THE FALL

Elaris’s POV

The hall seems to hold its breath.

I am still on the stairs, my hand against the banister, as every set of eyes in the room watches Virelle’s bloodied gown and me.

I have not moved toward her.

I have not spoken.

It seems the very act of believing the accusation has already begun to turn the household against me.

The distance between us should be enough to prove my innocence, but I know within seconds that it will not matter.

Virelle has chosen the center of the hall so that the drama of her punishment would ensure witnesses to whatever tale she decides to weave.

A woman on the lower stairs murmurs my name.

Another servant slips away from the steps.

Someone asks where the guards were.

No one questions why Virelle stood in the middle of the room.

That last I find most upsetting.

Averic reaches Virelle first.

He does not kneel at once.

He drops to his knees beside her to inspect the blood on her gown and the scrape on her ribs, and he watches the distance between us before lifting his gaze to my face.

For one heartbeat, I see the calculations in his eyes.

He watches the railing, my belly, the steps, then back to Virelle’s bloodied gown.

Elaris?” He makes the question mine. “Did you touch her?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t touch her.”

My voice seems to carry through the hall.

It carries to Virelle, at least, who lets out a pained sound and draws her arm against her ribs.

Averic questions me again, asking if I came down the stairs before she fell, and I tell him I heard the commotion and arrived at the landing afterward.

I give him the bare truth of what I know.

He asks if anyone saw me leave my chambers, and I give him Neryss’s name.

Virelle gasps immediately, whispering that I had confronted her.

“I warned her to stay away from the Alpha,” I say, watching Virelle’s face.

She closes her eyes as if the very act of speaking costs her something.

Several servants drift closer to hear her response.

It seems Virelle has suffered the same fears as the rest of us.

She is not here to declare my innocence.

She wants the audience to believe her when she says she is in danger.

The healers kneel beside Virelle, inspecting the injury.

It is long enough along her ribs to draw concern, but shallow enough that one of the women lifts her skirts to test the depth of the wound.

Another healer checks Virelle’s abdomen and asks if she feels any pain there.

“I’m frightened for the child,” Virelle announces, and the words seem to send a ripple through the room.

The healer murmurs that there is no danger to the pregnancy, but Virelle refuses to be carried back to her chambers.

“I want to stay here,” she says, and when the healer questions her, she says it is important that everyone hears what has happened.

I understand her motives at last.

A private accusation can be investigated.

A public one may yet be believed before a single fact is offered in proof of either side’s claim.

The servants watch the healers clean the scrape on Virelle’s ribs while she talks, her voice quiet enough to seem genuinely frightened. She tells them all how sorry she is for what happened, how she only wished to speak to me in peace, how she tried to leave me alone, how I attacked her.

She gives them a performance that requires little effort, really. Virelle tells them she met me at the base of the stairs and accused me of poisoning Maevra. She says I told her to leave the palace grounds before refusing to let her go. “I told her I would not harm her,” Virelle says, letting the tears fall. “I tried to walk away. Then she pushed me.”

I am tempted to interrupt her, to tell them all how little of that account is true.

Instead, I remind myself that Virelle has done this to me before and has always escaped punishment with nothing more severe than a few bruises.

If I lose control now, she will be the one walking away from this unchanged.

A servant asks why I would have harmed someone carrying the Alpha’s child.

Virelle answers for me before I can speak. “Because she believes that child has taken her place.”

I think that is the most damning statement of all.

She has tied my jealousy to Maevra’s poisoning, the altered tea, and my own condition all in one neat package.

Jealous mistress, jealous wife—Virelle has painted me as a scheming villain out for revenge against everyone in the palace.

It is almost enough to make me believe her.

That is when I realize what Virelle has done.

She has prepared the household to believe the worst of me, to accept without question that I am capable of such vindictiveness.

I am ordered to remain on the landing while two warriors take up positions several steps below me.

I do not argue.

There is no point.

Instead, I watch Averic’s face as the healers work.

He asks the healer if there is any danger to the child, and she shakes her head.

Virelle reaches for his sleeve, and he allows her to keep his arm for a heartbeat before he turns his attention back to me.

I see the servants’ faces as they watch us, and I know the scandal will grow before morning.

It is hard to tell what has changed between us, really.

The distrust I felt after learning of the tea was not unlike what I see in his expression now.

If anything, he seems to have more questions than before.

Averic does not accuse me outright.

That, perhaps, is the worst of it.

If he had shouted at me, I could have shouted back with equal force.

Instead, he seems to be having great difficulty deciding what he will say at all.

Virelle begins to cry again, and Averic watches her with such concern that I am nearly jealous of her position.

He does not look at me even once during her story, and I think of all the times I have trusted his judgment.

Of all the times I have believed that his opinion of me might change what the rest of the household chooses to believe.

It appears the woman’s fall has done little to mend whatever faith he had in me.

Lord Sennik arrives before the household has settled.

He brings two of the council’s representatives and several of the old families.

It is no surprise, really.

Someone must have sent for him as soon as the commotion began, and I find myself wondering who might have benefited most from an audience.

He watches Virelle and the blood on the floor before asking me pointedly if I deny the accusations.

I tell him I deny touching her, and he informs me that it will be investigated.

“I believe the matter should be brought before the council,” Sennik says, watching my face.

“I am afraid it must be,” he says when I do not object.

He instructs me to return to the inner chambers while the investigation is completed and announces that I will be held in confinement.

I watch Averic’s face to see if he will object, and it is Sennik who speaks again.

“The council has already received complaints regarding unlawful confinement,” he says to Averic’s surprise.

“If the accused is not to be held in the palace, the council will have to determine if the Alpha has greater interest in the accused’s well-being than the accused’s claim of the pregnant woman’s safety.”

It is not an accusation, really.

Not yet.

Averic is being asked to choose between me and Virelle, and I find myself wondering what he will do.

It is he who gives the orders.

“Elaris returns to the inner chamber,” he says quietly.

There is no anger in his voice, no accusations or defenses.

The guards lead me away, and I am surprised to feel no resistance.

I am nearly grateful for the distance between us.

It is, perhaps, the closest thing to control I will see for some time.

As I pass Virelle, she keeps her face lowered, but I see the faintest curve of her lips just before I turn away.

It is gone before the servants take notice, and I am left wondering if it was real at all.

When I reach the corridor, I hear the hushed voices waiting for me.

By the time I reach the doors to my chamber, I hear the words being repeated, and I have to smile at the embellishments.

Some say I pushed her, and some say I attacked her, but most seem to believe I did it solely for Averic’s sake.

Someone says the child nearly died, and I know what the truth will be before I reach the doors to my chamber.

Neryss is allowed inside long enough to bring me water before closing the doors behind her and telling me what she knows.

“No one on the lower stairs saw you near Virelle,” she says, watching my face.

I ask her who saw the attack, and she tells me most were at the entrance when the commotion began.

It means there are no witnesses to either of our stories.

For the briefest moment, I am hopeful.

It means neither of us is entirely believable, and I have no doubt the council will take that into consideration.

Virelle has done well, but the best she can hope for is freedom from punishment.

Neryss says several servants have already believed the accusations.

I ask her who began it, and she says she has no idea.

It is not necessary for me to hear the name.

It only confirms what I already know.

Virelle did not need to convince one servant — she only needed the first to believe her.

Neryss grips the edge of the tray, and I see the look on her face.

“I believe you,” she says, and I shake my head at once.

“Don’t say that where they can hear you.”

She understands what I mean at once, and I am grateful for her discretion.

Neryss leaves after promising to keep her ears open, and I am left thinking about loyalty and how it might survive in this place.

Averic waits for me in the chamber, keeping his distance from the bed.

He asks me again if I touched her, and I tell him I did not.

He watches me closely, asking the same question again.

“I did not touch Virelle.”

He says the council will not accept my word, watching my face.

“Not after the cup. Not after the fall.”

I ask him if he thinks I am lying, and he tells me he wants to know what happened.

“That isn’t an answer.”

He looks away, watching the space over my shoulder for a heartbeat.

“I don’t know what happened.”

I ask him if he believes her, and he tells me the child will continue to be protected.

I ask him about me, and he says the matter will be investigated.

I ask if I am being imprisoned, and he says I will be held in confinement until the council hearing.

I remind him that I was imprisoned once before because Virelle’s accusations were far more convenient than any proof of my guilt.

He tells me this time there is a public accusation.

I ask him if that makes it true, and he does not answer.

It is the only response I have needed.

Averic turns toward the door when I stop him.

“If she wanted to harm me, she could have done it privately.”

He watches my face, asking the unspoken question.

“She wanted everyone to see her bleed.”

I tell him what I think I know — that Virelle has done everything to make it impossible for me to deny the accusations.

That she has made my execution far more difficult by ensuring every servant believes her.

That the only reason it will be prevented is because Averic will not allow it.

The council will protect Virelle for the child’s sake, and the servants will protect her for the Alpha’s.

The old families will believe her, and I will be the one left with no one to stand for me.

Averic watches me without speaking, and I tell him what little I think he needs to hear.

“If she wanted to kill her, Virelle would not have used a shallow wound.

She would not have placed herself in a position where so many witnesses could see the injury.

She has made an accusation that will make it nearly impossible for me to refute it, and she has gained nothing but enemies by doing so.

She wanted an open trial, not a secret one.

She wanted an argument, not a funeral.

Averic listens to me in silence, and I think he sees the truth of it at last.

He does not tell me I am mistaken, and I am grateful for the proof that he still believes me.

“I will have the injury inspected again,” he says at last.

I ask him to look at the rails as well, watching for signs of blood and footprints that might tell us where she fell.

It is the most practical thing he has said to me all night.

He leaves me alone after reminding me the doors will remain locked from the outside, and I wonder if his investigations will begin before Virelle’s next accusations are made.

Alone, I sit on the edge of the bed and press my hands to my belly.

The public fall was not meant to kill Virelle.

That much, at least, is obvious.

The blood was useful to her, as was the shallow wound.

The position of the servants was far more valuable, as was my own place on the stairs.

It was a performance meant for the household, and it has done precisely what she wanted it to do.

I am isolated from those who might have protected me, and the few who might be willing to do so are now afraid of her.

The old families are already suspicious of me, and the council will do little to stop Virelle from continuing to accuse me.

Even now I can hear the servants’ voices, and I know the words will change before morning.

I have spent too long believing I was being prepared for this moment, that I would be accused and imprisoned so that the Alpha would have an excuse to punish me.

Instead, it seems I am being pushed toward something far worse.

I am being isolated, and I refuse to accept it.

I may not have the council’s support, or Averic’s, or even the servants’.

But I have proof, and I have the truth.

Something slides beneath the edge of the door, and I hear the sound of the paper against the stone floor before seeing it.

It is a note, folded once, waiting for me just beyond the edge of the room.

I do not call for the guards to come and take it from me, not until I know there is no one listening.

The note waits for me when I slide the paper beneath my belt, and I watch the other side of the corridor.

The door on the opposite side has opened just enough to allow the guard to see me, and he moves to the other side when he realizes I am alone.

When I am certain he cannot hear what I am about to say, I lift the note to the candle’s light.

There is no name written on the paper, only five words in all:

Next time the blood will be yours

I feel the words twist in my gut, but I am not surprised to see them.

When I look again, I see Virelle’s mark pressed into the wax, and I am certain of it.

I do not call for the guards, or Averic, or even Neryss, when the candles flicker.

I am alone, and I will deal with this as I always do.

I hold the note over the fire, watching the paper curl between my fingers before dropping the charred remains to the floor.

The wax is still warm, and I remove the mark from the ruined paper before sliding the evidence beneath the hearth.

When Averic finally arrives, he finds me waiting, and I am still holding the broken clasp in my hand.

He asks me if there is anything else, and I offer him my palm.

I am no longer surprised when he recognizes Virelle’s mark.