Chapter 50
ISI
The next morning, I studied the drawing and she did look like my mother. Or like she might’ve appeared when she was young.
But it couldn’t be her, could it?
Leaning forward, I stared at the image some more.
That’s when the last words in the book I hadn’t been able to decipher smeared into view.
If she should ever read this, I pray she will forgive me.
What did that mean?
The moment I read them, they shimmered and were unreadable again.
Chills shot across my skin.
I’d tell my friends about this and see what they thought.
Yet we didn’t find time to talk during combat training, our strategies class, or even during magical training, which was conducted by Nia, who kept chattering with Kerralyn.
Maddox hovered nearby, watching us, trying to listen in on our attempts at conversation.
We couldn’t allow that.
After magical training, which went well enough now that Pherin and I were friends, we walked to dinner together.
My little minxpip kept chirping on my shoulder, I swear scolding Dare, Derren’s ember-winged moth-hawk, who kept swooping ahead, his wings brushing against the back of people’s heads before darting upward.
The bird essentially snickered when the person whirled around, their hand smacking out at nothing.
The dining hall shimmered with warmth and noise, the air heavy with the scent of roasted meat, warm bread, and the faint tang of ale.
Magic worked its lazy way around the room, pitchers of wine and jugs of ale floated past in a slow orbit, pausing midair to refill a cup before drifting on.
Platters heaped with golden potatoes and thick slices of roast replenished themselves the moment they neared empty, steaming as if they’d just been dished up from the pan.
I slid onto the bench, with Derren and Lexie across from me, and Kerralyn on my left, already scribbling notes in the margin of her ever-present journal instead of reaching for food.
Pherin perched on my shoulder like a teal-and-silver brooch with a heartbeat, her feathers ruffling every time someone brushed past. Around us, companions lounged on shoulders, coiled in laps, or sprawled beside trenchers like entitled houseguests.
Torchlight gleamed off a molten miniature bull’s horns, a twilight serpent’s scales, and the twitching whiskers of a badger-thing with attitude.
Maddox dropped into the only open space at the end of our bench.
“Evening,” he said, his charm sharpened into something with points.
Lexie suddenly found her trencher fascinating. Derren buttered his bread, taking care with each swipe of his blade. Even Kerralyn’s pencil seemed to scratch louder in the silence.
I didn’t bother looking up from my trencher. “You’re not welcome here.”
“You can’t be mad at me forever.”
I lifted my gaze to meet his. “Oh, yes, I can.”
His jaw flexed. “It wasn’t lethal. I gave you the antidote myself.”
“You tried to kill me.”
His gaze flicked to Pherin, whose feathers had flared into a puff around her. “You should cut ties with that thing. It can’t protect a fly.”
“She’s amazing, unlike you.”
A low growl rolled from Derren. Maddox’s eyes cut toward him, then back to me. “Enjoy your evening, teammates.” He shoved away from the table, the bench screeching over the stone, and stalked toward the other end of the hall.
“Pleasant as ever,” Lexie muttered, ripping at a hunk of bread.
I shrugged, even as the tension in my shoulders remained.
“He’ll get tired of trying to get back into our good graces eventually,” Kerralyn said.
“I doubt it,” Derren said.
We ate a bit and during a lull, I told them about the last line and shared my thoughts about the drawing of the young girl in the book.
“It just…re-resmeared itself?” Derren asked, and I nodded.
A frown knit Kerralyn’s brow. “Was he speaking of the girl or someone else?”
“I don’t know.”
“You really think it’s your mother?” Lexie asked, concern in her eyes. “How is that possible? You said the book appeared old, which, I guess, is odd in itself since the Skathes came through the veil only sixteen years ago.”
“Weirder things have happened around here lately,” Derren said.
“The book suggested that Velacross Blyte may have traveled through the veil to the other realm,” Kerralyn said, her journal out on the table, her pencil hovering over a clean page. “How could your mother be a part of anything related to the Skathes?”
“She died when I was ten,” I said.
Frowning, Kerralyn tapped her pencil on her top teeth. “Sixteen years ago. Interesting timing.”
“What’s your mother’s history?” Lexie asked, leaning forward.
“She was an orphan, raised in Caldrith Court. One of my father’s most trusted advisors introduced them.” They’d married not long after.
Kerralyn looked up from where she was taking notes in her journal. “Maybe she knew Velacross?”
I told myself that I would’ve been too young for her to share much from her past, but I’d never seen my mother as someone with secrets.
Except the secret we kept together of my magic.
We tossed out theories but it was hard to come up with much based solely on a drawing that may or may not be of my mother and cryptic words. Giving up, we returned to our meals.
The great doors at the far end of the hall opened, and the rush of air that followed didn’t dim the chatter swirling around the room. Only the torches on the walls shuddered.
Trew entered, dressed in leathers sporting stains and tears.
A broadsword rode in a sheath down his back, and twin daggers accented his narrow hips.
Even exhausted and battle-worn, he was devastating.
The way he moved through the room commanded attention, with his shoulders back despite the weariness on his face.
He was still every inch the king, even when I could tell from the exhaustion in his eyes that he was close to falling apart.
Pherin left my shoulder, flying straight to him like she recognized her other half.
Smart bird.
The curl of his shoulders and the creases on his face made him appear…defeated. Maybe that wasn’t quite the right word, but it fit.
His hair was wet, like he’d dunked his head in a trough of water, and his clothing was almost as damp. Maybe he’d bathed near the battlefield and redressed in the only outfit he’d had. Yet he’d come here rather than go directly to his chambers.
His usually controlled expression had fractured, and devastation hung beneath his golden eyes. Gavelle shifted on his shoulder, digging his claws into Trew’s tunic, his ember eyes glowing.
While Pherin returned to my shoulder, Trew scanned the hall, his gaze seeking mine and remaining. Like a cord drawing taut between us, the sadness in his eyes sucked all the air from my lungs.
He walked up onto the dais and sat, waving at his trencher, staring at it as it magically filled with food. He picked at his meal, not appearing to notice Kira speaking to him. He only seemed to see me.
I didn’t touch my plate. Didn’t chat with my friends. I got up and strode between the tables. Benches scraped behind me, heads turning, voices tittering, rising.
The dais loomed ahead, Trew sitting tall despite the weight in his eyes. Kira kept chattering, her death adder coiled around her arm, its red scales glinting like fresh blood.
Her gaze narrowed as I climbed the steps, and she started to rise. “You’re not—”
Trew lifted his hand, cutting her off.
I ignored her and stopped beside him. “Are you finished eating?”
He glanced down at his trencher and gave a half-shrug. “I cannot imagine eating much right now.”
“Then come with me.” I took his cold hand in mine, linking our fingers.
He clung, tightening his grip to the point of pain.
My magic stirred in response to his touch, not wild or chaotic like it usually was, but warm and steady, as if it recognized its home. The air around us shimmered, charged with more than attraction.
With destiny.
Choice. Loyalty freely given instead of demanded by blood or crown. For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to pick your family.
Conversation died in the hall.
Truce between our courts? Kerralyn had said, but this felt like so much more.
Everyone watched the new warrior who’d bonded with a minxpip, of all things, take the hand of the rebel king like she was claiming her throne.
Let them stare. Let them whisper. Let Kira’s jealousy burn bright enough to light the entire castle.
This was my choice. My king. My future.
I led him off the dais and through the room, murmurs swelling around us. Gavelle swooped ahead of us with Pherin fluttering by his side. Kira’s gaze gouged between my shoulder blades, but I didn’t look back.
I caught Lexie’s eye as we passed. Her smile showed pure satisfaction. Derren nodded once. Kerralyn clutched her journal, probably already composing the entry she’d write about this moment.
My chosen family. Watching their future queen claim her king.
The hall’s noise faded with each corridor we took, replaced by the muted hum of the torches. When Trew’s chambers came into view, its double doors carved with the curling shapes of cinderhawks, he dismissed the guard and pushed the doors open without a word.
Inside, the air hung still and warm. No clatter of dishes, no voices. Just the faint hiss of the fire in the hearth and the whisper of Gavelle and Pherin swooping in and landing on a perch standing on the opposite side of the open sitting area.
As the door banged closed, I turned to face him.
Silence wrapped around us, shutting out the world and its expectations. Here, there were no crowns or courts or ancient feuds. Just him and me and the truth we could no longer deny.
He looked… Tired wasn’t the right word. This was something deeper, as if someone had carved out pieces of him and tossed them aside.
I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his chest. Holding him.
For a second, he didn’t move. Then his breath left him in a rush, and his arms came around me hard, as if I was the only thing holding him upright.