteen when I was crowned. I was making fine decisions by then. Lucas Wright had time, so much time. He wasted it. That's not my problem."

"It's always about you and how bitter you are."

"Of course I'm bitter," I bark out, my voice taking on an edge as the room drops in temperature, ice slowly forming on the window sills. "I can't forget how bitter I am. When I look at someone like Lucas Wright I want to vomit. He gets to live a cushy life, make as many mistakes as he wants without consequence. Yet I make one wrong move and I'm dead?"

He calmly avoids my eyes, trying to calm me down, but it's not working because all I want to do is kill someone. "I know that it's hard-"

My hands flatten on the table, my fingers curling up, "You know nothing until the whole world hates you for being you."

My fire fuels him and he comes alive at the statement. We both set each other off, knowing each other's buttons as we do, "I know exactly what it's like to have that weight hanging on your shoulders, but I don't want to burn the world for it's flaws, you do."

"In that village, the one that his mistake led to being raided, there were five children dead, fourteen monthers torn from their homes and three fathers killed. One child was orphaned. You don't get to make mistakes like that and get off easy."

Draven closes his eyes, desperately trying not to scream at me. He looks torn between walking out the door, yelling at me some more, or trying to cool me down before leaving, "I agree that he should have faced repercussion, but not death." He says, choosing the third option.

I stand, ready to walk away, "Like I said," I say, adopting my carefree manor once again. "I was tipsy."

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