Throne of a Thousand Lies (Nine Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2)

  Throne of a Thousand Lies

  RACHEL HIGGINSON

  Contents

  Also by Rachel Higginson

  Follow Rachel

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Thank You

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Teaser

  Copyright@ Rachel Higginson 2022

  This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give, copy, scan, distribute or sell this book to anyone else.

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  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Editing by Marion from Making Manuscripts, Jenny from Editing 4 Indies, and Karen from The Proof is in the Reading

  Cover Design by Zach Higginson.

  Also by Rachel Higginson

  Other Young Adult series by Rachel Higginson

  The Star-Crossed Series

  The Siren Series

  The Starbright Series

  Love and Decay

  Love and Decay: Revolution

  Follow Rachel

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  To my darling Stella

  Chapter

  One

  Moonlight streamed through the paned windows, illuminating the hallway brighter than I would have liked. Although there were still plenty of shadows to hide in, the moon seemed to taunt me. Glowing as milky white as possible just to spite my efforts.

  No matter. The moon could try to ruin my plan all it wanted. I would not be unnerved. My focus was too narrow. My intent too decided. Besides, what was a little light to someone like me?

  Candled sconces were placed evenly down the corridor, but this deep into the midnight hours, only every other one was lit. Giving plenty of space to slink along walls, melt into shadowy corners, and avoid detection.

  Oliver was nothing but a dark cloak, camouflaged and silent, as he played the lookout ahead. I watched him while I stood still as stone, waiting for the signal. A swoop of his black cape, a flash of pale skin, and then nothing as he pressed back into soundless discretion.

  Beyond him, a pair of guards tromped through the quiet hallways, sluggishly watching for all manner of evil. Neither of them would have suspected the biggest threat they faced tonight was Oliver and me. And why would they? I was their future queen. Oliver a failed monk.

  Their low rumble of voices drifted toward me, but it was too mumbled to understand. A snippet of something about their suppers. A wistful sigh as the minutes ticked toward morning. And a sarcastic quip about the ghosts in residence.

  Their good-humored conversation continued as they walked on, their voices and footsteps growing quieter as they got farther away. When all was silent again, Oliver still didn’t move. I counted to five. I practiced stealthy breathing. I closed my eyes and imagined I wasn’t just pressed against a stone wall but actually a part of it. It was cold against my back and through my own dark cloak. Pressing my palms flat against its surface, I let the coolness of it seep through me. I was surprised it still smelled faintly of dirt and the outdoors—even though it had been a wall much longer than it had been in the earth.

  Or maybe that was wrong.

  Maybe it had been here at the beginning of this world. A hillside or mountain. A foundational stone that was once happy to let the sun shine on it and the moon bathe it in creamy light. At some point, it had been moved here and formed into more than what it was. Now it was a decorated wall in a decorated castle. It was no longer nature, but building. No longer free, but resigned to servitude.

  Even if it was for a good cause.

  I couldn’t help the small squeaky sigh that pushed from my lips. Was I still talking about the stone wall? Or was this some twisted version of my own troubles?

  I had never been a foundational piece of stone for the earth to build and breed upon. But I had once lived a much simpler, much freer lifestyle. And through only fault of my own, I’d traded that carefree life for one trapped inside a gilded cage, destined to serve a kingdom for the rest of my royal life.

  I shouldn’t complain.

  What was there to complain about?

  I’d survived. I’d survived my childhood hidden in a tucked-away monastery. I’d survived a lengthy journey across the Nine Kingdoms with the crown secreted away in my pouch. I’d come face-to-face with the Rebel Army, somehow made allies with them, and discovered Crown Prince Taelon Westnovian’s alternate identity. And I’d conquered the trial my uncle had held when I’d shown up on his doorstep uninvited. Conandra had tried to fell me, yet I prevailed. And now I was on my way to being queen. The very thing I’d wanted so badly just months ago. So why did my new, safe, stable position in the royal house feel so . . . flat?

  Revenge still dangled like an out-of-reach ripe fruit. Revenge for my family’s murders. Revenge for the life that was snatched from me. Revenge for a lifetime of heartache and trouble.

  And while I reached and stretched to touch that forbidden apple, everything else felt like . . . a waste of time.

  I did not expect to be so bloodthirsty. But here we were. Six months into my uncle’s care, and I was merely dressed in pretty gowns, pranced around for visiting monarchs to ogle, and asked to sit still and shut up until it was my turn on the throne.

  And even then, I wasn’t convinced anyone would listen to what I had to say. Back at the Temple, I had been constantly stretched—both mentally and physically. Father Garius had been a relentless taskmaster when it came to my studies and training. And while there weren’t many to converse with, my voice was still respected, still admired. Whether it was questions for the Brotherhood who answered in their own silent way or haggling with the village vendors who were determined to get the most coin for their wares, I felt as though my words were listened to when I spoke.

  Now I was bored to tears and chomping at the bit to hold real, tangible power.

  Which led us here. To this hallway.

  Oliver’s quick movement ahead pulled my attention back to the present. He glanced back just once, his face a flash of determination, his jerking jaw a signal for me to follow.

  Real or imagined, spirits from the past followed my stealthy movements as I slinked down the corridor. This had been my family’s wing once upon a time. Back when I had a family. Back when
I was a child. My uncle Tyrn had renovated these rooms years ago, but since my return, he’d discouraged me from visiting them.

  I had protested more than once, but there was a strong belief throughout the castle that this wing was haunted. Fascinated by the ghosts of my mother and father lingering in these rooms, I was anxious to explore. But the general tone of the haunting was malicious. Or so says the maids and guards. And so Tyrn had been reluctant to let me loose in a part of the castle where the royal bloodline could end, thanks to an incorporeal attacker.

  After months of asking politely, I had decided last week to take matters into my own hands and enlisted Oliver to help execute the mission. We’d spent several days slyly observing the night watches and the comings and goings of the guards. Then we waited for an opportunity to escape my detail unnoticed.

  It wasn’t that I was under lock and key, at least not since the trial, but there were men to watch after me, make sure I wasn’t attacked or kidnapped, and report all my comings and goings back to my uncle, etc.

  So Oliver and I had been careful, bided our time, and waited until we had a decent idea of how the royal guard operated. If we were honest, the guard was not so invincible that I felt entirely safe after our assessment. But a lapse in their oversight and procedure would be a nice piece of knowledge to keep tucked away for a rainy day. One never knew when they would need to sneak in or out of a walled fortress.

  But now there was to be a ball. For me. A welcome home of sorts where Tyrn invited nearly the whole of the Nine Kingdoms. Tomorrow the halls would be full of royals and their servants, dignitaries, ambassadors, politicians, and more servants. The quiet castle would burst to life with guests and ball preparations, decorations, and gossiping maids.

  The same monarchs who tried to disprove my identity and throw me in a dungeon for the rest of my life were now about to parade their eligible sons in front of me as prospective husbands. The same royals who sneered at my claim over the Crown would bow and nod and do their best to catch my attention. And my good opinion.

  No doubt they hated me as much today as they did six months ago, but now my position had power. Power they were desperate to grab. I was no longer the orphaned vagabond begging for their attention. Now I was heir to the Crown of Nine. And I would be their queen whether they liked it or not.

  This wing especially would be packed with people. I was sure it had been many times in my absence over the past nine years. I could wait until the festivities were over and things settled once again. But . . . to be frank, I was itching for something purposeful to occupy my time. And my mind. And more than that, the need to walk where my parents once walked, to sit where my brothers once sat, and to be where my family had once been was so powerful that waiting felt like torture. So Oliver and I had decided this afternoon to sneak out of our rooms, slip our guards’ watch, and snoop to our hearts’ content.

  I made a quiet click with my teeth and cheek, and he looked back. My head tilted toward the door I stood next to. Oliver made a great lookout, but he had no idea where he was going.

  He moved back toward me while I pulled a key from my pocket. As it turned out, princess gowns didn’t inherently come with pockets. But I was used to simpler styles and aprons with deep pockets from my years at the Temple. Early in my residence here, I had asked my maid to speak with the dressmaker so she could start stitching interior pockets into the sides of all dresses. The dressmaker, an elusive and longtime legend among castle residents, had been properly scandalized, but it had been well worth it. It was hard to deny the benefits of hidden pouches in every outfit. But especially in situations such as this one.

  Sliding the large master key we’d pilfered from the groundskeeping office two days ago soundlessly into the lock, I prayed no one was nearby to hear the clunk of the mechanism. When the door was unlocked and the guards successfully still at bay, we slipped inside the rooms that had been the royal family suite once upon a time.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected to find on the other side of the door, but the oppressive silence was almost deafening. The extreme stillness seemed to scream in my ear and steal the breath straight from my lungs.

  The room was opulent, as I’d expected. It was dark of course, but the faint light from the corridor illuminated just enough for me to make out the fine furniture and expensive details.

  The sitting room greeted us, perfectly styled with silk-covered chairs around a fireplace large enough that Oliver and I could step inside without touching either of the walls. A table on the other side of the room was adorned with fresh flowers and a lace covering. The maids had been here today to tidy up. The tapestry hanging on the wall boasted the Elysian kingdom, our Diamond Mountains, and rich fields. Whoever had woven it had been a master of their craft.

  None of it was familiar. None of it belonged to my family.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect. The last time I’d been in this room, my family’s bent and broken bodies had littered this now immaculate space. The floor had been coated in blood, the soles of my bare feet thick with it. My mind couldn’t convince my heart that this was the same room.

  Except the stillness felt oddly familiar. Something was behind it. Something . . . that tugged at the corners of my heart and swirled around the edges of my mind.

  “What are we looking for again?” Oliver whispered as he soundlessly closed the door behind us.

  We were enveloped in darkness quite suddenly. “I’m not sure,” I admitted while my eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light.

  A bedroom, a private lady’s parlor, an office, and dressing rooms were beyond this room. And their windows allowed the moonlight to penetrate the darkness, giving them the appearance of glowing. But here, in this windowless sitting room, it was all shadows and obscurity.

  Oliver moved toward one of the rooms, drawn to the blueish glow and the ability to see clearly. He whistled low and softly through his teeth. “These accommodations are just a little nicer than the monastery dormitories.”

  “Just a little nicer,” I agreed.

  Oliver disappeared into the bedrooms, and I heard the creak of an ancient bedframe and subsequent depression of a plush mattress, then the rustling of silken bedcovers. Oliver groaned louder than he must have intended to. “Just a little nicer.” I heard him repeat.

  I was on my way to scold him when the gentle sound of fabric swirling behind me caught my attention. Less aggressive than Oliver rolling around on a bed, it was more like the swish of full skirts or the rub of a velvet jacket.

  Spinning around, I squinted into the corners of the room. The fireplace waited for me, but nothing else. I took a step toward it, my heart kicking against my breastbone.

  “Tessa,” Oliver murmured happily, “you must try these out. It seems your uncle has been holding out on us. My bed is not half this luxe. Is yours? Is it just me that’s been relegated to subpar bedding? Does my back not matter to these people? Have I been abandoned to a future of hunched-back hideousness?”

  My eyes had fully adjusted by now. They keenly assessed the massive fireplace with its carved stone and embedded jewels. When the fire was lit, the large gemstones would glitter against the glow. My memory showed me a pretty image from my childhood. My family gathered around the hearth one cold winter night, my father captivating us with a story of some sea captain of old, and my mother whispering what each gemstone meant. Diamond for power. Ruby for love. Emerald for magic . . .

  “No magic here, my love,” my father had admonished.

  My mother had stilled and held his gaze. “Of course not, darling. Of course, not here. But in the old days, emerald was the power stone. The ignitor of all things magical.”

  My father’s smile had wobbled. “It seems it is a night for fairy tales then.”

  Her smile had stayed steady. “You doubt the old ways?”

  “I doubt the old ways have anything to do with these new days,” he’d said, not crossly, but also not kindly either.

  She had dipped her head, a subtle sho
w of his authority and her submission. “Yes, you’re right. Forgotten dreams and old wives tales, nothing more.”

  My father had growled then, a snarling, terrifying sound that made all of us children giggle and squeal and listen closely as he spoke of shipwrecks and sea monsters. But I had been curled up in my mother’s lap with my back pressed against her warmth and her arms snuggly wrapped around me. I had thought I’d imagined it. Bewitched by my father’s storytelling and the lovely night, my mother’s talk of magic and the old ways. Yet now I wasn’t so sure. Had the emeralds glowed brighter when she’d stretched out her hand? Had the diamonds shifted from blue to yellow to blinding silver before settling back to their pure white? Had the rubies darkened to the color of blood?

  I stretched out my own hand now and fingered the inlaid stones. The old magic. What a thing to think about after so much time had passed.

  Myths. Fairy tales. A silly story from a mother long since dead.

  The moonlight from one of the bedrooms shifted over the hearth, hitting the emerald beneath my fingertips. It glittered faintly in the dark.

  I frowned, wondering at the exact timing of light and my touch. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that there was, in fact, no moonlight. Direct light couldn’t reach this far into the dark room. Nerves skittered down my spine and pulled the hair on the back of my neck into standing.