Chapter 12 #2
“That look. The one you two just exchanged like you were having an entire discussion without words.”
“We work together frequently,” Lincatheron said, tone unchanged. “Efficient communication is essential.”
“Bullshit.”
Fenric’s eyebrows rose. “Eloquent.”
“I don’t need eloquent. I need honest.” I set down my fork with more force than necessary. “Everyone in this fucking castle keeps having these loaded conversations around me while telling me absolutely nothing, and I’m getting really tired of it.”
“Isara—” Shaelith started.
“No.” I pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping against stone. My voice carried, cutting through the ambient noise. “No more platitudes. No more ‘we’ll explain later’ or ‘it’s complicated’ or any other diplomatic horseshit designed to keep me docile and grateful.”
The table had gone quiet. Even the servants had frozen mid-pour.
I turned to Varyth, who sat at the head of the table looking infuriatingly composed.
“You pulled me from the Veil. You brought me here. You’ve been keeping books about Braerlith and bloodlines and gods know what else.
And I manifested magic I shouldn’t have, magic tied to a court you claim is hunting me.
” I planted my hands on the table, leaning forward.
“So I’m going to ask you directly, Lord Varyth. What the fuck is going on?”
Varyth’s expression remained neutral, but calculation flickered in those silver eyes.
“Sit down, Isara.”
“Answer the question.”
“Sit. Down.” Not a request. A command, wrapped in silk and backed by centuries of authority.
I stayed exactly where I was.
For a long moment, we stared at each other across the table, the tension between us pulled taut as wire.
Then Varyth sighed, actually sighed, like I was a particularly troublesome child refusing to take my medicine. “There are things you need to know. But this is neither the time nor the place—”
“Then when?” I demanded. “After the next attack? After someone else gets hurt? After my children—”
“Your children are safe. They will remain safe. That is not negotiable.”
“You don’t get to decide what’s negotiable for my children!”
“I do when you’re living under my protection, in my territory, eating my food.”
Silence crashed down, absolute and suffocating.
Somewhere down the table, I heard Darian mutter, “Oh, fuck.”
Varyth’s jaw worked, his composure finally cracking at the edges. When he spoke again, his voice was softer but no less firm. “I understand your frustration. Truly. But there are complexities to this situation that require delicacy.”
“I don’t want delicacy,” I said, and I was surprised by how steady my voice came out. How cold. “I want the truth. And if you can’t give me that, then we’re done here.”
I straightened, stepped back from the table.
“Isara.” Varyth stood, one hand raised like he could physically halt my exit. “If you would just—”
“Goodnight, Lord Varyth.” I turned on my heel, heading for the doors. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”
“Where are you going?”
“To check on my children.” I didn’t look back. “Since apparently that’s the only thing I’m allowed to control in this place.”
I made it three steps before his voice followed me, low and edged with anger, or perhaps desperation.
“Running away won’t change what you are.”
I stopped. Turned back slowly.
“And what am I?” My words were ice and iron. “According to you?”
Varyth’s expression shuttered completely. “Someone who needs to trust that I’m trying to keep her alive.”
“Trust.” I tasted the word, found it bitter. “You want my trust while keeping me in the dark. While making decisions about my life, my children, my magic without including me in the conversation.” I shook my head. “That’s not how trust works.”
“In my experience, sometimes it is.”
“Then your experience is wrong.”
I walked out.
Behind me, I heard the scrape of chairs, low voices rising in what was probably going to be a spectacular argument. Part of me wanted to stay, to fight, to demand answers until someone finally broke and told me the truth.
But I was tired. Bone-tired. Soul-tired.
And my children were sleeping down the hall. I needed to see them. Needed to press my hand to their doors and feel the wards humming, needed to know they were breathing, safe, mine.
So I kept walking.
Through the doors. Down the corridor. Following the path back to their room where Lira sat outside, exactly as promised, a book in her lap and a blade within easy reach.
She looked up when I approached, took one look at my face, and wisely said nothing.
I pressed my palm against the door, felt the wards sing against my skin. Heard the sound of Eryx’s breathing, the rustle of Mireth shifting in sleep.
Alive. Safe. Here. For now.
I slid down the wall beside Lira, pulling my knees to my chest, and stared at nothing.
“That bad?” Lira asked quietly.
“Worse.”
She didn’t press. Just shifted slightly, angling herself so she could watch both me and the corridor, and went back to her book.
And I sat there in the hallway outside my children’s room, listening to them breathe, and tried not to think about everything I didn’t know, couldn’t control, hadn’t been told.
Except I was thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Shadow fire. Nyxarian magic. Ashterion’s hunters finding me within days of crossing the Veil. Varyth’s careful evasions and his collection of books about bloodlines and Braerlith. The way everyone looked at me like I was a puzzle they were trying to solve before I exploded.
And that look between Fenric and Lincatheron. That weighted, complicated look that felt like secrets piled on top of secrets.
I was so fucking tired of secrets. “Lira,” I said quietly, not looking at her. “The city. How far is it from here?”
She went very still. “About two miles. Why?”
“Just curious. Never been to the city before.”
“Isara.” Her voice carried a warning now. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t.”
I finally turned to look at her. She’d set down her book, one hand resting on the blade at her hip. “I’m just sitting here,” I said mildly. “Thinking.”
“You’re plotting.” Lira’s dark eyes were too knowing. “I’ve been around Fenric long enough to recognise the look. And whatever you’re planning, it’s going to get you in trouble.”
“I’m already in trouble. Might as well make it count.”
“Varyth will lose his mind if you leave the castle grounds without an escort.”
“Then it’s a good thing I wasn’t planning to ask permission.”
Lira stared at me for a long moment. Then she sighed, deep and resigned. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”
“Probably not.”
“And if I try to stop you?”
“Then I’ll feel bad about whatever I have to do to get past you.”
Another pause. Then, impossibly, Lira smiled. Small and tired and edged with understanding. “You remind me of someone. Stubborn as stone and twice as immovable when you’ve made up your mind.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s an observation.” She picked up her book again, pointedly not looking at me. “The eastern postern gate. Smallest entrance, minimal guard rotation. They change shifts in about an hour. You’ll have a ten-minute window.”
I blinked. “You’re helping me?”
“I’m giving you information you’d figure out on your own eventually.” Lira turned a page. “What you do with that information is your choice. Though if anyone asks, I was here the entire time and you’re very good at sneaking.”
“I am very good at sneaking.”
“I believe you.” She glanced up, expression serious now. “But Isara? Whatever you find out there—in the city, talking to people who don’t know you and don’t owe you anything? It might not be what you want to hear.”
“I know.”
“And you’re going anyway.”
“I am.”
Lira nodded slowly. “Then be smart. Stay hooded. Keep your head down. And for gods’ sake, don’t manifest any fire. This city’s seen enough excitement for one day.”
“I’ll try not to spontaneously combust anyone.”
“That’s all I ask.”
I pushed myself to my feet, joints protesting. My body felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug. “Thank you. For this. For watching them.”
“They’re good children. Easy to protect.” Lira’s expression softened. “Go. Before I remember I’m supposed to be responsible.”
I went.