Conquer the Kingdom by Jennifer Estep

An hour later, the garden party finally ended. After exchanging goodbyes with all the guests, I retreated to Grandfather Heinrich’s study, along with Father, Rhea, and Leonidas. Reiko also appeared from wherever she had been skulking about and joined us behind closed doors.

“I abhor those bloody parties,” Grandfather Heinrich muttered, sitting down behind his desk in the back of the room. “They get longer and more tedious with each and every tournament of the season.”

“Well, this is the last major tournament of the year,” Father replied, taking a seat at his own desk, which was off to the right. “Once it’s finished, and the individual champion is decided, along with the overall winning troupe, then the nobles will jump into the yuletide season, and we can finally have a few weeks to ourselves.”

“If Milo doesn’t murder us all in the meantime,” I muttered.

I told Grandfather Heinrich, Father, and Rhea everything that had happened in Allentown, including the fact that Milo and Wexel had slipped through our fingers yet again.

“Perhaps the Mortans left on another ship,” Rhea suggested, gesturing at a map on her own desk. “That is the most logical conclusion.”

“I’ll use my Cardea mirror to speak to the dockmasters in other towns along the Summanus River, both in Andvari and Bellona,” Father said. “Perhaps one of them will remember seeing Milo or Wexel.”

I nodded, trying to hide the frustration still bubbling inside me.

Rhea cleared her throat and looked at me, then Leonidas. “What about the other matter we discussed yesterday?”

Everyone stared at Leonidas, who was leaning up against a bookcase a few feet away from the rest of us. “Everything has been arranged, as per your requests. It should be quite the grand, momentous occasion.”

I arched an eyebrow at his sarcastic tone, and he shrugged back at me.

Grandfather Heinrich grumbled something under his breath, while Father rocked back in his chair and Rhea tapped her index finger on the hilt of her sword. Anger, tension, hostility, and suspicion radiated off all three, matching the emotions that were simmering in my own heart. But this was the course of action I had suggested, and one we had all agreed on, and we had no choice now but to see it through to the end.

Like Queen Everleigh Blair before me, I had set a Bellonan long game into motion. I just hoped my plan wouldn’t doom us all.

“Do you really think Milo is fleeing south?” Grandfather Heinrich asked. “And that he can somehow convince the DiLucris to shelter him?”

Once again, all eyes fell on Leonidas, whose forehead creased in thought. “Milo is smart enough to see the advantages of running south, of getting as far away from both Andvari and Morta as possible. He probably has enough money squirreled away to pay the DiLucris to take him in, at least long enough for him to book passage to another continent.”

“But?” Father challenged.

Leonidas shrugged. “But Milo is also stubborn, petty, and vindictive enough to try to attack us again, regardless of the risk to his own personal safety. Milo is perfectly cold, calm, and logical—until he’s not. And when he is not cold, calm, and logical, then anything can happen. Milo’s unpredictability makes him extremely volatile and dangerous. He’s far more of a threat to Andvari than King Maximus ever was, because there’s no way to tell what he might do next.”

No one spoke, but worry blasted off Grandfather Heinrich, Father, and Rhea and twisted my stomach further into knots.

Images of all the notes and journals in Milo’s workshops in Myrkvior and on Antheia Island flashed through my mind. The crown prince had spent years experimenting with tearstone, dried fool’s bane flowers, and other items, and now he had finally created arrows that could kill both people and gargoyles. Milo Morricone had devoted his life to three things: learning how to murder his enemies, becoming king of Morta, and ruling the Buchovian continent. Milo might run for a while, but he would never give up on those goals—not until he was dead.

“Regardless of Milo’s whereabouts, we need to focus on the tournament,” Grandfather Heinrich said. “Let’s review the security protocols again. I don’t want a repeat of what happened at the Summit . . .”

He started riffling through some papers on his desk, and Father and Rhea chimed in with their own reports. I also added my own thoughts when called upon, as did Reiko and Leonidas, but I was only listening with half an ear.

Instead, I kept thinking about Milo, wondering when and where he might strike again—and if he would finally succeed in his relentless, ruthless quest to conquer my kingdom.

*  *  *

We reviewed the tournament security protocols for another hour. After that, Grandfather Heinrich, Father, and Rhea kept working in the study, while Leonidas returned to his chambers to double-check the arrangements for my plan, which would kick off tomorrow morning. Reiko announced that she was going in search of more apple-cinnamon scones, although I knew she was just using the sweets as an excuse to skulk around the palace and spy on the nobles, servants, and guards.

I climbed to the top of one of the palace towers and knocked on a door made of blue, black, and silver pieces of stained glass that formed a lovely frosted forest scene. A muffled voice told me to enter, so I turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Glass cabinets ringed the round room, each one filled with sheets of precious metals, along with sparkling jewels in every color imaginable, from the clearest, pinkest diamonds to the darkest, blackest pieces of jet. Large windows were set into the walls, while fluorestones embedded in the ceiling flooded the area with even more light.

Some tink-tink-tinks rang out, drawing my attention. An eighty-something man was perched on a stool at a long table in the center of the room. A fluorestone lamp sitting by his right elbow burnished his ebony skin in a soft glow and highlighted the many strands of silver in his wavy black hair. The man leaned forward, his hazel eyes narrowing in concentration as he peered down through a magnifying glass that was clamped onto the edge of the table.

Alvis, the royal jeweler and a metalstone master, didn’t look up as I walked over to him, although the two creatures in the room perked up at my approach.

The first creature was a gargoyle that was even bigger than Grimley, with a thick, wide body, enormous wings, and a long tail. Bits of white glimmered like strings of opals embedded in the gargoyle’s dark gray stone skin, while his light gray eyes gleamed like moonstones. His right horn was sharp, curved, and intact, but his left horn was broken off into a jagged stump—thanks to Milo Morricone.

When he was young, Otto had been captured by Milo on Antheia Island in Caldwell Lake, and the crown prince had tortured and eventually shattered the gargoyle’s horn. Otto was as haunted by Milo’s cruelty as I was, and we both had a burning desire to see him pay for all the awful things he’d done to us.

Otto was stretched out on the floor in front of the table, although his head lifted at my footsteps. He might have appeared to be relaxing, but he was ready for trouble. Good. Alvis could take care of himself, but it never hurt to have a gargoyle watching your back.

The second creature was much, much smaller—a baby strix with light lilac feathers and big, bright matching eyes. Her beak and talons were a dusky gray, as were the tips of her feathers, although they would all blacken and harden as she grew older. Violet was perched on the table by Alvis’s elbow, trying to peer through the magnifying glass right along with him.

I had asked Alvis to watch over Violet while I was off chasing Milo, and the baby strix seemed fascinated by the tweezers, polishing cloths, and other jeweler’s tools strewn across the table. Leonidas had given Violet to me as part of one of the Gauntlet challenges during the Summit, and I fell a little more in love with the strix every time I saw her.

Violet caught sight of me and let out a loud, happy cheep! She hopped forward and waggled her wings in a furious rhythm. At first, I thought she was just greeting me, but then her body lifted off the tabletop an inch, then two, then three—

Suddenly, Violet’s wings sputtered to a stop, as though she’d run out of the skill and energy to keep pumping them so hard and fast. She plummeted down and landed with a loud thump. The baby strix let out a dismayed cry and raked her tiny talons across the wood, clearly upset.

Otto yawned, stretched, and got to his feet. “She’s been practicing all day,” he rumbled. “She can almost fly, but not quite.”

Violet dropped her head and let out a sad little chirp of agreement. I reached out and stroked my fingers along her silky feathers.

“It’s okay, little one,” I said. “You’ll be flying soon enough, and then no one will be able to keep up with you.”

Violet’s head lifted, her eyes brightened, and she let out a happier, far more hopeful chirp.

I stroked her feathers again, then looked over the other objects on the table—different bunches of dried flowers and herbs, along with several mortars and pestles. My nose twitched, and I resisted the urge to sneeze at the rose, lavender, dill, and other floral and earthy scents swirling through the air.

I sidled up beside Alvis and peered over his shoulder and down through the magnifying glass. One of Milo’s tearstone arrows lay on a white velvet work tray. The shorter-than-normal projectile was only a little longer than my hand, but its wicked design still made me shudder, especially the razor-sharp tip and the oversize arrowhead lined with hooked barbs whose sole purpose was to tear through as much of a person’s flesh as possible. This arrow was currently a light starry gray, although I knew from past, personal experience that it would turn and remain a deep midnight blue once it was covered with blood.

“Any progress?” I asked.

Alvis sighed and leaned back on his stool. “None—absolutely none. So far, I haven’t found any flowers, herbs, or other plants that will nullify the dried fool’s bane Milo is putting on his tearstone arrows. The dried fool’s bane itself isn’t poisonous, but it does greatly amplify any magic that touches it.”

He waved his hand. Magic gusted off him and sank into the arrow, making it glimmer a bright gray as the tearstone absorbed his power.

“Watch carefully,” Alvis said.

He picked up a dried flower that featured three light purple cloverlike petals perched atop a green stem covered with prickly, sticky fuzz. He laid the fool’s bane on top of the arrow and snatched his hand back. As soon as the flower touched the tearstone, the purple petals began glowing like electrified amethysts, and even more magic surged through the air, far more magic than what Alvis had first directed at the arrow—

Whoosh!

The entire flower—petals, stem, and all—erupted like a volcano. Purple sparks and smoke spewed up into the air, along with a watery, fishy stench, and the tearstone arrow glowed even more brightly than before. In addition to the visible display of power, I could feel the arrow’s magic increasing, growing hotter and hotter the longer the flower burned.

Violet squeaked in surprise and alarm and scuttled back, pressing herself up against my arm, and a shiver swept through my own body at the odd, horrific sight.

Alvis grabbed a cup of water and doused the burning fool’s bane, reducing it to wet ash, but the arrow kept right on glowing with magic. Another shiver swept through my body.

“I still don’t know how or why the dried fool’s bane reacts that way to the tearstone and my power,” Alvis said. “But Milo can do even more damage with his arrows than we previously thought.”

“How much damage?”

Alvis crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze locked on the still-glowing arrow. “Each arrow could probably absorb enough magic to shoot right through two or three gargoyles, as though their skin were made of paper instead of stone. If Milo could somehow link enough arrows together, and hit them all with his lightning magic, then he could potentially kill dozens of gargoyles all at once.”

My stomach churned with nausea, but I forced myself to keep asking questions. “What else could he do with the arrows?”

Alvis shrugged. “The beauty of using arrows is that you can target anything you want to with them. Gargoyles, people, even buildings.”

I frowned. “Buildings?”

He nodded. “Oh, yes. If Milo strung enough arrows together, and then blasted them with his lightning, then he could potentially set off a chain reaction of magic strong enough to take down an entire building.”

“Or an arena full of people,” I murmured, thinking of the upcoming tournament.

Alvis shrugged again. “That too.”

My gaze dropped to the wet, ashy remains of the fool’s bane flower. “And there’s no way to stop the magic once it starts building?”

He shook his head. “Not that I’ve found so far. In many ways, magic is like a campfire. Once it’s created, then it burns and burns until it either runs out of wood or is extinguished by some greater outside force, like a bucket of water. But the combination of the tearstone and the dried fool’s bane on Milo’s arrows keeps that magic, that fire, from being so easily extinguished. Add his lightning power to the mix, and the consequences are potentially catastrophic for whatever creatures, people, or objects Milo targets with his weapons.”

Every word he said tied another tight knot of worry around my heart, as though they were anchors on a ship plunging me down, down, down into icy waters filled with despair, desperation, and hopelessness.

“I’m sorry, Gemma,” Alvis said in a soft voice. “I wish I had better news.”

“Me too,” I murmured.

“But let’s try to look on the bright side of things,” he continued.

I arched an eyebrow. “You never look on the bright side of things. Only the annoyed, aggravated, grumpy side.”

Alvis harrumphed. “Well, at least Milo won’t be able to get his hands on any more tearstone. The last of it was delivered to the royal treasury this morning.”

After the Summit, Grandfather Heinrich had sent royal guards to secure every tearstone mine in Andvari, as well as escort shipments of the raw ore back to Glitnir. So far, all the shipments had arrived without incident, and the loads of tearstone were being stored in the treasury, which was one of the most secure parts of the palace.

Grandfather Heinrich had also ordered the mines to be closed for the next several days, so that the miners and other workers could have a holiday and attend the Sword and Shield Tournament, if they so wished.

“You’re right,” I said. “It is good news that the last of the tearstone arrived safely.”

“But?” Alvis asked.

I gestured at the tearstone arrow, which was still glowing brightly through the wet ash of the fool’s bane flower. “But I’m still worried about how much damage Milo can do with what he already has.”