Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dark clouds hide the day as I rise in the morning. A sharp sting pierces my neck and shoulder, proof sleep did not come easily. I push beyond the ache, willing myself to greet the day with as much power as I can muster.
It would be so easy to withdraw without Vale here.
He’d been my shelter in the storm when the vastness of Caerhollan felt too formidable.
Drawing in breath, I let the pressure in my lungs outweigh the pressure of this kingdom that I seem to impose upon myself.
Save a few wayward glances, I have not been met with hostility here.
Quite the opposite, in fact. Ladies have started to engage now that I roam with more curiosity.
They’ve invited me to afternoon tea and other various social affairs.
Each time I feel my walls want to stand firmly in place—and each time, I remind myself I am safe here. It’s a tough lesson to take to heart.
I find an odd kinship. Behind each smile, pain lingers.
It seems to run deeper in some than others.
It’s difficult to tell who has survived through all that was lost among those who know no different.
Even those who seem to thrive in the present carry a depth that speaks to my own. My father once called me an old soul.
Here among those who have seen the rise and fall of generations, I feel a comfort and recognition. Sometimes I think they may even see me as being alike. I hold it as a rare honor, for reasons I can’t quite place.
I feel outside of my own body as Lady Serin introduces me to a group of young courtiers in the Solarium.
The room is bright and airy, but I feel frozen in my own form.
The smile on my face must not seem too forced, as the ladies all clamor on about this and that.
I want to focus on their words—yet I find myself more distressed about an errant fleck of skin next to my nail.
I want to pick at it, perhaps out of a need for control, as I find myself in a situation I feel woefully unprepared for.
The ladies are lovely. Dressed in gowns that are quite resplendent for midmorning discussion, their voices are warm and welcoming. I’m grateful they don’t barrage me with too many questions, engaging me in discussion more for inclusion than examination.
“Don’t you just love the warmer evenings?” one woman asks, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes turned toward me, though her words float to the group.
“Yes,” I say, taking the easy answer as an invitation to join without having to dazzle. “I hope to go for a ride sometime soon.” I lift my teacup and slowly sip—an act that lets me listen more than speak as the women chime in with their own thoughts on summer.
I almost get lost in the moment, following their conversation. It may be a stretch to say it feels easy, but I’m pleased it doesn’t feel like something I must endure either.
Nonetheless, relief washes over me when I see Ace enter. His smile charms everyone he meets eyes with—until he spots me. Sitting at a table, surrounded by notable ladies of the court, all chatting away.
He shakes his head, does a double take as if his eyes must be wrong, then clutches his chest in theatrical agony. It takes all my self-control not to spit my tea clear across the table. I restrain myself to a soft chuckle.
The women glance at me, then at him.
“Good morning, ladies.” He draws out every syllable with bardish flair. “Now, now, you aren’t planning on taking my newest, dearest friend from me, are you?” His smirk beams at each woman until they seem to forget I’m even there, though he steps directly to my side.
“We were only borrowing dear Mira,” says Avelyn, sweet as honey. A girl—though she’s likely lived several lifetimes—holds a youthful, demure charm that belies the years.
“I do hope I might borrow her back.” Ace reaches for my hand, and I rise to stand beside him.
“Thank you, ladies,” I say to the group. It is partly courtesy but true as well. I find I do enjoy their company—and this small dose, tempered by Ace’s entrance, was just right.
“Shall we?” He presents his arm. I wave goodbye as he leads me out of the Solarium and down the hall toward the library.
He stops mid-stride, turning to me. My hands in his, he lifts one arm at a time, examining me.
“What on earth are you doing?” I laugh at the absurdity.
“Just making sure you left that interaction unscathed.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him, playfulness in each of our voices.
“They were… lovely.”
“You seem to be making yourself at home here. So much so I was worried you’d forgotten about me. First, I lost you to the quiet of the conservatory—that I could almost forgive. But now, losing you to gossip and tea…”
His wrist presses to his forehead.
I squeeze the hand still in mine. “Are you going to be okay, my dear friend?” Our melodrama continues as we pass through the crowd, a private stage for two, laughter bubbling in our chests as we enter the library.
The world hushes when the doors shut. The air shifts.
“Am I really changing that much?” My voice is quiet, serious, as I move deeper into the room.
Contemplation crosses his face as he weighs his words.
“Yes… and no.” I feel the truth of it before he continues.
“I’ll admit, I thought you might need rescuing when I first saw you in there—feared you were being held against your will.
But I also see the way you’re becoming more you lately.
You’ll be commanding the room in no time, m’lady. ”
His head tilts—not with his usual exaggerated show, but with true respect.
“I don’t know about that,” I say. “But it’s nice to feel like I might someday belong.” I clutch books tightly to my chest. A shield meant to protect me from my own hopes and dreams.
“How do you think Vale will handle this bolder version of me?” My voice lifts with the weight of my own doubts. I pray each step I take in this life brings me closer to him—to us.
Ace strokes his chin, considering. “Astonished. Impressed. Proud… and maybe a bit jealous.” The flush in my cheeks betrays me. “I may be willing to share you with the masses, but I suspect our king will want you all to himself when he returns.”
I close my eyes and inhale slowly. I haven’t let myself linger much on thoughts of Vale—not like that. Not the heat I feel when I am in his arms, which is exactly where my mind drifts now. The way he pinned me to the wall on our last night before he left.
I collect myself, a picture of composure, and sit down at the table—eager to pour through the tomes we’ve gathered. The weight of the stacked volumes in my arms draws me back to myself. Our quiet ritual begins, one of my favorite parts of the day.
Hours pass, as they so easily do in this place. Blinking, I pinch the bridge of my nose, sure I’ll go cross-eyed if I stare much longer. I lean back in my chair, connecting once more to the world beyond the ink.
Ace looks up from his lute, idly strumming. Watching me. Knowing something is brewing.
I scan the walls—not for anything in particular, just letting my eyes recalibrate. Tapestries and sigils hang high between arched windows. I never paid them much mind before. Now, they carry meaning.
I tilt my head in recognition. “Thrymir.” Each name lands with new weight.
“Someone’s been studying,” Ace says, pride written all over him.
“I’ve spent some time with Fenloris.”
“Ah.” He glances down, then away. “How is the old Master of Passes?”
“What aren’t you saying, Ace?”
He draws in breath. Still. Steady.
“I’ve never known quite what to make of the lad. It’s hard to believe he was ever meant for greatness.”
“What do you mean?”
“When magic still flowed, mapmakers didn’t just draw paths—they read them. The land whispered. They listened. Valleys shifted. Passes opened. And the cartographers knew when and why. The king never rode without one. Not until the Fade.”
He turns solemn.
“Not until that last ride. Not until Thalen and all those men lost their lives.”
My heart aches. So much loss. Even among those I once thought impervious. “What happened to them?” I ask, cautiously. I know Soria lost her husband. I never dared press. Even asking about Ace’s uncle and the late king, I fear the wound may still be raw.
“They traveled north without incident. Well into summer, long past when winter winds or spring thaws would have made passage treacherous. Magic once let us move freely between kingdoms. Since the Fade, there are only narrow windows left. It should have been one of them.”
A long pause lingers.
“An avalanche took them all. Days passed before we sent a reconnaissance party. By then the pass had been swallowed by snow and ice. We couldn’t even bury the dead.”
I reach across the table and take Ace’s hand. Words fail.
He pivots softly. “So our gloried steward of dusty shelves took on a role most felt was obsolete. And those who did believe in it blamed his line for the king’s death.
From the pinnacle of court to barely above exile.
His family once guarded kings. Now he guards inkwells and catalogues maps in hopes of being relevant. ”
I feel a pang for the timid man buried in parchments. I know too well what it is to be cast aside.
Ace continues, “The man could drown in his maps and no one would notice for a week.”
“Ace!” I scold, shoving him just enough to knock him off balance. His lute clatters to the table.
He grins—utterly unrepentant.
We stay in the library longer. Ace plucking a quiet melody while I turn pages. His notes never forming a full song, his words never quite connecting.
“You look far away,” he finally says.
“Just tired,” I lie.
I haven’t been sleeping well. Worse since Vale left. Dreams jolt me awake. But it isn’t only that.
Something lingers beneath the fatigue.
A hum at the edge of thought.
A pull without direction.
A whisper I cannot quite hear—only feel.
I excuse myself and return to the conservatory. Quiet, as always. Storm clouds veil the glass walls. The garden is muted.
A plate of cheese, meat, and fruit arrives, set beside my journal, but remains untouched. I try to write. Each sentence dissolves—tangled in that same restless blooming beneath my ribs.
Rain begins. Soft at first, then sharp.
By nightfall, the storm is a beast clawing at the mountain.
When at last I lie in bed, thunder trembling through stone and rattling the bones of the Hold, something inside me aches to answer.
Sleep avoids me. My thoughts scatter like dry leaves.
The walls seem to pulse in time with my heartbeat. I press a palm to my sternum. Though I cannot name the feeling—longing, dread, yearning.
I only know that it pulls me somewhere I’ve not yet gone.
The sun hides, the Solarium dulls, and the rain pounds for days. Even Ace’s cheer feels hollow. Even Fenloris must light every lantern to chase the gloom.
I wrap myself in a woven throw, huddled in the conservatory. Still, I cannot shake the chill. The plants recoil. Blooms close, as if they regret ever opening.
I write of the ladies’ laughter. Of Fenloris’s maps. Of Ace’s teasing. But every line feels strained. That ache beneath my ribs never leaves me.
On the fifth night, the storm breaks something.
Not in the mountain. In me.
I drift in and out of wakefulness, never quite asleep as rain pounds and the wind howls like something hungry.
My thoughts fray. I stop trying to hold them.
Eventually, sleep takes me. And when I wake, the storm is gone. Sunlight spills across my bed.
Soria sits nearby, mending a fallen hem. She glances up as I sit up. “Thank the stars. You’ve been asleep since dawn. I checked on you twice. You wouldn’t wake. I’ve seen what these nights have taken from you. You needed the rest.”
I blink into the brightness. Outside, the sky is clear. Blue and warm. Yet the ache beneath my ribs remains. Sharper. Pointed. Pulling.
I cross the room, my feet sinking into the cold stone. There, beside the mirror, a gown of sapphire hangs in wait.
For me. For the solstice.
For tonight.
The clouds have parted, and so has the weight in my chest. Vale returns today.
I breeze through the Solarium in a simpler gown, smiling as brightly as the sun. Tonight will be the shortest night.
In the village, they mark it with food and dancing. Here, Ace tells me, quiet prayers at dawn are tradition.
But me—
I always greet the solstice when the moon is high, at its pinnacle and when the night is most alive. A moment I longed to share with Vale.
Little did I know, that moment would not come.
That something else would be found in its place.