Chapter 49
Chapter forty-nine
Olivia
The latest news from Arlund pounded through her thoughts, pulsing in time with her steps. With the Pain radiating down her left leg. With those blasted bells ringing in the distance as they had been for the last ten minutes.
Hurrying through the corridor, she hunted for Seraphina.
The Viscount of Arlund dead.
The front, shattered.
Arath would be there soon.
She could already imagine the look on her best friend’s face when she told her.
Just as she could imagine how Seraphina would balk when she advised that they finally abandon Goldreach, that they fall back to a more defensible position—the Dawnspire. Seraphina wouldn’t like it.
She would refuse to go.
Out of habit, Olivia’s fingers unclasped the flask from her belt and lifted it to her lips for a deep swig. The wine warmed her throat and belly. The dream petal and bitter root numbed her at the edges, making the world a little more palatable again.
“Olivia,” Sir Dacre murmured from where he chased after her—her own personal shadow. Ever since his return from Coreto’s ducal court with news of the coup, he just…refused to leave her alone. “That’s enough.”
His hand lifted, fingers gently cupping hers, trying to take her flask away.
Again.
She wrenched back her hand and spirited the flask beneath her cloak. “I am not a child, Tristan,” she snapped. “Stop treating me like one.”
The knight winced and looked away, his eyes clenching, brow furrowing.
She recognized pain when she saw it.
Her irritation dissipated like smoke. “Another headache?” she asked, closing the distance between them in the next breath. Her gaze scanned his face, noting each muscle twitch. Each shallow inhale.
She frowned. “You have not been taking the medicine I made for you.”
“I am all right,” he whispered, lying. Again. His headaches were getting worse. They had been for weeks.
Forcing his eyes back open, he smiled for her—a weak expression. It did little to distract from the way that vein in his temple throbbed, the way his lips grew pale.
Her jaw worked. They did not have time for this. She had to find Seraphina. But…
Scowling, she grabbed the man’s hand and slung his arm over her shoulders.
His eyes flew wide. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you from fainting right here in the hall, you idiot,” she snarled, wrapping her arm around his waist and tugging him in close. He was an uncomfortable man, armored, solid. “You need to start taking your medicine.”
He thinned his lips, refusing to lean his weight on her. “I will start taking my medicine when you stop drinking.”
She barked out a laugh. Drinking. He thought she was a drunk.
Better that than the truth, she supposed.
She half-walked with, half-dragged Sir Dacre down the hall, their steps stilted, out of sync, as if they were a strange, four-legged creature that had never learned how to properly walk.
Every courtier they passed stared openly. Every servant ducked their head and hurried off, no doubt eager to spread the gossip. Olivia set her jaw and ignored them all. She knew what they must look like.
Ridiculous.
But she was choosing not to care.
She veered right, charging off in the direction of Seraphina’s personal quarters. That was as good a place to start looking as any. She was probably in her study, fretting over her map again.
A flash of white fur bounded toward her from the direction of the queen’s chambers, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Rogue.
The varhound was supposedly full-grown, but he was all puppy when he slammed against her ruined leg with his full bulk and started nosing at her pockets, hunting for a treat. Olivia gritted her teeth, wobbling off balance.
Without a word, Sir Dacre dropped his arm from her shoulders to snatch her about the waist, steadying her against his steel-clad side, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Olivia swallowed hard, doing her best to ignore the strange flutter in her stomach, too.
“Olivia!” Ol’ Percy’s voice rang out over the telltale clack of his cane striking the floor.
She breathed out a relieved sigh and untangled herself from Dacre. Percy would know where Seraphina was.
But when she turned to face the Lord Chancellor, she frowned, seeing he wasn’t alone. At his side bustled Duchess Edith, poorly masked worry smoldering in her eyes. And then there was Sir Arkwright, looking equally grim.
But no Sera.
“Where is she?” they all asked each other in unison.
Duke Percy blinked, his frown deepening. “I thought she was with you?”
“No.” Olivia passed her hand over the tight curls of her hair, frustration welling. Her thoughts hazed beneath the rosy glow of the dream petal. When had she last seen her? Where had she last seen her? “No, I’ve been busy…”
Percy ticked a look between her and Sir Dacre.
Duchess Edith raised her eyebrows.
Sir Arkwright was smart enough to have no reaction at all.
Olivia narrowed her eyes at the Umberlys and finished, “…working through some messages. Alone. I was just coming to find her to give her the news.”
Percy’s expression darkened. “Bad news?”
She nodded once. Wasn’t it always these days?
The Umberlys shared a look.
Duchess Edith sighed. “We have some of our own.”
“Your Grace!” Lord Tiberius’s voice winged down the corridor, immediately setting her teeth on edge. The man forked over some ships and brought news of a coup, and suddenly he was back in Seraphina’s good graces.
Duke Percy pursed his lips and turned to face the Baron of Crestley. That was the one thing she and ol’ Percy could usually agree on, at least—their shared dislike for Tiberius. “What?”
Lord Tiberius jogged the rest of the way toward them, his eyebrows knitting together. “I was merely hoping you had seen the queen. I cannot find her.”
Suddenly, Olivia remembered where she had seen Sera last. She jabbed a finger at Tiberius. “I left her with you. You were supposed to be playing cards.”
The baron spared her the most fleeting of glances, as if he could hardly bring himself to look at her with his precious, little eyeballs.
“We were playing cards until she grew bored of besting me. Then she wanted to go for a walk. Then the bells started ringing. Then the Count of Wellane came and said you wanted to speak with her alone, as it was a matter of State.” He gestured to Percy with his final words.
Alone? Olivia swiveled her attention back to Percy, her eyes narrowing to slits.
The duke swallowed visibly. “Did he now?” he asked, his voice soft. “And when was this? Where?”
Lord Tiberius frowned. “Just a few minutes ago, Your Grace. And Wellane said you wanted to see her in the council chamber, but—”
Duchess Edith reached over to rest her hand on the duke’s arm. “Percy.”
Olivia didn’t need to hear more. She was already in motion, jogging back the way she had just come.
“Wait!” Tiberius called after her. “She wasn’t there!”
But she didn’t care. She didn’t stop. She had to see it for herself.
No. Why had she let Sera out of her sight? The reasons resounded through her thoughts, each more pathetic than the last.
Because her guards had been with her.
Because that idiotic peacock had been with her.
Because she just wanted some time to herself.
And, stupidly, she had thought the guards and peacock would be enough.
Olivia cursed under her breath. Seraphina had been right.
She was losing her edge.
Her left leg screamed in protest as she rounded the last corner and flung herself toward the council chamber. The double doors were already open. The room was empty.
Just as Lord Tiberius said.
Her fingers trembled as she scrabbled for her flask again. No! She needed to focus, to think. Reluctantly, she left the flask clipped to her belt and scoured the room for any detail, for any hint of what might have happened here.
But there was nothing. No blood, at least. Thank the Lady.
She started back to the door and nearly crashed into Sir Dacre and Rogue on her way out.
“Nothing,” she snapped, answering the question before Dacre could even ask it.
The knight blanched.
She looked past him to where the Umberlys, Sir Arkwright, and Lord Tiberius were hurrying down the hall. Her eyes fixed on Tiberius. “How long ago was this?”
The baron grimaced. “Like I said, a few minutes—”
Olivia cut him off. “So she and Wellane can’t be far.” But no sooner had the words departed her lips than a thought bubbled up through the haze making her mind fuzzy.
A terrible thought.
Ol’ Percy slammed his cane against the floor. “Arkwright, find the guards who were supposed to be with her. Have them check the library. Check the chapel. Check everywhere. Then have them flogged for letting her out of their sight.”
Through numb lips, Olivia mumbled, “Should probably check the dungeon, too.”
Coreto. They needed to make sure Coreto was where he needed to be.
Percy stared at her for the span of a single heartbeat before he nodded and growled, “Check the dungeon, too. Go!”
Sir Arkwright took off at a run.
Duchess Edith sucked in a breath and toyed with the signet ring on her right hand. “At least Alyx is with her,” she whispered, as if that were any consolation.
Lord Tiberius cleared his throat. “Well, actually…” Guilt. The man stank of guilt.
Olivia slowly swiveled toward him. “What did you do?”
The moment she limped into the Roost, with Sir Dacre hot on her heels, a cacophony of smells and sounds assaulted her senses. The stink of raw meat mingled with the scents of ink and parchment to create a strange perfume.
But then again, usuri were strange creatures.
Usually, the winged beasts were content to curl in their cages atop their sunstones, warming their bellies. But not today. Today, their high-pitched screeches echoed off the walls and ceiling, growing louder with each cage she passed.
Wincing, she forged deeper, hunting for the Keeper of the Roost. Or a clerk.
She finally found the latter huddled in the back on the lower floor, perched on a stool with his fingers stuffed in his ears. “You! Boy! Where is the queen’s usuru?”
The young man leapt to his feet, looking miserable. “You mean the one who started all this racket? She’s just this way…” He tried to lead her to Alyx’s cage, but he didn’t move quickly or urgently enough.
She hurried on ahead without him and soon located the beast.
Iridescent wings surging, Alyx slammed herself against the door of her cage again and again, shrieking madly, jaws snapping at the iron bars. She didn’t stay still for a moment, not even when Olivia approached the cage.
Nor when she grabbed the key off a nearby hook.
“Seraphina’s missing,” she informed the usuru, as if the creature could understand her. Sir Dacre’s eyes burned against her profile. No doubt he thought her mad.
Maybe she was.
But she knew, deep in her gut, that if anyone could find the queen, it was Alyx. Not Arkwright. Not a guard. Just a winged serpent with more brains than half the court combined. She didn’t know how she knew.
She just did.
“Go,” she urged the beast, unlocking the cage and flinging open the door. “Find her.”
With a screech, Alyx exploded into the Roost and shot toward the door—a blur of blue and green.
Gritting her teeth, Olivia sprinted after the serpent.
Praying all the while that they weren’t too late.