Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Nova
While Captain Voss oversaw the cleanup and disposal of the dead Order members, the rest of us went our separate ways.
Zayn went to find Aleks. Thalia and Bastian went to make sure the guard rotations were properly set, and that every entrance to the palace grounds was being monitored.
Eamon didn’t say where he was going, but judging by the furrow of his brow and the telltale way he was whispering, debating with himself, I guessed he was off to bury himself in the library archives. Again.
Phantom and I made our way toward my room, but I eventually lost him, too; we ran into Eamon’s little sister, Brynn, and she lured him back outside with a promise of fresh treats from the kitchens and a game of fetch.
For all his steadfast determination to protect me and remain vigilant, it was always amusing to see how quickly he transformed back into a typical dog when food and play were involved.
And it was just as well; I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Between the soul shard in my pocket and the images I’d seen in the stable, I had no shortage of things I needed to process without any distractions.
I reached my room and promptly locked the door behind me, wasting no time taking out the shard and returning all my focus to it. My frustration from earlier immediately tried to resurface, but I tamped it down.
You could ask anything of the dead. Anything at all, and then force them back to life so that they can give it to you…
If I could do that, then it should have been easy to see what I needed from this mere fragment of a person, right?
I could do this. I simply needed to focus on what I truly needed to ask, maybe; this was a piece of Lorien’s very soul—the possible things it could show me were endless, and the things I wanted to know were equally vast.
After a bit of thought, one question rose above all the rest while I tapped my fingertips against the shard’s smooth surface.
“Show me what you know of the Order, why don’t you?”
The crystal remained cold and unresponsive.
Then another idea occurred to me.
I grabbed Grimnor from the chair I’d rested it against, unsheathing it and studying it for a long moment.
As it often had these past weeks, the blade pulsed with a faint, ghostly light.
Proof that Lorien was still in there, biding his time.
Waiting on me to finish putting him back together, as agreed.
Not for the first time, I found myself wondering about what he would truly do once I managed to uphold my end of the bargain. And would the re-emergence of the Order change his plans, whatever they were? Would it make him more cooperative?
Did we have a common enemy in them, as I’d mentioned to Zayn earlier?
“I know you could help me if you wanted to. You can strengthen my abilities. You did it when we met in the Palace of Midna.” I spoke the words over the blade, letting my shadows curl around the steel and tangle with the ghostly light of Lorien.
Watching the powers weave together made my stomach twist and turn—the same nauseous feeling I always got whenever I had to acknowledge the connection the two of us shared.
But I was determined to get answers, no matter the cost. So I let my shadows continue to wrap around Grimnor, to coax a response from the stubborn demon trapped within. I narrowed my eyes on the blade, pouring more of my will into the connection.
“Come on, you insufferable bastard—help me.”
His light flickered, then pulsed brighter, as if in answer. Unmistakable power and awareness vibrated through the sword.
I wasted no time.
I stabbed Grimnor into the shard, my balance teetering slightly as the point sank through the hard crystal as easily as piercing water.
The light of Lorien surged violently along the blade, racing toward its point. The shard reacted in kind, its surface fracturing with veins of brilliant luminescence. A synthesis of power—two pieces of the same fractured whole coming together, enveloping me in blinding brightness as they did.
I held tight to Grimnor’s handle, letting its blade channel and reinforce the magic flowing between me and the fragment, until we were both swallowed up in the familiar-by-now fog that came before a deeper, more immersive vision.
The fog rolled away, momentarily taking my breath with it. I didn’t recognize the place I stepped into, this time, but wherever it was…
I was here.
I’d finally done it.
I was in a small house, standing at the head of a narrow corridor.
Bits of fog still hovered along the edges of my vision, but there was less of it at the end of the hall, as if my magic was trying to guide me to that clearer spot.
I followed its suggestion and found myself standing before a closed door.
I passed through it like a specter and took in the scene unfolding inside.
Lorien leaned in a corner of a small, warmly-lit study.
A book was propped open in his hands, but his stare was glazed over, likely not processing a single word on the page.
He looked haggard, shadows under his eyes, his clothes rumpled as if he’d barely slept.
He soon gave up on the book, snapping it shut and instead pacing the length of the room, occasionally glancing toward the door.
Waiting for someone.
Finally, the door opened. A white-haired man entered, his expression carefully neutral.
I noted little else about his appearance—the vision seemed to be blurring many details out—save for one other thing: The golden pin he wore, which was shaped like a circle with a sword cutting through it.
White gemstones adorned the top half of the circle, while black ones lined the bottom.
“Master Gareth,” Lorien said, straightening. “Did you deliver my message to Calista? When will she arrive?”
Gareth slowly closed the door behind him. “I’m afraid Lady Calista won’t be coming, Lorien.”
“What? Why not? Is she unwell?” Concern flooded Lorien’s face. He moved toward the door. “I should go to her—”
“She’s perfectly well.” Gareth’s voice stopped him mid-step. “She simply...declined your invitation.”
Lorien frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. We were supposed to meet three days ago, and she never came. I’ve sent four messages since then—”
“All of which she received.” Gareth pulled a folded letter from his robes, holding it out. “She asked me to deliver this to you. I’m sorry, Lorien. I truly am.”
With slightly trembling hands, Lorien took the letter. I watched his face as he read, saw the color draining from his cheeks.
“No,” he whispered. “No, this can’t be right.”
“I’m afraid it’s her handwriting, is it not?”
“Yes, but…” Lorien stared at the letter, his throat working.
“She says she’s chosen to join Argoth at his court in the northern territories.
That he’s offered her…” He trailed off, seemingly unable to force the words out.
He tried several more times to read it out loud before giving up and crumpling the paper in his hand instead.
“I’m sorry,” Gareth repeated, his tone oozing false sympathy. “I know how much she meant to you.”
“She wouldn’t abandon me for that power-hungry mortal king,” Lorien said, but his voice wavered with uncertainty. “She wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t she?” Gareth paused deliberately. “You told me she’s been spending a lot of time visiting his northern stronghold.”
“For political reasons. She was investigating reports of unrest in the region, monitoring the balance between Light and Shadow—”
Gareth shrugged. The gesture was far too casual, almost cruel. “It seems there was something more to these visits than her Vaeloran duties.”
Lorien sank into a chair, the letter still clutched in his hand. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then: “I want to see her. Talk to her face to face.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
Lorien’s voice hardened. “I don’t care what you think is wise.”
Gareth studied him for a moment, then shrugged again. “Very well. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when it all comes crashing down.” There was a gleam of anticipation in the man’s dark eyes, I thought. As if he would have been all too happy to see it all come crashing down.
Lorien didn’t seem to notice it; he was already gathering his coat and heading for the door.
The scene shifted.
Lorien stood in the shadows of an opulent ballroom, looking entirely out of place in travelers’ garb and dirty boots, like some common wanderer who’d clearly snuck in through a side door.
The room before him glittered with candlelight and the jewels of Soltaris’s elite.
Music and laughter—much of it fake and high-pitched—filled the air.
And there, at the center of attention, was Calista.
She wore a gown of midnight blue that seemed to shimmer with captured starlight.
Her dark hair was swept up, adorned with a delicate silver headpiece.
And on her left hand, catching the light with every movement, was a black diamond ring.
There were black diamonds along the bottom of several of the banners hanging throughout the hall, too; it must have been a symbol of Argoth’s royal house.
Beside her stood a man who commanded the room without seeming to try.
King Argoth himself. He was handsome in a cold, precise way—sharp features, calculating eyes, a smile that never quite reached those eyes.
I could see features he shared with Aleks, even though they were several generations removed from one another, and the resemblance made my chest feel tight.
He held Calista’s hand possessively, speaking to a circle of nobles who hung on his every word.
The more I studied the way Calista stood next to him, the more I couldn’t help thinking she seemed…diminished, somehow. Her smile was perfect but empty. Her posture was immaculate but rigid. And her eyes—usually so bright and blazing—seemed distant. Hollow.
“Something’s wrong,” Lorien muttered, taking a step forward.