The Rose Society
Page 11
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Raffaele’s heartbeat quickens as he tries to ignore the familiar pang that Enzo’s name brings. “It is not something I celebrate,” he replies.
Maeve’s eyes soften for a moment, perhaps in remembrance of her own mother’s death. There seems to be something else about Enzo’s death that intrigues her, a fleeting emotion that Raffaele senses in her heart, but she decides against mentioning it, leaving him to wonder. “Of course not,” she says in the end.
Augustine whispers something in her ear. The young queen leans toward him—and although she focuses her attention on Raffaele, he can tell by the shift of her energy that she really wants to pay attention to Lucent. “Prince Enzo’s death is not in my favor, as I’d hoped he would open trade between Kenettra and Beldain. Nor is it in your favor, Messenger, because he has left you leaderless. But the king, too, has died. Giulietta rules in his place now, you say, and new malfetto refugees arrive in my country every day.”
“You are kind for taking us in, Your Majesty.”
“Nonsense.” Maeve waves a hand impatiently, motioning for all of them to rise. When they do, she whistles for her horses. Her white tiger rises from his resting spot and saunters over to her side. “The gods created the blood fever, Raffaele,” she says as they all pull themselves into saddles, “and so they also created the marked and the Elite. It is blasphemy to kill the children of the gods.” She taps her horse’s hindquarters with her heels, then starts leading them up a higher hill. “I didn’t take you in out of kindness, though. Your Daggers are weakened now. Your leader is dead, and I hear rumors that one of your own turned her back on you, that she was working with the Inquisition. Your patrons have either given up and fled or have been captured and killed.”
“Except you,” Raffaele says. “Your Majesty.”
“Except me,” she agrees. “And I am still interested in Kenettra.”
Raffaele rides in silence as the young queen guides them along the side of a sharp cliff, waves crashing against the rocks far below. “What have you sent us here for?” he asks.
“Let me show you something.” Maeve leads them along the edge for a while, until they reach an area where the land curves in on itself, forming a shelter from the wild winds. Here, they ride up so close that Raffaele can see the entire bay.
The sight below is astonishing. Behind him, Lucent sucks in her breath.
Hundreds of Beldish warships dot the beaches of the bay. Sailors bustle up and down gangplanks to the decks, loading crates on board. The ships stretch far down and out along where the cliffs trail off into the distance.
Raffaele turns to Maeve. “You’re planning to invade Kenettra?”
“If I can’t have your malfetto crown prince sitting on the throne, then I will do it myself.” Maeve pauses, studying Raffaele’s face for his reaction. “But I’d like your help.”
Raffaele just sits quietly. The last time Beldain went to war with Kenettra was over a hundred years ago. If Enzo could see all this, what would he think? Handing over his crown to a foreign queen? It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself harshly. Because Enzo is dead.
“What help do you need?” Raffaele says after a moment.
“I hear that Master Teren Santoro was behind the king’s death,” Maeve replies. “Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he want the king dead?”
“Because he is in love with Queen Giulietta. She keeps Teren at her side precisely for his help, among other reasons.”
“Ah. A lover,” Maeve says. At that, Lucent’s eyes flick briefly to the queen, then dart away again. “She’s young, new, and vulnerable. I need the Inquisition and her army weakened. What can you do to help me in this?”
Raffaele’s expression is one of concentration. “Giulietta is powerful with Teren at her side,” he says. He exchanges looks with each of his Daggers as he goes on. “But Teren answers to something even more powerful than his queen—his belief that he has been ordained by the gods to destroy malfettos. If we can break their trust and separate them, then this invasion will have a better chance at success. And in order to break their trust, we’ll have to make Teren disobey his queen.”
“He’ll never do such a thing,” Lucent chimes in. “Have you seen Teren around Giulietta? Have you heard him talk about her?”
“Yes,” Michel agrees. “Teren obeys the queen like a dog. He’d sooner die than insult her.”
Even Gemma, who has been quiet until now, speaks up. “If you want to turn them against each other, we’ll have to get into the city,” she says. “Right now, it’s nearly impossible to enter Estenzia. All malfettos have been forced outside the city walls. The Inquisition guards every street. We can’t get over the walls or through the gates, even with Lucent’s powers. There are too many soldiers.”
Maeve’s furs brush against her cheeks. “Kenettra has a new ruler,” she says. “According to tradition, I must sail for Estenzia and see her in person, offer her gifts and a welcome. A promise of goodwill.” At that, she raises an eyebrow and smiles. Behind her, Augustine laughs a little. Her eyes turn back to Raffaele. “I will get you into the city, my Messenger, if you can place a wedge between the queen and her Inquisitor.”
“I am a consort,” Raffaele replies. “I’ll find a way.”
Maeve’s eyes soften for a moment, perhaps in remembrance of her own mother’s death. There seems to be something else about Enzo’s death that intrigues her, a fleeting emotion that Raffaele senses in her heart, but she decides against mentioning it, leaving him to wonder. “Of course not,” she says in the end.
Augustine whispers something in her ear. The young queen leans toward him—and although she focuses her attention on Raffaele, he can tell by the shift of her energy that she really wants to pay attention to Lucent. “Prince Enzo’s death is not in my favor, as I’d hoped he would open trade between Kenettra and Beldain. Nor is it in your favor, Messenger, because he has left you leaderless. But the king, too, has died. Giulietta rules in his place now, you say, and new malfetto refugees arrive in my country every day.”
“You are kind for taking us in, Your Majesty.”
“Nonsense.” Maeve waves a hand impatiently, motioning for all of them to rise. When they do, she whistles for her horses. Her white tiger rises from his resting spot and saunters over to her side. “The gods created the blood fever, Raffaele,” she says as they all pull themselves into saddles, “and so they also created the marked and the Elite. It is blasphemy to kill the children of the gods.” She taps her horse’s hindquarters with her heels, then starts leading them up a higher hill. “I didn’t take you in out of kindness, though. Your Daggers are weakened now. Your leader is dead, and I hear rumors that one of your own turned her back on you, that she was working with the Inquisition. Your patrons have either given up and fled or have been captured and killed.”
“Except you,” Raffaele says. “Your Majesty.”
“Except me,” she agrees. “And I am still interested in Kenettra.”
Raffaele rides in silence as the young queen guides them along the side of a sharp cliff, waves crashing against the rocks far below. “What have you sent us here for?” he asks.
“Let me show you something.” Maeve leads them along the edge for a while, until they reach an area where the land curves in on itself, forming a shelter from the wild winds. Here, they ride up so close that Raffaele can see the entire bay.
The sight below is astonishing. Behind him, Lucent sucks in her breath.
Hundreds of Beldish warships dot the beaches of the bay. Sailors bustle up and down gangplanks to the decks, loading crates on board. The ships stretch far down and out along where the cliffs trail off into the distance.
Raffaele turns to Maeve. “You’re planning to invade Kenettra?”
“If I can’t have your malfetto crown prince sitting on the throne, then I will do it myself.” Maeve pauses, studying Raffaele’s face for his reaction. “But I’d like your help.”
Raffaele just sits quietly. The last time Beldain went to war with Kenettra was over a hundred years ago. If Enzo could see all this, what would he think? Handing over his crown to a foreign queen? It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself harshly. Because Enzo is dead.
“What help do you need?” Raffaele says after a moment.
“I hear that Master Teren Santoro was behind the king’s death,” Maeve replies. “Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he want the king dead?”
“Because he is in love with Queen Giulietta. She keeps Teren at her side precisely for his help, among other reasons.”
“Ah. A lover,” Maeve says. At that, Lucent’s eyes flick briefly to the queen, then dart away again. “She’s young, new, and vulnerable. I need the Inquisition and her army weakened. What can you do to help me in this?”
Raffaele’s expression is one of concentration. “Giulietta is powerful with Teren at her side,” he says. He exchanges looks with each of his Daggers as he goes on. “But Teren answers to something even more powerful than his queen—his belief that he has been ordained by the gods to destroy malfettos. If we can break their trust and separate them, then this invasion will have a better chance at success. And in order to break their trust, we’ll have to make Teren disobey his queen.”
“He’ll never do such a thing,” Lucent chimes in. “Have you seen Teren around Giulietta? Have you heard him talk about her?”
“Yes,” Michel agrees. “Teren obeys the queen like a dog. He’d sooner die than insult her.”
Even Gemma, who has been quiet until now, speaks up. “If you want to turn them against each other, we’ll have to get into the city,” she says. “Right now, it’s nearly impossible to enter Estenzia. All malfettos have been forced outside the city walls. The Inquisition guards every street. We can’t get over the walls or through the gates, even with Lucent’s powers. There are too many soldiers.”
Maeve’s furs brush against her cheeks. “Kenettra has a new ruler,” she says. “According to tradition, I must sail for Estenzia and see her in person, offer her gifts and a welcome. A promise of goodwill.” At that, she raises an eyebrow and smiles. Behind her, Augustine laughs a little. Her eyes turn back to Raffaele. “I will get you into the city, my Messenger, if you can place a wedge between the queen and her Inquisitor.”
“I am a consort,” Raffaele replies. “I’ll find a way.”
