Chapter 28 #2
But I survive my own spinning thoughts and return the next day to find Dashol has pulled out more detailed charts of a few areas: the temple complex, a plaza, and the stables.
“We won’t get through every building before Alaris gets back, so I’m going to point you at specific areas where we already have plans that need better detail.”
“What plans?”
“Can’t tell you.”
So much for trust. “Why not?”
“Because if you know what I’m looking for, you’ll remember what fits and forget what doesn’t.” He taps the drawing. “I’d rather get the raw version.”
Ah. I close my eyes and put myself back there: the corridors, the turns, the way sound carries in the vaulted halls. When I hesitate, he marks it in yellow. When I speak with certainty, he draws in black.
“Good to know,” he mutters, adding notes, as I advise him of an area where only priestesses would be. Any man in any clothing would stand out immediately.
It’s strange what sticks. I remember the things that bothered me more than anything else—Jasper’s friend who leered at me.
The carriage driver who whipped a horse until it bled.
The view from the balcony when Marus slapped Rinalda with a lick of fire after she refused a marriage offer made to her instead of the emperor.
But there are many things I can’t remember or never knew. I didn’t pay attention to where staff slept, or guard schedules. I don’t know how supplies arrived, or how they moved from gates to kitchens to tables.
He pauses as I pause. “Something wrong?”
“I’m realizing how many things I missed,” I admit.
He puts a hand flat on the table, fixing his eyes on mine. “What you’re telling me is the best intel we’ve gotten. Any detail could be the difference between success and the whole army being called down on our heads.”
I nod, returning his smile.
On the third morning, Alaris still isn’t back, but I’m glad for the extra day to get more done.
I visit the hawks quickly, just to see how they are faring.
There is no clicking of beaks or screeches.
Only one flaps down to greet me, its whistle quiet.
With most of them up in their roosts, I head to the office.
I catch Dashol staring as I fill in more details than anybody except a close personal maid of the royal family could ever know. To his credit, he never pries. I wonder if he has guessed…but then how could he ever guess the identity of a missing princess who hasn’t been reported missing?
As far as anyone outside the walls knows, Lysandra Ignaros is still tucked away in the Sunrise Palace.
When I can’t stare at the maps any longer without the lines swimming, I make my way outside to the greenhouse.
My knowledge of the Citadel isn’t the only useful thing I brought to Arastos with me.
The lobell seeds are all back together in one bag, the portion I left in the aviary undiscovered before I returned.
“Lyra!” Siro greets me, brown eyes flashing as soon as they gaze up from a garden bed. “So glad you finally decided to visit.”
“I thought maybe I could help with the lobell.”
“I’d welcome it. I’m on the third batch of buds, but after your feats last week, I can just tell you’ve got more secrets to share.” She sticks her trowel in the dirt and stands, brushing off her lap. “I went by the aviary, but you weren’t there.” Her tone is inquisitive, without asking.
“Yes. I’ve been a little busy…map making.”
We stare at each other. I’m not sure what Siro knows—about me leaving, about what I’m doing with Dashol, about Alaris’s plans. She blinks. I blink.
Neither of us says a word for long enough to convince me she knows something. She is Karns’s sister, after all. But I’m not going to be the one to broach treasonous topics. Alaris was clear: office only.
“So…gardening?” she asks.
“Gardening,” I confirm. I hold out my bag of seeds. “For you.”
I’ve been guarding these like they are my ticket home, or something I need to survive elsewhere. In fact, the number of burns I’ve sustained outside the palace has been zero. I’ve barely needed the lobell I brought, much less to grow new flowers.
It’s not that the world outside isn’t dangerous—it is. But even if nothing here works out and I’m on the road, I’d feel better if these seeds were blooming in soil near where the wither might hit again.
She reaches out for the bag and opens it, eyes widening. “We’ll have to prepare more beds.”
“We should start them in smaller pots, if you have those.”
“Are you sure you want to give me these?” She turns one over between her fingers. “Based on your results, this is valuable stuff.”
“They’ll do more good in your greenhouse than in my bag. Let’s plant a few dozen and see how they do in Arastos’s soil.”
Siro produces some smaller pots for seedlings, and I mix the soil to match what I used at home, sand worked into the dark loam until it falls easily through my fingers. She takes one tray, and I take another, and we press a seed into each pot.
I brush off my hands once the planting is done. If Alaris is back tomorrow, I might not have much time for gardening, but I promise Siro I’ll come back before they sprout.
But on the fourth morning, Alaris is not back. He said two days. Maybe three. Now it’s been four. After a quick breakfast, I go to pump some fresh water for the hawks.
“Sorry I’ve neglected you,” I call as I push open the aviary door, the bucket sloshing in my hands.
Silence. I blink. There’s something on the floor. Black shapes, strewn about the straw.
The hawks are on the ground, wings tucked around their bodies, or bent under them, or flat on the straw. One chirps gently, barely lifting its head. Another starts flapping, trying to get itself up, its wings beating the ground.
“Stop, stop, stop!” I rush over to it, desperate to prevent an injured wing.
It takes a few more feeble flaps before collapsing, beak open. My eyes prick with instant tears.
“No!” I cry, seeing one wing over the edge of the water basin, a hawk inside. I dive for it, knees bashing into the stone edge, as I fish it out. Its head is dry, just kept above the water. It cracks one exhausted eye.
“You did so well,” I murmur, cradling it. Its body is so, so cold. I take off my wrap, bundle it up, and hold it close to my chest. And I run.
My legs move on their own, pulse pounding in my ears. I have to get to the healers’ wing. I race inside, take a turn too sharp, and nearly collide with a figure in the corridor.
It’s Karns.
“Lyra!” he chides. “Where are you going?”
“Something is wrong with the hawks,” I gasp. I hold out the hawk I’m carrying. “This one needs to be warmed up immediately. The others are sick.”
I’ve never been happier to see his steely eyes, which don’t even flicker with emotion.
“Landen!” he barks, and a footman coming around the corner behind him startles to attention. “Take this hawk to a fireplace and warm it up immediately.”
The footman nods and dashes over, taking the bundle from my shaking hands. My cheeks are wet.
Karns’s clipped tone breaks my fog. “Get them all to the entrance, Lyra. Help will be there soon.”
The voidstone swings against my chest as I run, cold where it strikes my skin.
Back in the aviary, I gather them gently, murmuring constantly as if words can help keep them tethered to life.
Their eyes are closed, and it’s only the frantic little pulsing of their hearts that tells me they live.
I lay as many as I can at the doorway, noticing for the first time how light their bodies are.
All I could think of in the beginning was sharp beaks and claws. But they’re fragile creatures.
Karns arrives with a wagon and a healer. I help transfer them to the blanket in the back.
A hand falls on my shoulder and I jump, until I recognize Dashol.
“Dashol…how could this be happening? What does this mean?”
“Lyra,” Dashol says, his light eyes wide, shaking his head once.
I close my mouth. I’m not allowed to talk about it. I’m not allowed to say how strange it is that Alaris is missing, and all his messenger birds just fell ill.
As far as the household is concerned, he’s still visiting his cousin.