Heart of the Moors

Chapter 26

When Lady Fiora had been a little girl, her older brother, Alain, had been her whole world. Their mother had been of a nervous disposition and found an energetic child tiring in all but the smallest of doses. Their father had barely ever been home, busy at the palace in the service of King Henry and then King Stefan. And Fiora’s nurse and tutor had been frequently exasperated with her wildness and inattention. Alain had been the one who taught her how to ride, the one who played games with her, teased her, and made her laugh. In return, she’d worshipped him.

After the death of their parents, she’d begged and begged until he finally brought her to court. There she tried to advance his interests. It wasn’t difficult. Most nobles already admired him, which seemed exactly right. To Lady Fiora, it was Alain’s due that everyone should adore him the way she did. When he’d declared his intention to win the hand of a queen, that had seemed right, too. Of course he would make the best possible king of Perceforest. Of course Aurora would love him.

So when Alain asked Fiora to do certain things, she didn’t mind. Dropping a word about Prince Phillip in Aurora’s ear during the ride through the woods, for example. Or apologizing for her brother. Or encouraging Aurora to choose Alain for her first dance. She was only helping both of them realize they would be perfect together.

And hoping to cheer her brother up. Because despite having brought her to court and occasionally asking her to intercede for him with other nobles, he ignored her a great deal of the time. He’d grown irritable. He would shut himself up with hoary Lord Ortolan for hours on end, becoming quite short with her if he was interrupted. And when he wasn’t with Lord Ortolan, he seemed to prefer to be alone. She’d spotted him heading out on errands late at night, and when she inquired where he was going, his answers were guarded.

Perhaps he’s desperately in love with Aurora, she thought, and redoubled her efforts to push them together.

But at the festival, his mood went from bad to worse. Alain had demanded she tell Aurora that Prince Phillip had left for Ulstead. He’d gripped her hard around the wrist and looked into her eyes in a way that frightened her. But it had obviously been important, so she’d done it.

The moment the words were past her lips and she saw Aurora’s expression, she regretted saying them. Well, she reasoned, trying to convince herself she’d done the right thing, Aurora liked him. They were close. It must be painful to find out he left, but someone had to tell her. And now the way is clear to love my brother.

And yet, as Aurora walked off, Fiora couldn’t help remembering the way that Alain’s fingers dug into her skin and the desperation in his eyes. Just thinking about it made her uncomfortable.

Heart beating fast, Lady Fiora went into the palace and up the winding stairs to Prince Phillip’s rooms. I just want to see for myself that he’s gone, she thought, refusing to closely consider why she doubted it.

And, truly, she expected his rooms to be empty. But when a servant opened Prince Phillip’s door, she peered inside. To her horror, she saw his trunks still resting in one corner. Books were piled up on his desk, beside a half-finished note. A sword was propped against a dresser. If Phillip was gone, why had he left all his things behind?

Fiora tried to come up with some explanation. She knew she ought to say something to Aurora, but what? She couldn’t speak against her beloved brother.

She just couldn’t.

And she tried to stop Aurora from leaving. But when that didn’t work, and Alain rode out with her, Fiora’s guilt grew worse.

Everything had gone wrong, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

That night, Lady Fiora used her key to let herself into her brother’s rooms. His doorframe was marked with a fresh cut in the wood. She ran her fingers over it. Just inside, she spotted a smear of blood at the corner of a carpet.

She knew he hadn’t been hurt, because she’d seen him before he left. But if he wasn’t the one who’d been wounded…

Horrified, she went to his desk, hoping to find answers. Atop it was a silver jardiniere bearing the royal crest, filled with nib pens and blocks of sealing wax. But only the most mundane and dull correspondence was within. His armoire and bedside table were equally orderly. She had turned to go when she noticed that one of the paintings near Count Alain’s bed was askew.

Fiora walked over to straighten it when a thought struck her.

She took the painting down from the wall. Resting it on the bed, she turned it over.

And there, bound to the back of the frame, was a stack of correspondence from Lord Ortolan.

When she took up the first of the letters, her breath caught.

If it weren’t for Stefan’s purporting to have slain Maleficent, your father would have been named King Henry’s heir, it read. Remember that when you kill her. And if the boy follows, make sure you kill him, too.