The Devil's Debt: A Kiss That Binds the Damned

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A King's Silence

Kael woke to a blanket he had not put there.

It lay over him on the hearth rug, black wool, tucked carefully around his shoulders. He knew whose it was. When he turned his head, Seraphine sat in his father's chair exactly an arm's length away, spine straight, eyes on the window, and did not look at him.

"Good morning," he said.

"The council is waiting," she said to the glass.

"Seraphine—"

"Four sunrises, Your Majesty. I suggest you spend them wisely."

Something had changed in the night. A door had closed in her, quietly, and he did not know what had shut it. On the bed, the bride lay with her chin on her folded hands, watching them both like a woman at a play, and for once she did not smile.

---

The council chamber was full by ten, and it was wrong the moment he entered.

The Lord Chancellor stood at the head of the table instead of beside it. The High Priest, Ambrose, stood at his shoulder in full white vestments, his golden chain polished to a glare. Along the walls, where the royal guard should have been, stood a double rank of men in white tabards stamped with a golden flame. The Holy Guard. Kael had not known they were in the city.

"Majesty," said Dray, with a deep and terrible courtesy. "Thank you for joining us. We have a grave matter to discuss."

"I see that."

"The people are afraid. The dead walk in the crypt. A gate has opened to Hell in the west." Dray's gaze moved past Kael, to the two women at his back, and lingered. "And their king keeps company with demons."

The chamber went still.

Ambrose stepped forward. His voice trembled, but he did not stop. "By the Law of Crowns, a king who is possessed may be set aside. We ask only that Your Majesty submit to the Rite of Cleansing, under the protection of the Holy Guard, until the matter can be proved. It is an act of love."

"It is an act of treason," said Seraphine, very softly.

"Madam, you are not a member of this council."

"No." She smiled. It was the smile of a woman who had been among worse than priests. "I am only the thing you are afraid of."

Captain Rowan stood at the door, one hand on his sword. His eyes were red-rimmed and unreadable. For a long second, Kael thought he saw the man hesitate, a small flicker, a breath, and his stomach turned over.

"My oath is to the king," Rowan said, and drew his blade a hand's breadth from its scabbard.

The Holy Guard drew theirs.

Steel hissed down the length of the chamber. Kael felt the bride's cold hand close over his sleeve, and the silver thorn on his wrist began to burn, and he thought with perfect clarity that if he gave one word, a dozen men would die in this room before noon.

The doors banged open.

"Forgive the interruption," said a woman's voice. "I heard there was a coup. I did not wish to miss it."

She walked in as if she owned the building, tall and broad-shouldered in a steel breastplate with the sigil of the Eastern March etched across the chest, a heavy cloak thrown back over one arm. Her hair was the color of old copper, cropped at the jaw. A scar split one eyebrow. She had mud to her knees. Behind her, through the open doors, Kael saw the courtyard filled with horses and banners, rank on rank of knights in eastern green.

"Lady Isolde," said Dray, a half-second too late.

"Lord Chancellor. Your Holiness." She looked at the Holy Guard with open amusement. "Do put those away, gentlemen. I have two thousand armed knights in your courtyard and a very short temper. I rode three days on bad roads, and I would prefer to avoid explaining to my men why I have been murdered at a council."

Nobody moved.

"Put them away," said Isolde, pleasantly, "or I will have them put away."

Swords slid reluctantly into scabbards. Kael let out a breath he had been holding for ten minutes.

Isolde crossed the chamber and stopped in front of him. She studied him, the shadows beneath his eyes, the bandaged hand, with the cool, assessing attention of a woman buying a horse. Her gaze moved on to the women. "And these?"

"The collector," said Seraphine coolly.

"The bride," said the bride, with a curtsey.

Isolde's scarred eyebrow rose. "Of course you are." She turned back. "You look terrible."

"I have been told."

"Good. I would not trust a king who looked well this week." She turned to the council. "I am here by the late king's own request. Aldric wrote to me before he died. He asked for an alliance. I am prepared to give one. But I am a practical woman, Majesty, and I do not like to waste knights on a man who can be deposed by a priest on a Tuesday."

"Lady Isolde—" Dray began.

"A king with a lawful consort and an army at his door cannot be set aside by this council. So I propose a solution." Her gaze came back to Kael, steady and unembarrassed. "Marry me."

Kael stared. It was the most practical proposal he had ever received, and the worst timed.

A sound went through the room like wind through grass.

Behind him, he felt Seraphine go absolutely still.

"I will be blunt," Isolde said. "It is a political marriage. I do not expect your heart. I expect your throne to stay under you for as long as it takes to survive this, and in return, twenty thousand swords, the eastern passes, and my vote against any Cleansing." She lifted her chin. "And since a king's silence before witnesses is consent under the Law of Crowns, I will count to three, and we will have it done."

"Lady Isolde," said Kael, "I cannot—"

"One."

"This is not—"

"Two."

The thorn on his wrist flared white-hot. From his left, very low, Seraphine's voice said, "Deny it." Her whisper trembled. "Kael, say no. Now."

From his right, the bride's cold lips brushed his ear. "Say yes," she breathed, with an edge of savage glee. "Oh, please say yes. I should so like to see what Hell does."

The Chancellor was smiling.

The Holy Guard watched him. The Eastern knights watched him. Rowan watched him, white to the lips. Isolde held up three fingers, and her face was unreadable, and the whole room waited on the breath of one man.

And deep beneath the palace, as if something had heard, the first of the silenced bells began to toll.