11. Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
By the time dawn rose on Thursday, Emmaline had convinced herself she was ready.
She had spent all of Wednesday avoiding everyone—not because she had a plan, but because she didn’t. The last couple of days had unraveled everything she thought she knew, leaving her spinning.
So she had done the only thing that made sense.
She hid. Ursula had called twice before finally demanding confirmation that she would attend their monthly ladies’ night on Friday.
Isolde had also been easy enough to avoid, having spent most of the day out shopping.
Emmaline had no desire to face the woman’s smug expression after falling so easily for her trick and, for once, was grateful for the woman’s extravagant spending habits.
Deyric, however, had been the real challenge.
Every time she thought of him, a mess of conflicting emotions threatened to surface, and she had no interest in deciphering what they meant.
The best course of action had been to act as though their encounter in the woods had never happened…
and run away anytime she caught a flash of green hair in her peripheral vision.
Even Caelith, the person she had risked everything to find, had been avoided.
Instead of seeking him out, she had locked herself in her office, poring over work, immersing herself in numbers and reports.
When the time came to leave the castle, she slipped out through the discreet side entrance Lord Greymane used to sneak his mistresses in and out, unwilling to risk running into anyone. It had been reckless but necessary.
She had needed time to regain control of herself. Now, though, she was ready.
The Skyglider moved with a steady hum beneath her seat, floating smoothly over the well-worn roads that connected the Vale.
Powered by fae magic and ancient levitation stones, the public carriage was the fastest way to travel across the city’s vast landscape.
Emmaline tightened her grip on the brass handle near her seat, watching the rolling hills and towering ironwood trees blur past the enchanted windows.
She had to accept that the universe seemed intent on testing her resolve.
Every attempt to reach Caelith had been thwarted, but she refused to see it as a sign that she was wrong.
Instead, she chose to believe that this was all part of some grand romantic test, one meant to prove her worthiness.
The alternative was too horrible to consider.
The thought unsettled her enough that she barely noticed when the Skyglider jolted to a stop.
A massive Grimgor, a thick-trunked, tusked fae dressed in a pinstriped suit, stepped aboard, carrying a briefcase far too small for his enormous hands.
Without hesitation, he dropped in beside her, the edge of his case knocking into her ribs as he adjusted his position.
She scowled and shifted away as much as the cramped bench allowed, but the real irritation wasn’t the elbow jabbing into her side. It was the flashes of emerald-green eyes and strong arms that kept invading her thoughts, unbidden and unwanted. She clenched her jaw, exhaling through her nose.
This was not the time to let her mind wander. Today, she would find Caelith, and everything would finally make sense.
The Skyglider gave a soft chime as it eased to a stop at the station. The doors swung open, and cool morning air rushed in as Emmaline worked her way through the crowd to exit onto the worn stone platform. She stretched briefly, rolling the tension from her shoulders.
Greymane Castle stood in the distance, perched atop its usual fog-laced hill, its imposing silhouette framed against the pale morning sky.
The air here carried the crisp scent of damp stone and ironwood bark, tinged with the faintest trace of rain from the night before.
It was quiet, with only the occasional rustling of leaves or the distant sound of hooves breaking the silence.
She adjusted her dress and started forward, setting a steady pace along the cobbled path leading toward the castle gates. One conversation with Caelith, one chance to prove what she already knew in her heart, and everything would fall into place. It had to.
Emmaline closed the distance to the front gates, her determined strides slowing as the unmistakable shape of a Patrol Glider came into view.
The sleek, obsidian carriage hovered just inches above the ground, its polished surface reflecting the morning light.
Sigils glowed softly along its curved edges, pulsing with the slow, steady rhythm of active enchantments.
The doors were shut, but the presence of the vehicle alone was enough to send a jolt of dread through her chest.
And just like that, all her careful preparation and every bit of reassurance she had fed herself on the way here vanished.
They’re here.
Her heart pounded, and her feet dragged against the path, instincts warring between freezing in place and turning on her heel. Should she go home? Call in sick? No. That would look suspicious.
She pushed herself forward, each step heavier than the last.
Do they know she’s dead? Or do they just think she’s missing?
Ursula had removed the body and scrubbed away every trace of blood, but magical residue was harder to erase. Plus, death left echoes, a psychic imprint in the very grass, a whisper of a soul’s violent departure, or so the stories claimed.
Hesitating as she reached the glider, she peered through the window.
It was empty. A slow exhale left her lips, tension bleeding from her shoulders. She was overreacting. Ursula knew her business. She knew how to clean up a crime scene.
Besides owning one of the hottest clubs in the Vale, Ursula sat comfortably at the center of a thriving black market that catered to those with a taste for the darker side of magic.
If you had the coin, you could buy anything from bottled nightmares to soul-binding pacts.
Some even whispered that, hidden beneath the thrumming music and glamour of her establishment, Ursula’s true business lay in bloodier, more permanent…
dealings, as if she ran an assassin’s guild or something.
Emmaline had always thought that part was a bit ridiculous. But standing in front of a Patrol Glider, trying to steady her breathing, she suddenly hoped it was true.
“Hey, you’re Emmaline, right?”
The voice interrupted her spiraling, sending a new spike of fear through her spine. She turned as a Patrol officer approached, clad in the crisp uniform of the city guard.
“You teach that finance class at Rider School, right? Healer Cassidy’s friend?”
Emmaline forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too strained. “Oh, um, yes.” She smoothed her hands down her dress, willing herself to appear casual. “Sorry, I don’t recognize you. Did you take the class?”
The officer chuckled, though there was a slight awkwardness to it. “I didn’t. My family’s secretary handles all that for me.”
Of course. A noble.
She should have known by the polished way he carried himself. No doubt the dead Lady’s family would want one of their own involved in the investigation. A missing Lady was too delicate a matter to leave to the rabble.
She weighed her words before carefully venturing, “So… uh… what’s going on? Another stolen stallion?”
It was a gamble. Nobles weren’t known for sharing details with those outside their circles, but her connection to Cassidy and her work at Rider School might be enough to coax a response. If nothing else, it might make him want to reassure her.
She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“Not a horse this time.” The Patrol officer shifted on his feet. His fingers tapped at his side before he leaned in. “Do you promise to keep it to yourself?”
Ahhh. He was young. Emmaline barely held back a smirk. He was practically bursting to tell someone.
She widened her eyes and gave him the most eager yet demure smile she could muster. “Of course!”
Lowering his voice, he whispered, “House Allistair’s eldest daughter has gone missing.”
“Oh my. That doesn’t sound good.” She cast a pointed glance up at the castle. “What are you doing here, then? I can’t imagine Lady Isolde losing track of such an important guest.”
The officer huffed out a laugh. “What? Oh—no, we don’t think the Lord and Lady lost track of anyone.”
She studied him, barely hiding her disbelief. He was being shockingly free with information. Either he was incredibly new, or he had no sense of how investigations were supposed to work.
Then, as if holding the secret was unbearable, he leaned in even closer, practically vibrating with energy. “She was last seen with Lord Caelith.”
Emmaline’s stomach clenched.
She lifted a hand back to her lips, lowering her voice as if scandalized. “And you think he’s done something to her?”
“Certainly not!” The officer jerked upright, clearly startled by the suggestion.
She exhaled in relief.
“Greymane House is perfectly respectable,” he added, then looked to the bag slung over her shoulder and the crisp white of her uniform. “Which you should know, working here and all.”
Shite.
Emmaline forced an easy laugh, taking a small step back.
“You’re right, of course. Silly me. I’ve been reading too many human crime novels.
Clearly, they’ve muddled my thinking.” She swatted her head as if chastising herself.
“Thank goodness the Vale would never have to concern itself with something as crass as nobles abducting one another.”
The young officer’s shoulders loosened, looking somewhat mollified.
“Yes, well, we just want to see—”
“Close that gaping hole, officer.”
The command sliced through the conversation, and both of them snapped toward the castle.
An older Patrol officer stepped into view, his expression carved from stone, his uniform adorned with the sigils of rank. Beside him, Lady Isolde strode with her usual air of quiet authority.
“We do not share details of an investigation with potential suspects.”
Emmaline’s stomach dropped. “Potential suspects?” She looked between the two officers, pulse hammering. “I haven’t done anything! I’ve never even met anyone from House Allistair!”
The young officer paled, looking down at his hands.
The older one turned on him, the muscle in his jaw quivering. “You told her the victim’s name, Trainee?”
The younger man opened his mouth, likely to stammer out an excuse, but it was too late. The senior officer swiftly descended the steps and grabbed him by the ear.
“I don’t care who your father is.” He dragged the yelping trainee toward the glider. “If you want to be part of the Patrol, you do not share details of an active investigation with anyone.”
Without another word, he threw the other in through the glider’s open door. “Is that clear?”
A muffled “Yes, sir!” came from inside.
Emmaline swallowed hard, remaining still as the older officer turned away from her and back toward Lady Isolde.
“We’ll be back in the afternoon.” His tone was clipped. “Have your son available for questioning and someone to take us through the grounds. We will be conducting a full search for any evidence of violence or dark magic.”
Lady Isolde clicked her tongue, her hands folding neatly in front of her as if the entire conversation bored her.
“I assure you, officer, that no member of this household, especially my son, has done anything untoward or in violation of the Law. And if you insist on continuing this line of inquiry, I shall have no choice but to raise a formal complaint with your superiors.”
“My Lady.” The officer’s expression didn’t so much as twitch.
“You can raise a complaint with the Sentinel or even the Goddess, her luscious self, for all I care. I will do my job as my Oath requires. I will find the young Lady Allistair and uncover what happened to her, regardless of where that trail may lead.”
The Patrol officer gave Lady Isolde a final, pointed look before sitting in the glider. The door sealed shut behind him with a faint hum, and the vehicle lifted smoothly off the ground, drifting away from the castle gates.
Emmaline resisted the urge to sag with relief. At least, for now, the Patrol’s attention was elsewhere.
A soft sigh drifted through the quiet. “Honestly, Emmaline.” Lady Isolde faced her. “I do hope all of this unpleasantness won’t distract you from your duties. The ball is barely a week away, and I would hate for Lord Greymane’s most trusted clerk to be anything less than fully prepared.”
Emmaline swallowed her irritation and gave a quick nod. “Of course, my Lady. Everything is on schedule.”
“Good.” Lady Isolde studied her for a moment.
“I would also hate for you to become distracted, or worse, lost like our poor Lady Allistair.” She let the words linger, then tilted her head in mock thoughtfulness.
“Speaking of which, I didn’t see you at all yesterday.
I was ever so worried that the Northern forest might have swallowed you up, never to be seen again. ”
Emmaline’s pulse kicked up, but she pulled her brows to knit. “The Northern forest?” She blinked. “Why would I be there?”
For the barest second, Lady Isolde’s lips quirked in a flash of something smug before she smoothed it behind an expression of perfect aristocratic concern.
But Emmaline didn’t wait for whatever barbed remark was surely next.
She lifted her chin and strode past her, feeling the woman’s gaze pressing into her back like a phantom hand.
However, the moment she passed into the castle, her carefully maintained composure cracked. Sucking in a breath, she leaned into the cold stone of the wall, willing her heart to settle.
The Patrol was searching for evidence of dark magic or violence.
Lady Isolde was paying her an uncharacteristic amount of attention.
And worst of all, Emmaline, always ready with a plan, had no idea what she would do next or even how she’d get through the day without a full-blown panic attack.