Leaning back down over the infant’s chart, she worked quickly, taking the razor-sharp point and trying to find a fissure or a seam under the added paint.
“We need to do this somewhere else, Princess,” he said. “We need—shit, stay here.”
She barely noticed as he left, her concentration consumed by the delicate operation she was performing. If she went too quickly or dug too much, she was liable to wreck what was underneath. . . .
At last, she got the patch loosened, and then off altogether.
Fortunately, the ink that had been used first had stained the parchment, sinking into the very fiber of the paper.
Closing her eyes, she swayed.
They had doctored the infant’s as well.
The newborn had been the rightful heir to the throne according to the stars.
As the implications sank in, Catra opened her lids and looked over her shoulder. s’Ex had his back to her and was struggling with someone—or, rather, someone was struggling against the executioner’s hold.
When s’Ex turned around, the Chief Astrologer, in his red robing, was up against that enormous body, locked in a grip that was so tight, she could hear the labored breathing under that ceremonial hood.
With a hard yank, s’Ex ripped off what covered the male’s head. Beneath the folds, the Astrologer was terrified—and the fear got even worse as he put two and two together and clearly concluded he was looking at a female no one was supposed to see.
“Yes, I have to kill you now that you’ve seen the Princess,” s’Ex said. “But first, some answers.”
Catra glanced back down at the charts and thought . . . what she had found here was something her mother’s adviser should be even more scared of.
As soon as s’Ex found out . . .
“Shall we tell him what you’ve discovered,” s’Ex said, dragging the smaller male with him. “Shall we ask him why the charts have been altered?”
Catra stared up at the executioner.
Something in her face must have betrayed her emotions, because s’Ex frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Absently, she noted that the executioner’s gray disguise was stained with even more blood. He had not hesitated to do away with any of the males who had sought to attack, in spite of the fact that he had trained them, worked with them, no doubt found a kinship with them.
If she revealed this part of what she’d found?
Well, if she did, then, in addition to this Chief Astrologer and no doubt AnsLai, the Queen . . . Catra’s mother . . . the female responsible for leading the s’Hisbe . . . was going to die.
And Catra felt . . .
She actually felt nothing.
Then again, the female was her leader, not her parent—and the Queen had violated the traditions to her own ends.
It was the only explanation, especially given what the female had said in the ritual chamber.
Catra spoke up to the Chief Astrologer. “These charts have been doctored. I assume you did it.”
The male had turned his head away so as not to see her, but s’Ex was having none of that. He bit his serrated blade, holding the weapon between his teeth, and clapped his now-free palm on that skull, wrenched the thing around by the jaw.
Then he spoke around the steel. “The Princess asked you a question. I suggest you answer it.”
When there was only a gaping mouth and no words, s’Ex looked at her. “Shut your eyes.”
She shook her head. “Do what you must. I shall be fine.”
s’Ex cursed, but then he gripped the Astrologer’s gloved hand and squeezed it so hard the male moaned . . . and then jerked and screamed as bones were broken.
Then s’Ex took the dagger from his lips and placed it back against that throat. “Now, answer the question—”
“Yes! I changed the charts!” the male shouted. “I changed the charts! I did not desire to do so, but the Queen demanded it of me! I was sworn to secrecy!”
“Does AnsLai know?” Catra asked.
“No! He does not! No one knows!”
The explosion of speech seemed as much due to the threats he was facing as the purging of a conscience that had long been troubled.
“I did not wish for this!” The male began to weep. “It is a violation of my sacred position, but she told me she would kill all of my bloodline—she said she would kill my mate, my young . . . my parents. . . .”
“Why switch the charts for TrezLath and his brother? I don’t understand why it was necessary to change one for another.”
“The true Anointed One, the infant born first of its mother’s womb, iAm, was sickly. He was not expected to live past the night, much less survive into adulthood. The Queen wanted one of the sacred twins for you, Your Holiness, so she ordered me to change the chart to the second son, who was hearty and strong. That was the reason.”
Catra took a deep breath.
In the silence that followed, she knew that what she said next was going to change everything. Violently.
She swung her eyes back to s’Ex’s. The executioner was preternaturally still, his huge body exuding a calm that she had a feeling was like that before a storm.
In an utterly level voice, he said, “Tell me.”
As if he might already know.
She turned back to the chart, rolled it up, and placed it in the heavy gold box with the others. Then she got to her feet and approached the executioner and the male.
“Give me the knife,” she said again to s’Ex. For a different reason this time.
“Why.”
“Because we need him alive.”
She expected him to argue, and was shocked when s’Ex flipped the weapon around and handed it to her hilt-first without comment.
It weighed almost as much as the box.
“Now let him go. You have to let him go,” she said. “He’s not going to run off, because I am the only one who can save his life. Release him, s’Ex. I am commanding you to do so.”
When the executioner complied with the order, the Chief Astrologer dropped to the ground as if he were no more than a bolt of cloth. And he was smart. He dragged himself a number of feet away.
Locking eyes with s’Ex, she said loudly and clearly, “Now, Astrologer, tell him why his daughter’s chart was changed.”
EIGHTY
The phone was ringing.
As Paradise sat up against the giant bed’s headboard, she shifted her eyes over to the subtle chiming sound across the way on the desk.
At least answering it would give her something to do, other than sit here in this subterranean suite and stew over what might be happening at nightfall.
Her father had been absolutely livid that she had still refused to go home with him, even in light of the threat against all vampires by the s’Hisbe. But she’d felt like she had to stand up for herself, in spite of the change of circumstance. If she caved? It was like running the clock of her life backward.
And she’d stuck to her guns even when he had reminded her, not that it was necessary, that he’d already lost her mahmen and did not want to have her go over unto death’s cold embrace, too.
As she had uttered her last and final “Not going,” he had stared at her as if she were a stranger.
And perhaps she was.
Riiiiiiiing.
Maybe it was her father. She couldn’t imagine he had found any rest, either. Although he would probably have tried to text or call her cell.
Shifting her legs off the edge of the mattress, she jumped down and jogged to the phone.
Picking up the receiver, she said, “Good morning, how may I help you?”
It was a male voice, but not that of her blooded sire. It was the one who had called before from the s’Hisbe, the one who had issued the decree of war in that strangely accented tone: “I have a message for your King, Wrath, son of Wrath. The Queen wishes to thank him for the swift return of the Anointed One. Wrath’s compliance is that of a wise leader and statesmale, and it is my pleasure to reassure him that no military action shall be taken by us and that there is accord, once more, between our peoples.”