16. Rose
16
Rose
“ W hat happened back there, Wolff?” Horace asked as he guided me down the stairs and back to the third floor. “With that Illusionist?”
I’d managed to momentarily push Callum’s cruel trick aside after the shock of finding the same stranger from the forest again, but as we entered the hallway where I’d seen Horace’s dead body, everything slammed back into me.
The memory of my father’s death was a wound that had never fully healed. I’d covered it for two decades with layers of flesh, bone, and pure nerve, pushing it down so far I’d convinced myself it hadn’t happened. I hadn’t thought of that day in years , beyond the ghost of a scar burning beneath my flesh.
Now, the scab had been ripped open, and I couldn’t stitch the mangled skin back together, no matter how hard I tried.
It had been my fault. I’d led those Illusionists straight to my father. I’d been too trusting, too young and naive to see the danger they posed. And because of me, my father had been murdered.
I could still feel his blood, warm from the gaping cut in his neck, pouring onto my little hands as I knelt over his body and screamed .
I could still see his dark blue-gray eyes fixed on the ceiling, glassy and unmoving despite my pleas for him to wake up .
I could still smell the lingering herbs from his charms, weighing down on my senses and making me dizzy.
Aunt Morgana and Uncle Ragnar had found me hours later, lying next to him with my arms flung around his chest and my body covered in blood. I didn’t remember much of the following months. Or years, if I was being honest. People didn’t know how to act around me, how to talk to me—the orphan Alchemist, whose mother had died giving birth to her and whose father was murdered before her very eyes. They kept their distance, afraid of getting too close to the strange, quiet, cursed little girl.
Rumors still circulated. What had Hamilton Wolff gotten himself into? How had two mysterious men from Iluze crossed the border undetected and snuck onto the property? What did they want from the Wolff family?
I never found out the answers. Any time Morgana and Ragnar had tried to talk to me about it, I’d shut down like I did moments ago. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember. But the dam had broken, the suppressed memory pushing and surging forward, and suddenly, it was all I could remember.
And one phrase stood out among the rest. Like a slow-burning flame, a festering poison that slithered on the fringes of my mind, fueling my rage, my pain.
“ Branock Aris sends his love.”
I’d forgotten that snarled confession, but twenty years of repressed wrath and blame rested on that single sentence. Somehow Branock Aris was responsible for my father’s death.
My jaw clenched. It was a shame he was already dead.
Horace grunted and pulled me to a stop, crossing his arms in front of his large chest. “What did that boy make you see?” he asked, his normally gruff voice surprisingly gentle.
I understood now why I had such a fear around people like Callum. Illusionists . Why he had ignited something colder, something deeper than mere anger when he’d used his powers on me in the Decemvirate meeting. I hated that he could incite such dread, that he now held this power over me. The mere thought of him made me tighten my fingers around the pouch of herbs dangling from my vest.
I gritted my teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
“I was under the impression they paid you to guard the palace, not talk to me.”
Horace scrubbed his face with exasperation, and I thought I heard a grumbled “ Emperor’s tits ,” before he leveled me with a stare. “Fine. But whatever he did to you back there, you can bet your little bag of charms he’ll do it again. Would be a shame if you ended up dead because you couldn’t set your pride aside and figure it out.”
I held his gaze, a silent battle of wills taking place between us. He was right, of course—if this happened in the middle of a trial and someone like Horace wasn’t there to help, it was possible I’d end up far worse than at the bottom of the rankings.
Dropping my eyes, I said, “He showed me a vision of you. Dead. Outside my room.”
This took Horace by surprise. He leaned back on his heels, one bushy eyebrow raised slightly. “Didn’t know you cared about me so much, Wolff.”
I stifled my sudden smile, the tension clearing as his eyes twinkled. That light vanished a second later, replaced by his somber expression. “Is that all you saw?”
I opened my mouth, but a cold wave of panic filled me like an icy river, making every inch of my skin tingle. I’d never talked about this with anyone. The words clawed up my throat and stopped, as if an invisible force had weaved around my neck, my lips dry and raw. I was back on that living room floor, screaming. I can’t I can’t I can’t ? —
“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” Horace said, patting my shoulder awkwardly. “Sorry I pushed. But you need to be careful.” He looked around us, then lowered his voice. “Has anyone ever told you how to stop an Illusionist from using their magic?”
I blinked and cleared my throat, the panic once again subsiding. “Go—go for the eyes,” I breathed out, recalling the townsperson who shouted the advice at my uncle on our way out of Feywood.
Horace tapped his nose, then backed away and held out an arm, motioning me forward.
“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to be telling me how to fight the other challengers,” I said.
“There’re a lot of things I’m not supposed to do. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
My lips raised into a grudging half-smile before a realization struck with a groan. “I have to go,” I said, cursing. This was still the middle of a trial. Fates, I’d wasted so much time. The others were probably figuring out their clues and trying to find their artifacts.
Maps. I needed a map.
“Horace, does this palace have a library?” I asked hurriedly, looking around for a clock to check the time. We’d left the corridor with my room and descended a floor, surrounded now by a high stone ceiling with beautiful portraits of the landscapes of Veridia City lining the wall, and a thick, forest green rug beneath our feet. Sounds of palace life waking surrounded us. Servants rushed by with fresh towels and trays of food; sharp heels and heavy boots clicked against wood floors; the creaking of doors and chattering of guests and chirping of birds came in from a nearby open courtyard.
Ten o’clock, an ornate clock down the hall read. An entire hour had already passed.
Horace raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask questions. He led me down several more hallways, each as lush and opulent as the last, eventually stopping in front of dark oak double doors, nearly twice my height and inlaid with carvings of delicate swirls and loops. The bronze handle gleamed in the light from the sconces framing either side of the door. Horace pulled on one and threw it open, welcoming me inside with a jerk of his head.
It was the most magnificent room I’d ever seen.
No, calling it a room didn’t do it justice. The entire chamber was the shape of an enormous circle, with three stories of floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves full of books. A grand staircase with a gold railing sat to the left, leading to the upper levels. I spotted a handful of men and women meandering through shelves or drifting up the stairs with stacks of books and parchment, the quiet ease with which everyone flowed through the library settling my mind.
My gaze wandered over the thousands and thousands of leather spines and sturdy bindings, noting the occasional potted plant in between shelves or hanging portrait dotting the cream walls. If I wasn’t in such a rush, I could have spent hours exploring this place.
A cough sounded in front of me, coming from an elderly man standing behind a desk at the entrance, almost unnoticeable amidst piles of books scattered around him. One pencil was tucked in his ear and another held in his hand.
“May I help you?” he asked in a frail voice, peering at us over thin spectacles.
I glanced at Horace, but he was already halfway out the door. “Thank you,” I called out, to which he threw his hand up in a half-hearted wave.
Turning my attention to the man behind the desk, I said, “I’m looking for maps of the city. Anything that might tell me where the major sites in the capital are.”
“Taking a tour?” he asked with a kind smile.
“Something like that.”
He tapped his wrinkled nose. “I’ll be right back.”
I fiddled with my herb pouch as I waited for him to return, my lips twisting back and forth as nerves and restlessness rose. The urge to act , to do something, to take off running itched under my skin, my competitive nature bursting forth .
What felt like hours later, the librarian finally returned with a wide, thin book in hand. “Here you are,” he said. “This should have several maps of the city and the sectors. Each location is labeled in the index.” I opened my mouth to thank him, but he licked his thumb and began flipping through pages of the atlas. “Ah, yes, this is one of my favorite spots. I always recommend it to our guests.” He inclined the book toward me and pointed to the west side. “See here? There are beautiful gardens by the?—”
“Yes, thank you, I’ll make sure to visit those,” I rushed out, reaching to grasp the book. “Is it alright if I take this with me?”
He adjusted his spectacles. “Why, of course, but I must get some information first. You know, procedures and all,” he said with a huff of a laugh as he patted down his sides. “If I can find that pencil…”
I pinched my lips together to hold back a scream. “I actually don’t have much time, if I could just return it tomorrow?” My feet inched backward, my internal clock ticking the minutes away.
The librarian gave me a stern look. “Well, now, palace property must be recorded, and I—wait, where are you going? Young lady, I cannot simply let you?—”
“I promise I’ll bring it back! Thank you!” I called over my shoulder, pivoting and sprinting out the door. His disgruntled cough followed me down the hall.
A dry chuckle left me as I found the nearest staircase and made my way to the north palace entrance. Fates, this tournament was already turning me into a thief. I’d have to find some way to make it up to the kind man.
I eased the atlas open as I walked, taking in the weathered paper and black ink, looking up occasionally to avoid slamming into a column or passing servant. Each page outlined different parts of the city—the five sectors, as our carriage driver had explained on the way to the palace. Rivers, forests, and mountains were labeled; the ports along the coasts; major trading posts and important landmarks.
Fourteen hours left to search an island I’d never seen in my life. I closed my eyes and let out a breath, stress mounting.
When I opened them, I realized I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was going with my nose stuck in the book. I found myself facing a quiet hallway with guards stationed in intervals down its length, their features expressionless and their hands fixed on the pommels of their swords, as if any sudden movement would raise an alarm. I slowly backed away into the adjacent hall, the silence and tension in the air telling me I was somewhere I probably shouldn’t be.
And then a familiar voice caught my attention. I peered around the corner, holding my breath.
Out of one of the guarded rooms walked Emperor Gayl.