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  "Surely, this isn't right," Ashra found herself saying.

  Raufasger turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "You feel her punishment isn't just?" he asked. "You, whose husband she murdered, who died in brutal agony with poisons in his blood. I would have thought you had more loyalty to your husband."

  Insult washed over her with the accusation. "It is just the method. It seems inordinately cruel—alone and forgotten."

  "Cruel? Why should it not be? What has she done to deserve clemency? Then try to murder her husband in front of the entire court? What should we do with a person like that, Lady Greve? Look at her, raging like a wild beast."

  Ashra didn't know what to say. Yes, she deserved punishment, even to die for her crimes, but having to watch it was too much.

  Raufasger snorted in disgust. "If you don't see the problem with her behavior, perhaps we should put you in there as well. She won't die alone then, will she? Anyone who thinks her punishment is unjust is welcome to join her. It won't serve us here to have people around who excuse murder or even attempted murder of our illustrious members, does it? Isn't that so, Lady Greve? Do you think her punishment unjust?"

  People were watching her and Ashra knew Raufasger had trapped her in a corner. She was being forced to agree with him and his edict, or she would meet the same fate. The aspects about this felt against the grain, but she was being manhandled like he so often had done to others. "Her punishment is just," Ashra forced herself to say.

  Raufasger looked pleased and returned his attention to the final bricks being laid in place. Amethyst's wild screams could still be heard inside, but more and more bricks went into place until the last, and it had a finality to it. The screams could no longer be heard.

  Amethyst was not dead at this point, but she had been dealt with—rejected. It was almost as if her death was inconsequential. It was the rejection that was the punishment—that would eventually kill her.

  Without ceremony, it was over. The tapestry was dropped back in place and now hung to cover the bricks that kept Amethyst confined for however long she survived in there. Her body forgotten. Were the other people left behind the other tapestries down this hall?

  People started walking away and Ashra forced one foot in front of the other. Emotions were conflicting wildly inside her chest. Amethyst did perhaps deserve to die for her crimes. Murderers were usually hanged and why did she deserve more leniency than anyone else? Some would even say this was more dignified than watching someone contort at the end of a rope. Not that Amethyst had been dignified as she'd been hidden away, letting all the vehemence and wrath flow out of her. Ashra even knew that the woman would likely murder again if she were allowed to.

  Even so, it was difficult to watch her being buried away in what would be her tomb. If Ashra had to guess, it wasn’t the first time Raufasger had done this. There were probably even more souls hidden away behind the other tapestries along the walls. A deep shiver ran through Ashra's body. Raufasger wasn't light in his punishments and maybe it beat starving to death in a cage by the side of the road. Or maybe the terror of being entombed would overwhelm with sheer, claustrophobic panic. Ashra couldn't bring herself to think about it.

  Even now, a panicked urge to do something welled up, to stop the accident occurring before her eyes. Every emotion seemed turbulent inside her. It wasn't even about Amethyst, because the woman truly didn't deserve such consideration, but simply for another human being who was facing death. Still, all felt so unnatural, which was perhaps why she could never contemplate burying a knife in someone's back. To Amethyst, this wasn't, and Ashra had been robbed of her husband and love because of it.

  Chapter 7

  The mood remained somber in the citadel for the next few days. Even the gossip died down and a deep discomfort at Amethyst's fate bit deeply in Ashra's chest. The fact that there were guards keeping people out of that part of the castle had meandered its way from lips to ears. Poor Amethyst, Ashra thought, feeling the strange heaviness of grief for a woman that she truly did despise. Why could people not live in harmony?

  It was difficult to justify why Amethyst didn't deserve her fate, but it was hard to bear that her murdering ways had forced them all to become murderers in turn, because that was what they were. By not charging into that corridor and digging her out of there, they were, in essence, complicit.

  Ashra sighed deeply, hating every part of this. There was no up-side to it any way you cut it. Why couldn't the world be a happy place where people restrained themselves to the things they all wanted and needed—family, love, children. These things were so natural when they were children. How had they gone wrong along the way?

  Smiling, she considered the idea of Lorcan running through a field of wildflowers, holding hands with someone. No, even thinking of it seemed unnatural. Lorcan wasn't a creature of happy abandon; never would be. He was something else entirely, and happiness wasn’t something he allowed himself.

  Thoughts of him featured more prominently in her mind. No news had been heard, so he had to be on the mend. Was he conscious? Was he aware that his wife was at that very moment dying, or already dead?

  Yet another spear of discomfort shot through Ashra at the thought. The heaviness of this all had her pinned, and she even felt guilty wanting to escape it, wanting to forget about the justice that was being meted out. But it was cowardly not to bear the full burden of it.

  Mr. Liesdal seemed to have access to Lorcan, was in some form part of his convalescence. Maybe she should go ask how he was faring, or perhaps she should simply go to his apartment door and ask. Had they not a right to know? Was anyone actually ensuring he was being cared for properly—a job that really should belong to Amethyst, if it wasn't for the poor choice in marriage he had made in the first place.

  The notion that he was free of the restraints of his marriage was another uncomfortable thought, but she would have to worry about that later. In dire circumstances, triage was important, and now the only thing that mattered was recovery. The political game could be returned to when he was fit to play.

  Ashra decided to enquire at his apartments about how he fared. If there was no one there to open the door for her, then that told her something she needed to know in and of itself.

  A cord hung down as a chime, a rope covered in black velvet with a large tassel on the end. Had that been here last time she'd come knocking? She couldn't remember. Pulling it, she heard nothing inside. The ornate, black door mutely stood guard, until the edge finally cracked open and Ashra saw a manservant inside.

  "I have come to enquire about the wellbeing of Lord Lorcan," she stated.

  The manservant closed the door without a word and Ashra wondered if they were coming back or if she was just shut out. Surely, they would have said 'no visitors' in that case. Then again, it wouldn't surprise her if they just ignored her. They did carry out their master’s dictates with precision.

  Amethyst's varied accusations and rants returned for a moment, charging them all with being weak and complicit. It was undoubtedly true, and it still astounded Ashra the things that had flowed out of Amethyst's mouth. Likely, the woman had seen herself as a rebel, as the one who had been brave. Unfortunately, her bravery had been murderous. Ashra pushed the woman out of her thoughts again.

  The door opened once more. "You may enter," the manservant said. Ashra walked inside, but the man had disappeared by the time she turned around again. The door was closed. There must be some secret passage somewhere that he had slipped through. The thought that secret passages riddled through the whole citadel sent chills up her spine.

  The stark black and white of his apartments surrounded her and it was utterly silent. Only the light caress of the curtains gently blowing along the marble floors could be heard.

  She stood there, but no one seemed to be present. Nothing was out of place and everything in his apartments were the height of sumptuousness. Gilded portraits covered the walls, staring down their disapproving noses. A ding made her jump, but it was o
nly an elaborate golden clock on a mantelpiece. Really, she needed to pull herself together.

  No one was coming and she walked forward, her steps echoing off the high ceilings. "Hello?" she called. Was there no one here?

  "As much as it aggrieves me to receive you in less than crowning circumstances, you will have to come to me," Lorcan said from a room beyond.

  Well, there was no doubt he was conscious. Ashra walked toward where his voice had come from, an open set of double doors. It was his bedchamber and she could see rich, white carpet inside, and black, gilded furniture. It was a large room and as she reached the doorway, she saw the lacquered four post bed. Something in her felt as if she should look away, as if she was intruding on his privacy.

  "Welcome to my inner sanctum," he said, his voice a little croaky.

  Now she didn't know where to put her arms. It felt wrong to step over the threshold into his bed chamber. "I came to see how you are," she said.

  "Been worried about me?"

  "Well, if you saw the size of the knife, then you would have been worried, too."

  She stepped inside, the sound of her footsteps disappearing on the thick carpet.

  "Feeling it was bad enough."

  A bandage was wound around his shoulder and across under his arm on the other side. He lay bare-chested in black, with silk pants laying softly along his legs. Even convalescing, he insisted on being stylish. Ashra smiled. "They are actually being very quiet about how you are faring."

  There was a chair next to be the bed where someone had obviously sat with him. Who, she wondered. Feeling awkward, she sat down. Now that she was close enough, she could see he was feverish. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks rosy. Still very much in the process of recovering, but much better than the last time she'd seen him when he'd been so pale he'd been turning gray. This was also a compelling and vulnerable sight. Ashra looked away.

  "I suppose you have been told of Amethyst's fate," she said carefully.

  "Her execution. I heard you spoke up against it." She could feel his eyes on her, studying her. Apparently, he was well informed.

  "I felt the means were particularly cruel."

  "On some level, I should perhaps thank you for trying to alleviate her plight. For all she has done, she was my wife and I do owe her wellbeing some loyalty simply for that fact. You have my gratitude."

  Ashra didn't know what to say—had little reference for how to act in these extraordinary circumstances. Code of etiquette didn't cover gratitude over dealings with regards to murderous spouses being executed in terrible ways. Well, at least not in her family.

  "I am glad to see you are on the mend," she finally said.

  "Are you?"

  Perhaps it would not be a good idea to go into detail on the problems his death would cause her because it meant having an in-depth discussion about the child she was carrying. He would not be able to see it thought her gown, but a bump was showing when she stood in front of her mirror.

  That was a contentious subject that could be left for another day. "Well, under the circumstance, I have been lamenting why we can't all live happily in harmony."

  "Perhaps your hormones are getting the better of you."

  And apparently, he was not going to comply with the idea of leaving that subject be for now. She looked at him and they stared at each other for a moment. "Amethyst accused us all of being cowardly sheep."

  "Well, Amethyst's way was never going to get us the happy contentment you seek. Amethyst got exactly what she wanted, for her to be the chaos within perfect order. It would never have pleased her if others did exactly what they wanted, but she was always too self-absorbed to see anything beyond her own desires."

  "Do you?" Ashra accused gently.

  Lorcan smiled. "The harmony you wish for is utterly unrealistic. It is not in our natures."

  "Not sure that is true. There was probably even a point where you were a sweet, innocent child."

  "But then we are inevitably corrupted."

  The exact reason she was never going to relinquish this child to him. "I have more lofty ambition," she stated.

  "An ambition diametrically opposed to the circumstances you find yourself in."

  "Then I have to be strong and keep the ugliness away."

  "Even you can't stop the ugliness from seducing and corrupting." The meaning of this conversation was warping, but perhaps even more pertinent. "Harmony by nature will seek to sooth, to rush in and try to alleviate any discord."

  An image of her joining him on the bed fluttered into her mind. Yes, there was definitely something in her that had sought to soothe his painful and rough edges. It was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

  "Maybe being grown up means accepting that disharmony must be cut out and kept at a distance. Otherwise, peace is sacrificed, is it not?"

  "The world around us tells us that harmony always weakens. Disharmony is, after all, synonymous with fighting, so it is better equipped to do so. It is the dichotomy that can never be escaped."

  "I guess that depends on what you think reinforces strength. You couldn't know this, but love is strongest of all." And the love for a child is indestructible. It never compromises; it never bends.

  Whether he knew it or not, she had won this argument. "I am glad you are on the mend." She rose, feeling like she had done what she'd come to do, and didn't want to continue with this debate. It was cutting a little close to the bone and right now, she simply wanted a truce.

  There would be no truce with him, though, which was perhaps the point he was making.

  Chapter 8

  A large bang occurred somewhere nearby. Ashra froze as she sat by her desk, writing instructions for her estate managers. Freezing, she listened intently, but nothing else was heard. It was rare that noise was heard in this part of the citadel. But there were no running feet, no raised voices.

  Getting up from her seat, she walked over to the main doors to her apartments and listened for anything untoward. After a moment, she did hear raised voices.

  She considered shutting herself in her apartments again and ignoring it, but she felt compelled to learn what had occurred.

  Closer to the direction she had heard the voices, she smelled gunpowder and her alarm grew. The raised voices continued, although she couldn't make out what was being said. It sounded angry more than panicked, though, and it was definitely coming from below. The only person down that part of the castle was Mr. Liesdal.

  Ashra slowly made her way down the stairs.

  "You old buffoon," Niesen Woord yelled. "You'll burn the whole city down one of these days." He strode past with sharp, intent steps, not noticing Ashra on the landing just above.

  "Are you alright, Mr. Liesdal?" she called after a while. The smell of gunpowder was prickling her nose. There was no answer. "Mr. Liesdal?" She made her way downstairs.

  "Dancing tricks like a circus dog," Mr. Liesdal muttered as she saw him in a plume of smoke that lingered along the entire ceiling of his chambers.

  "Perhaps we need to open some of the windows," Ashra suggested, looking around to try to find an accessible one. Piles of papers and things were stacked along the walls, blocking access, except along the corridors he’d created.

  "What in the world are you doing skulking around my apartments?" she heard and turned to see Mr. Liesdal appearing right by her.

  "I came to see what the noise was."

  "What? Speak, up girl. I can't hear you."

  "I said, I came to see what the noise was."

  "I don't have time to deal with your problems, Lady Greve," he said grumpily in a much too loud voice. Ashra gathered that the explosion had diminished his hearing.

  "WHY ARE YOU USING GUNPOWDER?"

  "How else am I going to create fireworks, you stupid girl?"

  Ashra gritted her teeth at his rudeness. Mr. Liesdal had never been pleasant, but he seemed particularly prickly today. Perhaps it was the failure of his experiment or even being reprimanded by N
iesen Woord.

  "Perhaps you need to find a more remote location for these experiments," she suggested and received a glaring look from the old man. "Take a few more precautions."

  Fireworks. Obviously, Raufasger had some kind of display in mind, and as seemed to be the way, Mr. Liesdal was charged with achieving it. Nearly getting himself killed in the process as well.

  *

  Whatever the fireworks were for, they weren't for that evening's entertainment, which was a performance of veiled dancers.

  The atmosphere amongst the courtiers was still a little subdued, following the execution of their most notorious member. Courtiers milled amongst each other, while the dancers performed. Ashra wasn't sure where these girls were from, but they were scantily dressed and floated around the floor like fairies. Hopefully, nothing untoward would happen to them this evening, because there were a few leering looks directed at them.

  Ashra greeted Lord Wierstoke.

  "It appears our esteemed acquaintance is recuperating quite well," he said.

  "I believe so," she said.

  "A little birdy told me you went to see him."

  It appeared her alliance partner was keeping tabs on her. It hardly surprised her. Lord Wierstoke wouldn't trust anyone no matter what they professed, and that included her.

  "I went to give my condolences over the death of his wife."

  "I imagine he's crushed by this turn of events," Wierstoke said sarcastically.

  "Well, considering she had tried to murder him, his lack of sympathy is perhaps understandable."

  "You are too soft hearted, my dear," he said. "You pity even the vilest creatures."

  "I do not pity the end result, perhaps, but more when cruelty is normalized."

  "Beautiful and principled. I am not sure Lord Lorcan will be able to restrain himself."

  "What do you mean?" Ashra said, turning to him, unsure she wanted to know the answer. But this was not a place where you glossed over unpleasantries, and if someone had insight into how Lorcan's mind worked, she would listen.