Chapter 39
ChApter
Thirty-Nine
Ivystone rises from the mist like a fortress out of a dream—sharp spires piercing the low clouds, the silver-grey stone darkened by the drizzle in the air, vines of dark-green ivy clinging to the walls as if the land is cradling the castle in its delicate hands.
The familiar sight should feel cold, imposing.
And yet, as our carriage rumbles over the bridge, I find an unexpected warmth running through me.
Despite everything, this place has become a home.
The closer we come to the main gates, the more ease I feel, as I managed to sleep a lot during our long journey back.
Since there were no more urgent situations where I needed to use copious amounts of my power, the break gave me time to reenergize, but I engaged in little magical exercises Ezra had instructed me to practice to ensure I was learning control.
Nadya also practiced, as she spent most of the trip with her nose buried in her great-aunt’s spell book.
There were a few nights as we traveled through the mountains near the border that I caught sight of glowing, yellow dots in the woods we passed. I somehow could feel the presence of wolves watching the caravan, as if guarding me in case anything were to threaten my journey.
The tour is finally over. No more endless halls glittering with pretense.
No more silk-clad princesses fluttering their lashes at Dante while I stand silently in the background, veiled and voiceless.
Here, behind Ivystone’s towering walls, the weight of the kingdom’s scrutiny lifts—if only a little.
The rain drizzles against the window beside me, soft and constant, blurring the courtyard as the carriage approaches. Our convoy got separated halfway back from Mersos, leaving our carriage and one other with Indira and some other servants to arrive much later than the others.
The official mourning period is nearly over, and I smile at the thought of finally ridding myself of this exasperating gown.
Nadya shifts beside me, stretching her legs with a groan. “Finally back. Feels like a dream.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to just blockade myself in my room and lie in my bed for a few days.”
My body feels stiff as we disembark, and I make a mental note to jump back into my training routine after I get some much-needed rest. Sir Holden walks alongside me and Nadya as we make our way into the castle.
The familiar high ceilings and plush furnishings somehow make me feel like I’m seeing an old friend.
A flash of movement catches my eye as we approach the grand staircase. Dante appears as if he’s already settled in, freshly bathed and wearing crisp, new clothes.
His broad shoulders seem less tense, though there’s still a hint of a shadow beneath his eyes. I wish I could rush over to him and make sure he’s all right, to ask him how he’s holding up under the pressure of the legitimization.
He hasn’t looked my way, and I don’t have a minute to try to catch his attention because Indira appears before me and Nadya, immediately urging us up the stairs to our rooms.
I tear my gaze from him, deciding what I really need is to get out of my traveling ensemble and soak myself in a hot bath.
Sir Holden leads us up the grand staircase, and as we reach the upper floor, I spot Queen Eleanor heading down the opposite wing.
When she glances my way, there’s no mistaking the gloom in her eyes, a weight that no crown can lighten.
She carries herself with the same grace she always does, but the grief is still apparent in her expression
I wonder if she feels more trapped here than anywhere else. Her son is gone, and her husband gives her no comfort. In fact, he gives her quite the opposite, and since he has control over the entire kingdom, she must feel she has no one on her side.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to live a life where you’re never truly free—not even in your own home. I may be subjected to an arranged marriage for the sake of my kingdom, but Dante would never oppress me like his father does to Eleanor.
And unlike the king’s marriage, my union with Dante would not be devoid of love.
My cheeks warm. I haven’t said it. Neither of us have. But I know that’s what this feeling must be. I would do anything for him, even risk my own life, and something tells me he would do the same.
For a moment, her gaze drifts toward me. Her fingers twitch, curling briefly against the folds of her skirt before she lifts her chin and continues toward her chambers. Whatever thoughts linger behind her calm facade, she does not speak them aloud.
By the time Nadya and I reach our connected chambers, my body is heavy with exhaustion, my skin sticky from travel. The weight of mourning—of duty, of expectation—has settled deep in my bones, pressing against me like an ill-fitted corset.
The moment the door clicks shut behind us, Nadya groans, kicking off her boots with little care for where they land. “I’d very much like to strip myself naked, climb under my covers, and remain like that for the foreseeable future.”
I laugh. “What about dinner?”
“I’m sure Indira could bring me a tray of food.”
“She’ll probably make you beg first.”
“Celeste, I may have reached the point of begging,” she says as she undoes the ties of her dress.
I shake my head, but the amusement fades as I glance down at my clothes—the black silks, the suffocating weight of my mourning attire. The fabric smells of horse and sweat, of weeks spent wrapped in veils and expectations.
I unfasten the outer tunic first, peeling it from my arms and tossing it to the floor, resisting the urge to set the wretched thing on fire. If I never have to wear black again, it will be too soon.
I pull off my boots, wiggling my toes. “I think I may have to agree. We’re getting a night’s rest, no matter who tries to stop us.”
As if the gods were laughing at my plans, a sharp knock sounds at the door.
Nadya groans. “You spoke too soon.”
I sigh, dragging my fingers through my loose hair before crossing the room. When I pull the door open, Indira stands on the other side, looking as exasperated as I feel, with a deep frown and a wrinkled forehead.
“Another summons?” I guess.
Indira shakes her head. “No. Just this.” She lifts a small parchment, sealed with dark wax. “The new tower master asked me to bring it to you. Said it arrived a couple of days ago.”
I frown, taking the letter. The wax is unmarked, the parchment slightly crinkled from being stored. “For me?”
Indira shrugs. “Also, dinner has been pushed back until eight tonight. King’s order.”
“I guess we’re not the only ones who need to catch up on rest,” Nadya comments from my bed, where’s she’s flopped herself down.
A strange unease prickles over my skin. Who would send me a message by nightfeather now, of all times?
Indira gives me a tired nod. “I’ll be back later to help you get ready.”
I nod, offering a quiet thanks before closing the door.
Nadya props herself up on her elbows, eyeing the parchment in my hands. “Mysterious messages already? I thought we’d at least get an evening to breathe.”
I move toward the candlelight, slipping my nail beneath the wax seal. The parchment unfolds easily, the ink dark and precise.
Celeste,
I have urgent business to discuss with you. Come as soon as you are able.
I recognize my uncle’s handwriting, but why would he send a nightfeather to get in touch with me?
Why wouldn’t he use his telepathic powers to contact me?
I get a sudden sour feeling in my stomach, worried that he hasn’t truly recovered from his abduction and that something horrible has happened to his power.
I stare at the words, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten. ‘Urgent business.’
It could be a trap. It could be something insignificant.
But my gut tells me otherwise.
I exhale, rolling my shoulders. “My uncle wants to see me. I’ll… go tomorrow.” There’s no way I would survive on horseback tonight. I’d never even make it halfway there without collapsing.
For now, I allow myself one moment of peace.
Because I know it won’t last.
The bath was a welcome relief, washing away the dust of travel and the weight of exhaustion from my limbs. My muscles still ache, but it’s a dull, manageable discomfort now, soothed by warm water and the lingering scent of lavender oil.
Now, dressed in a loose, pale-blue gown, I walk beside Sir Holden as he leads me through the corridors toward the dining hall.
I never thought I’d be so happy to wear a dress like this.
The fabric is light, flowing, a welcome change from the stifling weight of mourning clothes, and the color gives me a sense of hope, instead of instilling within me a state of foreboding and dread.
Sir Holden walks a measured pace beside me, his steps silent against the castle floors.
As we near the dining hall, I brace myself for the usual formality—an announcement, a procession of servants, the king’s scrutinizing gaze from the head of the table.
But the moment I enter, the state of the room surprises me.
The long table is crammed with its usual overabundance of food, but the chairs surrounding it are mostly empty.
Only Dante remains, seated at the center with a goblet of wine in hand and a faint crease in his brow. He glances up the moment I arrive, and whatever tension lingers in his shoulders melts just a little. No king. No queen. No Nadya, either.
“Where is everyone?” I ask softly as I approach.
Dante stands, pulling out the seat beside him. “The queen begged off for the evening. Headache, they said.” He offers a half-smile, but there’s no humor in it. “And my father is holed up in his war chamber, waiting for the nightfeathers.”
I sit slowly, trying not to let my surprise show. “Already?”
He nods. “He’s convinced the realm’s decisions are moments away. Keeps checking the skies, as if willing the birds to arrive faster will make the other rulers approve faster.”