Chapter 58
Fifty-Eight
I wake up tangled in sweaty bedsheets in my darkened chambers.
Either it’s hotter than usual or I’m burning up.
Unnatural shivers run up my spine. There’s no sign of how much time has passed, but it’s still night outside.
I’m only able to remember flashes from when I fainted—the memories fading before I can make sense of them.
With great effort, I roll over, but before I can move upright, I vomit on the floor next to my bed.
It’s bright red from the wine I drank, reminding me of when King Xander died, his blood all over the turret chamber.
I sit back down after standing too quickly.
My head throbs, and the room smells foul.
I clutch my pillow as the walls press in with the stifled air.
I try to rise again, my toes sinking into the plush carpet as I reach for my dressing gown at the foot of the bed. Wrapping myself in its muslin fabric, I button and tie it off at the waist.
Once I’m inside the bathing chambers, I fumble in the dark, needing to get this horrible taste out of my mouth.
I brush my teeth and swish the mint and herb tonic before spitting it out.
Breathing hard, I grip the edge of the washbasin with white knuckles.
Pushing off it, I shuffle back to my main chamber, my stomach still burning.
The putrid scent of sickness worsens as I pace the room until I can’t stand it any longer.
I strike a flint and light a candle taper, grabbing it as I leave. The guard outside my door turns to me and inquires, “My lady, is anything the matter?” The corridor is dark, with flickering sconces hanging between the tapestries.
“Sorry to bother you, Jebbe, but I’m afraid I’ve become ill. I’ve made an awful mess in there. Must have been too much wine.” I clutch my stomach.
His eyes move toward the darkened room as his nose scrunches. “Would you like me to fetch a maid for you?” he asks, leaning his body away from the stench.
“No, no, I’ll head there myself. I need some air,” I tell him, taking a deep breath as if proving my point. “You may direct me where to go, though.”
He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t argue. Scratching his beard, he instructs me on how to find the housekeeper in a room adjacent to the kitchens.
Thanking him, I trudge down the corridor with my candle. Sweat quickly trickles down my back. The entire castle is sweltering in tonight’s steamy heat.
I enter the spacious main kitchen, which holds long, narrow tables and multiple empty hearths with cauldrons hanging from their brick bellies. Windows rise to the ceiling, reflecting the night sky and twinkling stars.
On the center of the table, a wooden pitcher and a stack of four cups sit. I eagerly pour myself some water.
“M’lady, pssst—”
A quick look downward reveals a small boy in homespun clothes. They’re made of linen in shades of brown, but they fit cleanly without any rips.
“Oh, my!” I set the cup down. “You surprised me. I didn’t see you there.”
“My Da says that I’m a right sneak.”
“That you are,” I say, holding an extra cup out to him. “Would you care for some water?”
“Nah,” he answers with an air of importance. “I got something far better.”
“Better than a cold drink on a scorcher like tonight? I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Let me show you. It’s amazing!” Just like other little children who rarely stop talking once they start, he keeps rambling: “You go through this hallway right here an’ then go down some stairs an’ then—then you’re at the…
They have it all down there… You jus’ have to come see it!
” The boy pulls on my dressing gown, his chubby fingers wrapping around the fabric.
“That sounds amazing,” I say, unsure what to do or where the boy’s parents are.
He exclaims, “Sally said my Da was lyin’, but he brought me on his rounds this week while Ma is visitin’ my auntie.” He grins. “Now I jus’ gotta find a way to keep it from melting so I can prove Sally wrong.”
“Melting?”
“Yes, it’s—it’s—well, I jus’ gotta show you, m’lady.”
All things considered, he appears to be a lively, well-cared-for child. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check his claims and ensure he gets to where he needs to be. And in any case, I’m not particularly interested in returning to my chambers so soon.
He leads, and I follow him with my candle through the kitchen to the far corner, opposite the housekeeper’s room, where a closed doorway lies next to the pantry and hearth.
The passage the boy skips through is unassuming and out of the way. We step down an uneven stone staircase that leads to a wide landing, barricaded by a handrail.
I pause, squint, and let my eyes adjust. From where we stand, we have a clear view of a cavernous alcove under the cliffside—an opening to the ocean. It smells musty, like wet rock and seaweed. I set my candle down on a nearby workbench.
A small wharf with a handful of dinghy boats tied to it rises and falls with the tide.
Some workers load large, square crates onto the decking.
Huffing and puffing with exertion, they see us and cease their task.
One of the older men yells at the boy, who skids to a halt in front of what I assume is his father.
The man gently barks, “Dinna I tell you not to run off? Ma will nah let you return if you don’t listen, boy. ”
“Aw, but I made a friend.”
“Apologies, m’lady,” the boy’s father says as he recognizes my noble status and lowers his head. “He won’ be bothering you no more.”
“Oh, he wasn’t a bother.”
“Here, for your troubles.” He takes a crowbar and wrenches the wooden lid from the crate. The young boy leans over the opening, reaching downward. Bringing out a metal scoop, he motions for me to open my hands. A frozen ball of shaved ice drops into my palm.
“It’s the best stuff,” says the boy while also receiving a handful as his father tells him to sit on the ferry boat. “Eat it before it melts!” the boy yells before turning his attention back to his own ice ball.
My teeth crash into the ice, and a shiver runs down my spine despite the sweat pouring from my skin. With the child back in the proper care, I thank them, waving goodbye before leaving the underground harbor with my candle.
I head back up the stairs. It’s time to finally locate the housekeeper, but before I can enter the kitchen again, I hear something. I slow my pace on the staircase. Sounds rumble from the other side of the door. My gasp extinguishes the candle’s flame.
Empress Erah’s voice filters into my ears, and my hearing picks up each word precisely. She isn’t alone; her son responds in clipped phrases. Their conversation is tight and on edge.
“Out of wine already?” Rett asks, irritation lining his tone.
“Don’t be insolent,” Erah snaps, “and quit following me. I granted you an audience tomorrow morning. Leave me be.”
“No. We are going to talk about this right now.”
Bottles rattle, but she doesn’t respond.
“I cannot hold her off for much longer,” he continues urgently. “Tabitha is beginning to wonder why you won’t meet.”
A bottle plunks down onto a tabletop. Sharp and out of patience, she hisses, “Because we want her to be desperate for this alliance. There’s no turning back once the plan is set into motion. The girl is a risk, win or lose.”
“So what? I convinced her to agree to the marriage even after you forbade me from attempting it. You can’t say I didn’t take initiative.
In fact, you can’t say I didn’t go above and beyond for the Beast Realm in securing her and her lands.
We need only deal with the scum left behind in her castle now.
You should be proud of how resourceful I was.
I even gave her that damn nectar to increase her lust for me. She won’t be going anywhere.”
I clutch the wall, sliding down to the sandstone step, my legs weak and shaking against the grit. I want to yell out, scream at them that I’m here, but instead I bite the hand tightly covering my mouth.
“She’s a Lady Courtesan. Don’t be a fool and trust her loyalty. We need her completely powerless and unable to leave if we’re to expand our empire.”
Rett emits a choked bark. “Powerless is the last thing she is.”
Tears burn and well up in my eyes as tension thickens the air, silence growing heavy. Erah’s frigid voice finally challenges, “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“Spend any amount of time with her, and it becomes obvious she embodies a unique blend of fae and witch. Even in her untrained state, she possesses potent magic. It’s not normal.
The magic of the Metalla bloodline diminishes with each generation, evident in the old king—yet hers grows more dangerous by the day.
I want to find out why. And I want to know how that northern bastard marked her with the eyes of the Devana. ”
“He’s a thorn, but it may not have been him.
Her mother possessed the same heritage and the same uncanny eyes.
” Erah pauses for a long moment before her tone turns sharper.
“On second thought, your marriage with her should commence immediately if we want to control her power and claim Alexandria. I will not provide the soldiers otherwise. If we’re not very careful with our strategy, the Witch-King could halt all of these plans. ”
“I’ll deal with him,” Rett growls. “I won’t allow him near her.”
“Avoid embarrassing yourself,” Erah seethes. “It’s been centuries of hostility between their kingdoms and bloodlines. Most don’t even know how it all started, but I do.”
He scoffs loudly.
“Three hundred years ago, an Alexandrian prince bought a generational curse from the Spirit-Fae Cathedral and declared war on Ashland, dooming it to death, ashes, and misery. The only way for it to end is for every drop of Metalla’s royal blood—her blood—to be eradicated.
Every last one of them needs to be wiped from existence in order for the Witch-King to be free of his ancestor’s ill-gotten curse. ”
My stomach twists, and I grip the wall, my nails scraping into the damp stone.