Chapter 43
Rylee
My dinner plate sits with only a few crumbs left on the nightstand next to my bed.
I ate it all. Despite not having much of an appetite after everything that’s happened, I refuse to not eat.
Where I come from, having anything to eat at all is a privilege, let alone the gourmet meals the palace chefs prepare.
I won’t take these gifts for granted regardless of how unmotivated I feel.
I fold my legs beneath me, propping Erin’s art journal in my lap for the umpteenth time. The sky is turning a soft shade of purple as the sun sets, the light pooling in from my open balcony doors.
You’re missing a page.
Evaluna’s words haunt me as I flip through page after page of Erin’s artwork. I can practically taste the paint and charcoal through my fingers.
And all roads point to my sister holding every answer I seek.
Ironic, since she’s the reason I snuck into the Choosing event in the first place. Everything leads back to her, and I’m terrified of what I’ll do when I find her. But I must.
I touch the delicate lines on the last page, tracing the outline of an illustration of Ash, who sleeps soundly next to me.
In the picture, he’s sitting outside our hovel in the Ashlands, a sunbeam drenching him in golden light.
I flatten my hand on the opened back portion of the book, using my free one to stroke Ash a couple of times.
He grumbles a bit, then settles back into his soft purring, too tired to protest. I’ve followed him on his nightly strolls occasionally, secretly hoping his adventures might lead me to Erin.
Ivy and Layce have searched all the old spots we used to hit across the cities.
We’ve all come up empty in our efforts to find her.
What am I missing? The question repeats over and over, my mind threatening to fracture—
A cool wave crashes down Axl’s bond inside me, making me gasp.
Warm heat, like sunshine, ripples over Kal’s bond, and my hand clenches against the book. My heart races as I dive internally, searching the strength of our connections, checking the sensations humming from them.
Warmth, hope, excitement?
I blow out a breath as the feelings’ intensity settles to a soft buzzing. What just happened? Maybe they’ve finally secured their deals and are on their way home? Maybe they are near. Is that why I felt—
The book in my hand grows unnaturally hot, and every thought empties from my mind as I look down.
There’s an almost imperceptible tear in the binding of Erin’s journal. I must’ve ripped it when the bond sensations shook me. As I examine the tear, the book cools. I peel the corner back before ripping the entire thing off.
I stop breathing and drop the book, holding only the torn cover.
A small painting has been concealed behind the now-shorn backing. One I’ve never seen before.
I slip the painting out and bring it close, studying every line.
It’s the depiction of a small wooden building near the royal docks, just outside the royal city’s border.
Technically, it lies in Obsidian where the two cities meet, which is why I recognize it.
Jax and I have made that walk a dozen times together on nights we couldn’t sleep.
Why would she paint this one specific building?
There’s nothing else beyond the structure itself.
No illustration of Ash or any people wandering nearby.
Not even other buildings. Why would she hide this painting?
There’s nothing illegal in it, no depictions of Ashlanders dressed above their station or memories of us crossing borders.
It’s just . . . a building. Boring compared to her other work.
I run my fingers over the painting, and adrenaline races through my veins, propelling me off the bed and into my leathers and Legend jacket.
I should tell someone where I’m going, should tell Mirren or Ivy or Layce, but I don’t want to wake them up in the middle of the night for something that could turn out to be nothing at all.
No doubt they’d want to debate the merits of visiting a building in a painting, insisting I go during daylight hours, and honestly, I’m not in the mood for debate.
Of course, Layce and Ivy would insist on going with me, but some part of me wants to do this alone—needs to do this alone—as foolish as that seems.
I slip on my boots and sneak through the palace, ensuring no enforcers spot me. It feels like old times when I’d do my best to hide while sneaking across borders.
I head to the stable where they keep the Legends’ velomages and take Axl’s, since it’s the closest. I start the magic contraption, navigating it onto the palace roads the way Jax taught me, heading at top speed to the location in the painting.
My heart thuds harder against my chest the closer I get, my mind spinning with possibilities. She painted it for a reason. Hid it for a reason. Maybe she’s left a letter there. Another clue in the form of a painting. Something.
I have to see it for myself.
The powers inside me stretch and press against my bones. Axl’s water and Kal’s flight are particularly fidgety, pulsing with a need for attention. I breathe around the sensation, loosening my hold on their powers just enough to get some air.
My fingers are cold as I bring the velomage to a crawl on the main road, the cool air wafting off the royal docks not far away. So many nights before this, I’d take the same path and sit on the docks, watching the waves in hopes of a ship sighting, but instead, I’m here, chasing my sister’s ghost.
The roads are quiet as I park the velomage. There are very few citizens walking along the edge between the Obsidian and royal cities. I eye the smattering of people heading toward the club district in the Obsidian City, then, unnoticed, take the pathway down a small hill on foot.
At the bottom stands the building from Erin’s drawing. It’s a simple wooden structure used for storage by Obsidian City keepers who maintain the streets’ cleanliness. There aren’t any workers here at this hour, but I scan the area for observers or anything amiss.
I dip into the powers pulsing around my bonds, feeling their connection instantly. I graze my mental fingers over them, just in case I need to access them quickly. My own power leaks from me on instinct, a small wind blowing my hair away from my cheeks.
Lifting the handle on the lone door to the building, I step inside.
A puff of dust falls from the door, which is painted an oddly vibrant shade of purple—Erin’s favorite color.
Chills chase down my spine as I study the room, illuminated by the soft moonlight beaming in from the lone window on the right wall.
The shelves are packed with cleaning supplies—brooms and trash bins, buckets and solutions. I walk around the cramped space. The structure is so small, I can circle it in a dozen paces.
I search through the supplies, hunting for a piece of parchment or scroll, anything Erin might’ve left behind.
I shift things to the sides, scanning the walls behind stacks of cloths in case she painted something on the wood.
I do this over and over again, until I’m certain I’ve done everything but tear up the wooden floor planks.
If I have to, I’ll dismantle this entire place—
“Took you long enough.” My sister’s familiar voice hits me like a hammer.