Chapter 18 Reyla
Reyla
“Explain,” Lore barked out.
“The woman we saw tonight isn't the Laphira I remember.” Dorion smacked the mantel as he passed it. “She used to command every room she entered. Tonight she barely seemed aware she was breathing.”
I frowned. “She did seem quiet.”
“Fuck quiet,” Dorion snarled. “It was her, but she’s not there.”
“I would’ve expected her to at least meet our eyes. Maybe welcome us to Irridain.”
Dorion’s shoulders curled forward, and his voice dropped to almost nothing. “The old Laphira would’ve.”
“People change,” Lore said. “She lost her husband. She’s raising a child alone. Things like that can have a strong impact on a person.”
Dorion raked his fingers through his hair and started pacing, my favorite thing to do when I needed to think. Apparently his habit too. “Something’s wrong with her, and I need to find out what it is. Fix it.”
“Talk to her first, maybe,” I said. “She might not be feeling well or…I don’t know. She could’ve changed, as Lore said.”
Dorion leveled me a long look. “I know Laphira well. There’s something wrong with her.”
“There’s something wrong with everything here.” I still didn’t see the point. “She’s wearing the talisman. That’s what I’m most interested in.”
Dorion growled. “I need to help Laphira.”
“You can do that while we’re here.” I strode to the door to the hall. “Meanwhile, we don’t want to be kicked out of the castle. The queen was angry we didn’t arrive earlier. No reason to be late for dinner and make her madder.”
Lore joined me, his hand on my lower back, and we stepped out into the hall, quickly making our way down to the first level with Dorion trailing behind. Farris, thankfully, remained on the sofa, though he sighed when we left the room.
On the main level, we followed the clink of cutlery and the low murmur of voices to an enormous dining room that rivaled the biggest one at Evergorne.
Every seat but three had been taken, and fortunately, the three were together.
Queen Naveer looked up, scowling, and waved her hand to the seats. “You’re trying my patience.”
“I do apologize,” Dorion said in his most courtly way. He dipped forward in a bow, and we did the same, before we strode around the table to the other side and sat, Dorion on my right, Lore on my left.
This put Dorion next to Laphira. Good. Now he could find out if anything was wrong and fix it if something was.
“Do not be late again.” Naveer flicked her hand toward a servant standing near the door to the kitchens. The woman bowed and opened the door, hurrying down a hall while calling out orders to the other staff.
I peered around at the dining room stretching on both sides and above us like a cathedral.
Well, one created by someone in a fever dream.
Its vaulted ceiling arched high overhead and was made of pale blue stone.
The walls were a deep, veined blue that shimmered in the candlelight.
Massive stained-glass windows lined the wall behind me, the colorful glass showing scenes of crowned figures with blank faces, wolves feasting as they sat at a table, and a sword plunged into the heart of someone lying on a slab of stone table.
White drapes with blue flecks framed the windows.
The table that dominated the center of the room had been made of a smooth gray wood, and it stretched on and on, flanked by fifty or so lords and ladies sitting in high-backed chairs on either side.
They’d dressed to look good, males wearing stiff, formal tunics embroidered with various colored threads, their chests pinned with brooches.
Women wore elaborate gowns of every color imaginable, and their hair was universally coiled into braided crowns on the tops of their heads.
I’d missed hearing that I, too, should be wearing a braided crown, but no matter.
A few of the other guests smiled, though too broadly, their teeth a shade too white. Others stared, their expressions unreadable. Not a single person spoke. The rest watched us with predatory interest.
The queen didn’t rise, though I wouldn’t expect that. We were fortunate she’d allowed us to enter after her. She sat at the far end of the table, her golden crown gleaming in the lights.
The carved doors flew open, and servants bustled in, carrying trays of the first course, a chilled green soup that was placed in front of each guest. The bowls had been crafted from black glass, and each dish had been topped with three delicate petals of gold, floating in an artful display.
I thanked the servant who placed mine, though he didn’t meet my eye or respond. When I looked around the table, I found the same expression on every face outside Lore and Dorion: serene, distant, like a room full of actors waiting for their next cue.
I reached for my spoon, but something pulled my attention away before I could lift it.
A painting hung on the wall behind Queen Naveer, partially hidden by her high-backed chair.
It depicted a regal woman seated on a bone-white throne carved with dark sigils.
Her skin was deep brown, her expression severe, and her darker brown eyes pierced straight ahead.
She wore a pink gown and a golden necklace with spikes that reminded me of jagged teeth.
Her hair, coiled back in tight braids, had been threaded through with golden rings that matched the crown on her head—the crown the queen now wore.
Her resemblance to Queen Naveer was unmistakable. A grandmother or a recent ancestor, then.
I glanced down at my soup, swallowed, and forced a spoonful past the knot forming in my throat.
A few bites into my meal, the portrait drew my attention again, an irresistible pull I couldn't ignore.
The painted woman's gaze had shifted. It now stared directly at me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
I twitched, my spoon clinking against the bowl.
I blinked, once, then again, but I could still feel her watching me. Like I’d been marked. My flesh crawled, but I forced myself to remain still, to not let my unease show. I would not lose my grip in front of these people.
Lore eased my way. Reyla. Look at me.
It took considerable effort to drag my gaze from the portrait to him.
Are you alright? His gaze saw every part of me. He’d fix this. Destroy this place if I asked, but I didn’t want to get us into trouble. Not until that talisman was snug in my hand.
I shrugged and glanced toward the painting, finding the woman’s gaze pointed forward again. I told myself her eyes hadn’t moved. Of course they hadn’t. Paintings couldn’t shift. Yet I could feel her gaze as if she’d taken notice of me in particular and was deciding what to do about it.
Whispers slithered through the air, distinct from the dinner conversation around us.
Do you hear that? I asked Lore through our bond.
He frowned. Hear what?
She's trying to tell me something.
She? His glare took in the room, and his voice deepened to a raspy growl. Point her out, love, so I can kill her.
It sounds silly. I meant the woman in the painting behind the queen.
He stabbed his gaze that way before turning back to me.
I’ve heard about Naveer’s mother, Queen Davalon, though I never met her.
She married the king. She gave him a son and died not long after his daughter, Laphira, was born.
Ignore her. Or, if you’d like, I could go over and slash the portrait to pieces. That’ll shut her up.
From his tone, he’d take pleasure in doing so.
I pushed for a low laugh. No need to do that. It’s nothing.
I won’t let anything or anyone harm you. Not here. Not ever.
The whispers had already faded, but I was certain I’d heard them.
I turned toward Dorion. “Did you see the painting move? Her eyes…”
He frowned and scanned the walls. “Which painting?”
“The one behind the queen.”
“Queen Davalon. Rumor says she practiced blood magic before Naveer pushed her down the front staircase. Some claim her spirit never left the castle.”
What?”
He snorted, though he kept it and his voice low. “It was never verified, of course. There were no witnesses.”
Interesting tidbit.
“As for the painting, I don’t see anything moving.”
I looked that way.
The painted woman’s eyes had locked on me again, and her lips had parted, though they remained unmoving.
The whispers returned, and this time they seemed to crawl under my skin like insects, making my flesh peel away from my bones.
A metallic taste flooded my mouth, copper and something rotten.
My hands began to shake and sweat beaded along my hairline despite the cold air around me.
I clutched the stem of my goblet until my knuckles went white, the crystal warming from my death grip. My breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps that I couldn't control no matter how hard I tried. My heartbeat was trying to force its way through my throat. I wanted to run, but where?
It wasn’t easy, but I dragged my gaze away. I could still feel her eyes locked on me.
Lore took my hand beneath the table, linking our fingers. He leaned close, speaking in my ear. “Is the portrait still bothering you?”
My forced smile eased my tension. “It’s nothing.”
He lifted one eyebrow along with his knife, the point directed toward Queen Davalon. “It’s everything if it makes you feel unsettled.”
I loved him for saying it. For meaning it. For knowing I wouldn’t tell him, and still offering to slash through the world if I asked him to.
His gaze lingered. The way he watched me, ready to burn down kingdoms if I asked, made heat pool low in my belly despite our dangerous surroundings. My deadly, devoted shadow.
I focused on the room instead of the portrait, from the nobles eating their soup and dabbing their lips with napkins, to them murmuring to their neighbors. No one else seemed disturbed by anything.
Queen Naveer lifted her goblet and sipped as if her dead, possibly murdered, mother behind her wasn’t staring at me, trying to unravel me from the inside out.
The painted lips moved again, forming words that chilled my blood.
Come to me, child. We have much to discuss.
The whisper slithered directly into my mind, bypassing my ears. Around the table, dinner continued as if nothing had happened.
But I could feel her dead fingers already reaching for my soul.