Chapter 10
ChApter
Ten
The prayer hall is in chaos. The king’s guards move swiftly through the crowd, ushering the courtiers toward the heavy double doors, their voices sharp with urgency.
Among them is Sir Holden, who pushes his way to me.
Once he’s certain I’m secure, he escorts me forward.
I move with Nadya at my side, weaving through the dispersing crowd.
My skin still tingles, the phantom sensation of that buzzing energy lingering in my fingertips.
Nadya pulls her shawl closer around her, her curls tossed by the wind. “That was spooky. Almost as if King Silas angered the gods.”
I keep my face carefully neutral, though my heart is still pounding. I don’t know what to believe. But the way the storm arrived, the way my own emotions had surged moments before, the sudden pain that came along with it… Was it just coincidence? Or did I somehow cause this?
The pain that blossomed behind my eyes makes me wince for a moment before it begins to fade.
Before I can dwell on it further, a familiar voice cuts through the commotion.
“Princess. Lady Nadya.” Indira strides toward us, her dark brows drawn in concern. Even in the frantic atmosphere, she carries herself with her usual poise, her hands folded neatly in front of her as though nothing could ruffle her. “Let’s get you to your rooms.”
But before Indira can get us to follow her, I notice the crowd parting in the hall. My heart leaps into my throat when I realize they are moving aside for Mylo. His tall and muscular form heads quickly toward me with wide eyes.
My breath catches. “Mylo?”
“Commander! Your uncle is awake.”
For a moment, I don’t move, hardly able to believe what he’s saying.
Nadya takes my arm, practically shaking me. “Celeste, go. Sir Holden can escort you.”
Before I can respond, she gives me a reassuring nod and turns, following Indira and disappearing into the sea of black-clad mourners being funneled out of the hall.
Clenching my jaw, I turn on my heel and hurry toward my uncle’s room with Sir Holden in tow. As Mylo leads the way, my mind is burdened with worry.
He’s awake. That should be enough to calm the storm in my chest, but it doesn’t.
What if it’s only for a moment? What if he slips under again before I get there?
What if the elixir damaged him somehow? The thought knots my stomach.
I should be grateful. I am grateful. But the underlying fear is persistent.
It curls beneath my ribs, whispering of fevers and failing breath. Of too much lost time.
Mylo bursts through the chamber door, stepping aside quickly so I can enter. The scent of tinctures lingers in the air—earthy and bitter, with something metallic beneath it. I rush into the dim chamber, my skirts brushing the stone floor.
Ezra stands by my uncle’s bed, blocking my view as he removes a soaked cloth from my uncle’s head. When he turns to me, I notice the tight line of his shoulders has eased, though the shadows under his eyes remain. “Ah, you’re here,” he says, taking a step back.
Uncle Kormak’s weary eyes meet mine, and I let out a sigh of relief.
He’s propped slightly against the pillows, blankets tucked up to his waist. His face is gaunt, paler than I’ve ever seen it, with deep hollows beneath his eyes and the kind of stillness that speaks of pain long endured.
Now that he’s awake, I can see he’s grown thinner, but his chest rises and falls with steady breath, for which I’m unbelievably grateful.
“Celeste, my dear,” he rasps, his voice like dry leaves scraping across stone.
For a breath, I can’t move. Then I cross the room and drop to sit on the edge of the bed, clutching his hand in both of mine. It’s colder than I expect, dry and frail, but the moment he squeezes back, I nearly lose what little composure I have left.
“Thank the gods,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat. “You had me so worried.”
A faint smile tugs weakly at his lips. “Don’t you know I never give up until my duties have been fulfilled.”
Behind me, Ezra steps away to give us space, retreating to the shadows by the window. Mylo drops into a chair near the hearth, releasing a long breath as if he’d been holding it for weeks.
I glance back at my uncle, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Please tell me you’re all right. Tell me the pain is gone.”
He nods faintly, eyes half-lidded. “I feel sort of like I did during my first years training, when I was a cadet and my commander made our squad run uphill until our bodies gave out and crashed upon the rocks.”
“You’re safe now,” I say softly.
His brow furrows, as if only now realizing that for a while he wasn’t safe.
“I… don’t remember arriving,” he mutters. “I don’t remember much, actually. Only fragments. Ice. Darkness. The pain.”
My stomach knots. “Mylo brought you here. Found you at the border. But do you remember who took you?”
He grimaces, and something flickers across his expression, an echo of pain too sharp to conceal.
“No. I’m trying to recall, but it’s as if there’s a missing piece of my mind I can’t find.
I remember Lord Stregasi coming to the Garrison and telling us about Prince Torbin and the Shadow Tsar.
About the pit. I remember setting out—” He shakes his head. “The rest is a blur.”
I squeeze his hand and lower my voice. “You said some things when you got here. Some of it was incoherent, but one of them was… You said my father is alive.”
His expression clouds. “What?”
“You don’t remember?”
He slowly shakes his head, looking genuinely confused. “I’m sorry. It’s hazy. Like a dream. Like a nightmare without details…” He trails off, eyes narrowing in thought. Then he meets my gaze, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, Celeste. Maybe it was the fever talking.”
Mylo pushes off the wall, his voice gruff. “He wasn’t all there when I brought him here. Kept talking like someone was watching us. Said he saw wolves’ eyes in the trees.”
I glance between them, uncertainty tightening in my chest. He can’t remember any of it.
Is this just a temporary side effect of Ezra’s elixir, or is his memory of the abduction gone forever?
The thread of hope I’d been following, the hope that I’d get some answers, slips loose, replaced by something warped and unsettling. Confusion. Doubt.
Kormak’s eyes open again, clearer this time, and he turns to Mylo. “If it’s truly been weeks, I’ll need to get back to Delasurvia soon. The people need their general.”
Mylo frowns. “You just woke up. We’re not even sure how stable your condition is.”
“I’m awake. I’ll manage.” Kormak’s jaw hardens. “We should leave in the morning, Mylo.”
“Tomorrow?” I protest. “That’s too soon. What if—?”
“Whatever Ezra gave me worked,” he contests. “My strength is returning by the minute.”
“Please. Give yourself a week, just to be sure.”
He sighs. “Three days, then. That’s my final offer.” He glances over my shoulder. “I have Ezra here to help me get back my strength. And my healing magic will speed things along. I’ll rest here a while longer, but we can’t stay.”
I glance at Mylo, whose jaw tightens further. His loyalty pulls in opposite directions. But after a beat, he nods.
“I’ll gather provisions,” Mylo says, then he turns to me, his gaze unreadable. “And speak to the stablehands.”
When he leaves, silence settles again, thick and too heavy.
My uncle’s hand twitches in mine. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters. “I’m still here. I’m a survivor.”
I manage a small smile, but my thoughts are spiraling. He may be here… but part of him is still lost. “I’m glad you’re awake, Uncle. Now please rest.”
Ezra doesn’t say a word as I head into the corridor outside my uncle’s chamber. He follows, as if sensing my apprehension. He stares into nothing, arms folded, lips pressed into a line too tight to be casual.
I step closer. “Did you know he wouldn’t remember?”
He exhales slowly and glances at me. “I wasn’t sure, but I suspected.”
We walk in silence down the hall toward the eastern gallery, the quiet echo of our boots on stone filling the space. I stop by one of the narrow windows, the glass fogged at the corners, the world outside drenched from the storm. Ezra stops beside me.
“So the potion saved his life,” I say, though my voice is hollow. “But it stole his memory.”
“Perhaps the elixir tried to heal his suffering by erasing it. Or his mind tucked the memory away. Sometimes the brain shields itself from trauma. But between that and the elixir, the memories could be gone. Or just buried so deep, they might never come back.”
A beat passes.
“I just—” I swallow, my voice catching. “I’m pretty sure the tsar was sending a message when he let my uncle go. But if he can’t remember anything, we’ll never know what the message was.”
“It’s possible your uncle was the message. Not what he said. Not what he remembers. But what his condition implied.” He straightens. “It seems the tsar knows you. Knows your heart. He didn’t need to send words.”
Unless he really is my father and he meant for my uncle to deliver the truth. For what, I can’t be sure. To convince me to join him? To scare me?
A chill races down my spine that has nothing to do with the rain outside. I get the message now. The tsar is willing to hurt the people I love if I don’t comply.