Conquer the Kingdom by Jennifer Estep

We fell asleep on the floor, right in the middle of our discarded clothes. Sometime later, I woke up to find myself nestled in Leonidas’s arms, and his cloak wrapped around the both of us. His face was soft, warm, and relaxed in sleep, unlike the icy mask he so often wore during the day to keep everyone from realizing just how much their cruel words hurt him.

I pressed a kiss to his temple, but Leonidas didn’t stir, so I slipped out of his arms and used my magic to gently float him up off the floor and onto the bed. I covered him with a blanket. He rolled over onto his side and murmured something incoherent, although his body quickly relaxed again.

“Sleep well, my love,” I whispered.

I grabbed my clothes, got dressed, and then tiptoed into the study. The liladorn was still sitting in its bowl, although the vine was now curled up into a tight ball, much like a cat, as though it too was sleeping. Next, I slipped out into the sitting room, where Grimley and Violet were still asleep and snuggled up together by the fireplace. Just like with Leo, the sights warmed my heart—and filled it with cold dread.

If I didn’t find Milo before he implemented his master plan, then these happy scenes and serene safety would be gone forever, drowned in blood, bones, and bodies. So I threw on a cloak, raised the hood to hide my features, and left my chambers.

I moved from one section of Glitnir to the next, steering clear of the many guards. Captain Rhea had spread her men throughout the palace, and they were all alert and doing their jobs, but none of them spotted me. Lady Xenia Rubin, the famed spymaster, had trained me to slyly creep around, although I would never be as naturally stealthy as Reiko was. Plus, Father used to sneak around the palace with my uncles Frederich and Lucas when they were all boys, and he had taught that game to me as well.

Most nights when I couldn’t sleep, I climbed out onto one of the tower roofs to sit with the gargoyles and stare up at the sky. But tonight, I was on a mission, so I trudged down, down, down several sets of steps into the very bowels of Glitnir. As I moved from one level to another, the precious metal and jewel adornments vanished, and the walls became much plainer, thicker, and sturdier. No guards were posted down here, and few people even knew the palace contained so many underground levels.

Eventually, I reached two stone doors that stretched from the floor all the way up to the ceiling more than a hundred feet above. The Ripley royal crest was carved into many doors throughout the palace, but the image here was truly stunning. Enormous pieces of black jet fitted together to form the snarling gargoyle’s face, while rows of gray diamonds curved up and out in the shape of its horns. Two sapphires larger than my fists glittered as the gargoyle’s eyes, while bright, glowing, jagged red shards formed its teeth, making the creature look like it had just taken a big, bloody bite out of an enemy.

Most people would have mistaken the red shards for rubies, but they were actually common glass. The lack of facets on the shards was an old Ripley signal and warning. Each one of the gargoyle’s teeth was filled with coral-viper venom, and the poison would break through and spew out of the glass if someone tried to force the doors open.

No footsteps echoed behind me, and no shadows snaked along the floor. I also reached out with my magic, although the walls were so thick down here that I couldn’t sense anything but the surrounding hallway. When I was certain I was alone, I turned back to the doors. No locks or keyholes adorned them, and nothing was visible except the gargoyle’s face.

I blew out a breath, then carefully pressed in on various parts of the face.

First, its left horn. Then the right eye. The tooth in the center of its mouth. Right horn. Left eye. And finally, the gargoyle’s nose.

Only a few people knew the correct sequence of jewels and glass and exactly how long and hard to press in on them. I counted off seven seconds, then released the gargoyle’s nose and stepped back. The bright glow dimmed, then snuffed out of the red glass teeth, indicating that the poison trap had been disarmed. Several soft click-click-clicks rang out, and the two doors slowly swung outward.

I blew out another breath, squared my shoulders, and strode forward.

White fluorestones shaped like flying gargoyles were embedded in the ceiling, and the lights clicked on at my approach and then clicked off as I moved past them. A shiver snaked down my spine. I’d always found the flare and dousing of such lights a little unnerving, but even more so down here, as though the fluorestones were silent guards watching my every move.

A plethora of precious metals and jewels adorned the common areas of the palace, but they were small, cheap trinkets compared to the overwhelming wealth and sheer opulence stored in the Ripley royal treasury.

Crowns, tiaras, necklaces, rings, and bracelets that had been worn by the kings and queens of old were resting on velvet pillows covered with glass boxes, which were sitting atop marble pedestals. Small white cards trimmed with gold and silver leaf were also tucked inside the glass, each one describing the item, its place in Andvarian history, and its estimated worth, although everything down here was priceless in its own right. The royal-blue sapphires, violet-purple amethysts, forest-green emeralds, bloodred rubies, and star-bright diamonds glinted under the lights, and their facets winked at me like sleepy eyes as I walked past, as if they were wondering why I was disturbing their midnight slumber.

The treasury featured several different sections, each one containing similar items, from the royal jewels, to gowns, jackets, and other garments, to statues, carvings, and paintings that chronicled important figures and moments in Andvarian history. I rounded a bookcase filled with thick tomes, along with rolled-up maps and scrolls, and moved into my favorite part of the treasury—the armory.

Dozens of swords, shields, and daggers were housed under glass cases, along with cards that described who had used the items, and when, and why. Those swords, shields, and daggers were all polished to a high gloss, and many were crusted with even more precious jewels than the crowns and tiaras, but I had always preferred to wander through the freestanding racks of weapons, most of which were nicked, scratched, and dented. To me, the signs of battle that scarred the blades were far more fascinating than the gold filigree and diamond chips that covered the ceremonial weapons that had never drawn so much as a drop of blood.

I stopped in front of my favorite object in the entire treasury—a suit of armor worn by Armina Ripley, the first queen of Andvari. Armina’s armor was mounted on a wooden mannequin and consisted of a simple silver breastplate, along with two matching gauntlets. The Ripley snarling gargoyle crest had been etched into each piece, although the dips and curves made the symbols look hollow and empty, as though someone had pried out all the jewels that were supposed to complete the intricate designs.

Most people probably would have thought the armor dull, dim, and disappointingly plain. And truthfully, it was all those things, as well as horribly scratched from Armina’s many battles. But I loved the simplicity of it, along with the bits of blue that shimmered like tiny sapphires in the silver breastplate and gauntlets. I could easily picture Armina wearing the armor into battle, her chest and arms blazing as though she had the power of the stars burning inside her.

A silver framed painting of Queen Armina and Arton, her beloved gargoyle, was hanging on the wall behind the armor. The image showed them streaking through the sky, with Armina holding her arms out wide, Arton flexing his wings, and a legion of gargoyles hovering in the air behind them. It was one of my favorite paintings, even though it always made me feel like a fraud. Armina had been a mind magier, just like me, but she had been able to communicate with hundreds of gargoyles at once, whereas I could only manage two or three at a time.

I focused on the armor again, and those pinprick bits of blue brightened, as though they were burning with some inner flame. The more the color intensified, the more magic that rose inside me in commensurate measure, as though the two were somehow connected, even though I knew they weren’t. I tried to shove my magic down, but it squirted out of my grasp and kept rising and rising, like a high tide slapping up against a ship it was determined to drag out to sea.

I stepped back, but those bits of blue continued to burn in my eyes, no matter how hard and fast I tried to blink them away. Despite my best efforts to contain it, my power crashed over me, even stronger than before, and swept me back into the past . . .

A fluorestone in the ceiling clicked on, blasting light right into my eyes. The canyon vanished, and I was once again standing in the royal treasury, staring at the bits of blue glimmering in Armina’s armor.

I blinked, shaking off the last dregs of my magic. That vision had been relatively quick and painless, but I still shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, silently cursing my magic for tossing me back into the past yet again. Then I hurried away from the armor before another random glimmer of color could trigger my power.

I left the armory behind and stepped into the final, largest section of the treasury. Instead of crowns, books, and weapons, something completely different filled this space.

Tearstone.

Shelves filled with jagged chunks of tearstone marched down both sides of this area, while even larger pieces were either piled up in freestanding metal carts or stacked together on wooden pallets. Most of the ore was the more common light starry gray, but dozens and dozens of pieces boasted the rarer midnight-blue hue. As I walked along, every single piece of tearstone shifted color, flickering from light gray to dark blue and back again. In addition to changing color, tearstone also had another dual nature—it could both absorb and deflect magic.

Grandfather Heinrich had long stored tearstone in the treasury, since it was such a valuable resource, but ever since the Summit, he had ordered that every available shard of tearstone in Andvari be brought here for safekeeping. After all, if Milo Morricone couldn’t get any more ore, then he couldn’t fashion it into more arrows to use against our people and gargoyles.

Still, having this much tearstone in one place made me uneasy, which is why I came down here every night to make sure it was still safe and secure. In some ways, it felt like we were setting out a giant pot of honey and not expecting a grizzly to try to get inside it. Because if Milo ever got his hands on this much tearstone, then he could make as many weapons as he wanted, and we wouldn’t be able to stop him.

I did a slow circuit of the area, but all the tearstone was exactly where it should be, so I left the treasury and stepped outside into the hallway beyond. I pressed in on the gargoyle’s nose, much longer than I had before, and the double doors slowly swung shut. I pressed in on the nose again, and another series of click-click-clicks rang out. The glass shards that made up the gargoyle’s teeth started glowing red again, indicating that the coral-viper-venom trap had been rearmed.

I stared at the Ripley crest, but the bloody, steady gleam of the poison didn’t comfort me. The Andvarian royal treasury might be one of the most secure places on the Buchovian continent, but Milo Morricone had proven he was exceedingly clever. A hard truth filled my heart, weighing me down like a boulder crushing my chest.

No matter how secure the treasury was, and how many precautions my friends and family took, the tearstone and my kingdom would always be at risk—until Milo was dead.

*  *  *

I thought about returning to my chambers and climbing into bed beside Leonidas, but I was still worried and restless, so I went back up to the ground level of the palace, slipped outside, and plunged into the Edelstein Gardens. I had one more mission to complete tonight.

I followed the twists and turns of the hedge maze to the gargoyle’s right eye. The Ripley family mausoleum dominated much of the grassy area, and the granite building gleamed a dark gray in the moon- and starlight. The mausoleum doors were shut and locked, but my magic still let me sense all the hollow spaces inside that were filled with the bones of my ancestors. Andvari tradition dictated that all the Ripley royals be entombed here, that we give our bodies back to the earth as payment for all the precious metals and gems that our people had dug out of the Spire Mountains.

Sometimes, when I came here late at night, I thought I could hear the ghosts of all the Ripley kings and queens whispering to me, although I had never been able to figure out exactly what they were saying. The raspy murmurs and odd howls of air used to frighten me as a child, but right now I would have been happy to endure the scare of my life if it meant receiving any advice from my ancestors about how to find Milo Morricone. But alas, the ghosts were quiet tonight.

I walked over to a bench made of delicate tendrils of silver that was sitting beneath a pear tree. The tree had already lost its scarlet leaves, making it look like a dull brown skeleton hulking over the landscape, although a silver plaque in the bench’s backrest glimmered brightly in the moonlight.

Merilde Edelle Irma Ripley, Beloved Mother, Daughter, and Wife

Bittersweet longing flooded my heart. My mother and I had spent hours in this spot, reading storybooks, soaking up the sunshine, and hiding from all the cares and concerns inside the palace. After her death, my father had erected this bench in my mother’s honor, and I often came here whenever I needed a quiet moment alone.

But tonight, I had a bargain to keep, so I went over and dropped to one knee in front of the bench. Several strands of liladorn were curled around my mother’s plaque, as though they were an ebony frame holding a pretty portrait. The vines stirred at my approach, and I cautiously held out my hand to them.

May I please have a strand of you to give to Lord Eichen?

The liladorn quivered, as though it was considering my request. I held my breath, wondering if the thorns would lash out and scratch me, as they had done in the past. The liladorn had its own set of rules, and I could never quite tell if it would help or hinder me.

Very well.That familiar voice sounded in my mind. Since you asked so nicely, Not-Our-Princess.

One of the vines moved forward, even as another vine rose up beside it. A long, sharp thorn whipped forward and sliced through the first vine, which fluttered down onto the bench like a falling leaf. Purple sap oozed out of the cut section, and the sweet scent of lilacs filled the air.

Touching the clipped vine without permission would probably earn me another painful scratch, so I waited. Although I did find it strangely fascinating that the liladorn could use its own thorns to cut itself. I would have to mention that to Eichen, lest it completely take over his gardens.

You may pick us up now, the liladorn whispered in my mind.

I held out my hand, and the cut strand snaked up and wrapped around my wrist, almost like it was a bracelet. The motion reminded me of how the vine in my study had wrapped around my arm at Caldwell Castle, and then had dug its thorns into my skin to release its sap to throttle the fool’s bane that Corvina Dumond had poisoned me with during the Summit. I held back a shudder. Even though the liladorn had saved me, I would never forget the foul, watery poison slithering through my veins and filling up my lungs, and my painful struggle to breathe, as though I were drowning on dry land.

I shuddered again, lowered my hand to my side, and climbed to my feet. I started to leave when a flicker of movement caught my eye.

I’d been wrong before. There was a ghost in the gardens tonight—my mother.

Merilde Ripley was standing in front of the mausoleum, staring pensively at the closed, locked doors as though something about them greatly troubled her. Curious, I walked over to her.

My mother didn’t move or speak to me, and I had no idea how this was even happening—if my ghosting ability had thrown me back into the past yet again, or if some other aspect of my time or mind magier magic was out of control.

I studied the mausoleum doors, trying to figure out what she was looking at, and especially why. But the doors were the same as always—solid slabs of dark gray granite bearing the Ripley royal crest—and I didn’t see anything special about them. Similar doors could be found throughout the palace.

Since I couldn’t figure out what my mother was staring at, I studied her instead, my gaze tracing over the soft waves in her dark blond hair, her kind blue eyes, her mysterious smile. My heart ached again, the pain even stronger than before. Seeing her like this was different, and far more intense, than staring at her portrait on the bookshelf in my study, and it made me miss her even more fiercely, even though she had been dead for almost twenty years.

As if hearing my thoughts, Merilde turned and smiled at me—really, truly, fully smiled at me, as though she were actually seeing me in this moment the same way I was seeing her.

“Mother?” I whispered. “Are you here?”

Her smile widened for a moment, but then her form flickered, and she vanished altogether.

“Mother?” I asked. “Mother!”

I whirled around and around, but she was gone. Still, I could have sworn there was a . . . presence in the air that hadn’t been here before, a faint fluttering, as though she were stroking my hair. Or perhaps that was just my imagination again, fueled by the breeze gusting through the gardens. Either way, I froze, hoping my mother would return.

But nothing happened, and the minutes ticked by in cold, quiet silence.

A disappointed sigh escaped my lips and steamed in the chilly night air. First, my magic had thrown me back into the past in the royal treasury, and now it had shown me . . . whatever sort of mirage this had been. Perhaps it was a good thing we hadn’t found Milo on the ship earlier today. Because I needed to get a much better grip on my power if I had any chance of killing the crown prince when I saw him again.

I glanced around, but my mother was gone, and it didn’t seem as though she was coming back. Another disappointed sigh escaped my lips.

With the strand of liladorn still curled around my wrist, I left the gardens and the memory of my mother behind, still wondering what she had been trying to show me, if anything—and especially why she had seemed so very, very worried.