Chapter 17 Lore
Lore
The packed gravel road wound around the steep hill, twisting like a serpent.
Narrow and uneven, it was hemmed in by a dense tangle of stubby trees that appeared almost starved.
Mist slithered along the ground, and even though it was early evening, the world had dimmed to twilight.
We maintained a steady pace, none of us trusting the slope on our left side or the silence that came with it.
Someone would pay for that statue. The grief wraith had dared wear my mother's face, carved in stone in tormenting detail.
It wasn't her. I'd lit her funeral pyre myself, watched the flames consume her body. But whoever had crafted this place knew exactly how to twist the knife.
Had someone left it for us?
Just in case, I’d hold our ward high and watch everyone. One snap in our direction, and they’d feel the weight of my power and my blades.
Farris padded beside Reyla, his ears pinned back and his tail low, the tips of his fur twitching with each snap from the vegetation beyond the edge of the path. He didn’t growl, but he didn’t relax either.
“We’re being funneled,” Dorion hissed from behind us.
He wasn’t wrong. The steep drop-off on our left would keep anyone from taking that route, and the trees on the right side had been planted in a thick mesh, and were the kind you’d find near swamplands or cliffs, their trunks white as bone and streaked with lichen.
Vines clung to the bark, and their branches spiked overhead thickly enough to blot out what was left of the twilight sun.
Light filtered in patches, silver, thin, and cold.
Reyla glanced over her shoulder.
If something comes at us, she said in my mind. We’ll only have only a few moments to respond.
No cover. This walk would not forgive missteps.
Ice daggers erupted from the mist, whistling past our heads. I threw up a shield, deflecting the worst of them, but one shard sliced across my cheek before I could duck to the side.
The trees on the right groaned and swayed, though no wind stirred the air. Branches twisted downward, reaching for us with gnarled fingers.
“Move,” I shouted, grabbing Reyla's hand.
We sprinted up the path as the forest came alive. Vines lashed out from the undergrowth. Roots erupted from the ground, trying to trip us.
Behind us, Dorion cursed as he sent a stream of fire at a branch that had wrapped around his ankle.
As suddenly as it began, the attack stopped. The trees settled back into their unnatural stillness. The mist swirled innocently around our feet.
But the taste of hostile magic lingered in the air.
“Prager,” Reyla breathed.
Farris whined, his fur standing on end as he pressed against my leg.
We were being hunted, and our hunter wanted us to know it.
We moved faster. The road climbed up and up, each turn of the spiral shoving us closer to the summit. Birds didn’t call. No insects hummed. The hush was too perfect, as if the woods had been warned of our arrival and silenced themselves for some worrying reason.
When the castle finally came into view, I stopped. I’d been to the outskirts of Halendor but hadn’t had the chance to approach Irridain. I’d studied stolen floor plans of the inside and the painted images of the exterior.
This place didn’t have Evergorne's elegant beauty. Irridain was a fortress masquerading as a palace. Pale blue walls shimmered with veins that looked too much like dried blood. Towers jutted skyward at harsh angles, and narrow windows watched us with predatory eyes.
At the center, the main keep rose taller than the rest of the structure, its peak lost to the fog curling down from the mountaintop behind it.
Ivy coiled around the base, but it had turned black in the cold.
I could swear I saw a patch writhe when the wind blew just right.
At least there was wind here, unlike inside the garden or along the trail.
The courtyard beyond the portcullis sat empty other than more statues coated in gauzy moss and bent in poses that showed agony and torture.
At least I didn’t recognize their faces.
“We’ve arrived,” Reyla said softly, her breath misting around her face.
I nodded, sweeping my gaze across the area again but seeing no movement.
As we stepped into the courtyard, the two-story wooden castle doors ahead jutted open with a creak like a scream muffled by cloth.
A tall, thin woman strode into the opening, wearing a gray dress that clung to her frame like cobwebs. Her nose could have cut glass. She’d coiled her black hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were slits of ice that rivaled the blue stone around her.
Her lips curling, she looked at us as if we’d tracked in something filthy on our boots.
“Lord Rutherford. Lady Rutherford. Lord Vikire,” she said, her voice flat and nasal. “You’re late.”
Beside me, Reyla stiffened. I offered her my arm, and after sheathing her blades, she took it, her fingers curling into the crook of my elbow. I didn’t look away from the servant.
“Yet we have arrived,” I said in an equally clipped tone. No point in wasting breath arguing with a mouthpiece.
She sniffed. “You can still join the others in the dining room if you hurry and dress in something more appropriate.” The twist of her lips told me we weren’t wearing anything near fancy enough. Our clothing was perfectly suitable for travel.
Turning, the woman entered the building, and we followed, the enormous foyer gulping us down. The air inside felt only a bit warmer than outside, and it smelled like ancient stone and clothing in sore need of a wash.
A vaulted ceiling spiked high above us, supported by thick pillars. Lights wavered in iron sconces, creating writhing shadows on the walls. Tapestries hung between the pillars, depicting hunts and coronations.
Charming.
Our footsteps echoed on the black marble floor.
A rustle from the broad, gilded staircase that emerged into the center of the foyer caught my attention.
Queen Naveer and Princess Laphira descended the final few steps and joined us on the marble floor.
The queen’s gown shimmered like ice, every bit of fabric adorned with glittering beads.
The dress clung to her body, accentuating her large breasts.
Her face was hard, angular, and proud, too proud for someone with no warmth in her eyes.
The princess walked a step behind, her golden gown a softer echo of her mother’s. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor.
A golden chain circled her throat, supporting a featherdorn that caught the light. My breath stopped.
The talisman.
It rested against her skin, so close I could probably reach out and touch it.
Should we grab it and run? Reyla asked.
Too many protective wards. I wouldn’t be able to flit us to Evergorne before they dropped over us, trapping us in Irridain’s grip. Queen Naveer commands magic we're not ready to face.
I’m willing to try.
I so wanted to laugh.
“Lady Bliss,” Queen Naveer said, drawing my attention to her. “Lord Bastian.” Her gaze slid past us to Dorion, and her jaw twitched. “Lord Vikire. I don’t believe I saw your name on my guest list.”
Dorion dropped into an impeccable bow and projected the perfect image of a bored noble. “My request to attend was approved. Check again.”
The queen’s expression didn’t change, but her chin rose a fraction higher. “It hardly matters. You’re also late.”
I inclined my head. “We were attacked on our way here, Your Majesty. But we’ve arrived safely.”
She said nothing. Just turned. The princess never looked up.
With a snap of her gown, Naveer crossed the foyer toward the corridor on the right of the staircase. Her voice floated over her shoulder, utterly dismissive. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer.”
They vanished down the hall, and the silence they left rang in my ears.
Dorion exhaled. Reyla glanced my way. Farris slunk out from behind us where he’d remained hidden.
The servant cleared her throat and gestured with a pale, bony hand. “Follow me.”
We did, up the staircase, our footsteps muffled by a thick black runner.
The castle’s upper halls were poorly lit, though every few feet, a candelabra flickered on small ledges or within alcoves.
Windows had been placed narrow and high, set deep into the pale blue stone.
A quick glance outside showed a deep valley cloaked in clouds and shadows.
Mountains beyond. Clouds skidded across the half-moon above.
Night had fallen since we’d left the carriages.
Portraits hung along the walls, figures wearing ornate clothing or gleaming armor. One painting showed a man wearing a crown so encrusted with stones it was a wonder he could hold his head upright.
We reached the third floor and the servant stopped at the last set of doors on the left.
“Your rooms,” she said curtly. “Lord Vikire in the first, the lord and lady in the second. You may join the others in the dining room if you can dress appropriately and quickly. Your luggage arrived long before you did, and it has been unpacked already. Do not keep the queen waiting.”
With that, she strode down the hall.
I waited until Dorion’s door clicked shut before opening ours and urging Reyla and Farris inside.
The suite was large and furnished in a way that was meant to impress, not bring comfort.
Dark wooden trim. Thick, midnight blue drapes.
Stiff, upright chairs. Not a soft throw in sight.
It had been laid out in a similar way to most suites at Evergorne, though the bedroom was on our right rather than the left.
I poked my head into the adjoining room, taking in the massive bed with clawed feet and a headboard carved with twisted trees.
A mirror over the fireplace caught my reflection—Lord Rutherford’s reflection, that is.
It appeared solid. Good.
As I stepped back into the sitting area, the temperature in the room plummeted. Ice crystals spread across the windows in patterns that looked too deliberate to be natural.
Reyla spun toward me, already reaching for her blades. Lore—
The mirror above the fireplace exploded in a shower of gleaming shards. I threw myself at Reyla, flitting us both behind the massive sofa as glass rained down where we'd been standing.
Magic crackled through the air, the scent of storms and malice filling the room.
“Prager,” I spat, raising a shield around us.
The attack stopped as suddenly as it began. The room fell silent except for the tinkle of settling glass as the shards lifted and returned to the mirror, resetting itself. A blink and it looked as if nothing had happened.
I scanned for threats but found none.
“A warning,” Reyla whispered.
Or a test. To see how quickly we'd react, what defenses we'd use. Prager was studying us, learning our capabilities.
The fire in the hearth sputtered back to life as if nothing had happened.
Should we ask for another room? Reyla asked.
I imagine we’ll encounter the same rats there as here. I’ll cast some new wards. Ones that should trip Prager if she tries anything like that again.
Reyla studied my face for a long moment before nodding. Turning, she strode into the bedroom, and I followed.
She glanced around the room. Calista or Moira aren’t here waiting for us.
They’re probably settling into their own rooms.
Speaking in our minds had become second nature, and I was grateful we could do this. No one could overhear our thoughts. Although…
Remember to keep your barriers up in your mind, I said.
Always. It’s only open to you.
Taking her hand, I pulled her close, needing the comfort of her warmth.
“You know I’ll burn this whole place to the ground if they touch even one hair on your head.”
“Same, Lore. Same.”
This woman owned me. Ruined me for anyone else, and I didn’t give a fuck as long as I held her in my arms.
“We should change and go to the dining room,” she said, glancing toward the door. “The longer we delay, the more suspicious we'll seem.”
I nodded, though every instinct screamed to keep her here, safe in my arms.
Easing out of my embrace, she strode over to the closet and opened the door, huffing as she pulled out a formal gown in deep emerald with delicate silver embroidery. Regal. My favorite color on my bride because it enhanced her fiery hair. Lady Bliss’s hair was deep black.
I tugged a formal tunic and pants from my own closet and stripped off my travel clothes.
Reyla dressed quickly, her fingers deft as she twisted her hair into a low knot, leaving a few tendrils draping across her shoulders. She moved with grace, every motion efficient, yet elegant. I could have watched her tie knots and scroll through the pages of a book for hours and never looked away.
She didn’t speak, but there was no missing the wariness in her expression. I shared it.
We were both thinking of the attempts on our lives. Prager. And the talisman.
But it was more than that. This place didn’t only feel foreign, I sensed it was hungry. I’d do anything to keep it from devouring her.
I dressed in my formal clothing, tailored black with silver etching. The look of a nobleman.
We stepped back into the sitting room, finding Farris lying on the sofa in front of a fire blazing in the big hearth. The flames sputtered, the light flickering across the walls hung with yet more paintings of stoic fae.
The door to the hall opened, and Dorion hurried in, shutting it behind him.
He’d also changed, though in his case, into a deep red tunic with gold embroidery.
After sliding his fingertip across his pinched mouth, he cast a ward over the space, his lips moving quickly as he created the spell.
A shimmer passed through the air like heat off stone.
He crossed to us, his face pale.
“Laphira.” Her name came out strangled. “Something's wrong with her.”
“What kind of something?” Reyla asked.
“She's…empty. They've stolen everything that made her who she was.”