Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rhylen
Isit in the high-backed chair facing the fireplace. I watch the flames dance in the hearth. The sun has just crested the horizon. Eight hours. Eight long hours since I pushed Isla into the arms of a traitor. Eight hours since my best friend almost walked the halls of the Fates.
I sit in the chair and stew, thinking of every move, every conversation, every slip of information I’ve given Argus. A brother. Sold out for a bit of coin, for fame, or a bit of land. I grip the arm of the chair a bit tighter in anger.
When I get my hands on him, I’m going to string him up by his ears and slowly bleed the life out of him. He doesn’t know pain now, but he will.
There’s a soft knock at the door. Timid steps move closer to me. They pull me out of my rage-fueled thoughts, my plans of death. I hear the inhale of a deep breath as if someone was gathering the courage to finally speak.
“What,” I snap.
Raia moves around the chair, making herself visible. A worried gaze stares back at me. She hands me a plate of bread and cheese, setting it on the table beside the chair. “You can’t ravage the kingdom and bring her back if you don’t eat.”
Her admission surprises me. I wasn’t sure where Raia and Maisie were able to seek safety. At the time, only thoughts of Isla consumed me. I manage a small chuckle at her sentence. “And how do you know I’m planning?”
It’s a dumb question, probably naive of me, but she gives me a small smile. “Because the look of possession in your eyes can be seen from Eldsford Keep if one is looking.”
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing I can say.
“We’re going to get her back, Rhylen.” Raia turns to leave. She squeezes my shoulder before leaving me to the silence of the early morning.
An hour later, Ewan fetches me. “She’s arrived.”
It’s a simple sentence, but it sends a zap through my veins, nonetheless.
I stand up and follow Ewan out, silently.
He leads me to a tall tower that Clarissa frequents.
She’s always preferred silence and isolation when she can.
Here was no different. Step by step, we take the winding steps up to her room.
Ewan stops at the door. His hand is suspended in a knocking motion when the door opens on its own. Clarissa stands at the window. The sunlight reflects off her dark hair. Her pale, alabaster skin is covered by a black dress. She still wears her traveling cape.
“Welcome, Hood,” she calls out with her back still turned to us. The room is dark. Only one window has the drapes pulled away, letting light in.
“Clarissa,” I grunt. I don’t want to sit here and exchange niceties. I need information. I need plans. I need her.
She turns away from the window to face us. There’s an ominous look on her face. “The Fates are angry,” she barely whispers.
“Damn the Fates,” I shout. I stomp into the room, slamming the door shut. Clarissa doesn’t flinch at my outburst. If anything, she stands a little taller in a challenge.
She wants to be innocent, as if she doesn’t play the largest part in this game of crowns.
She dares to stand there, preaching about the tricky games that constantly twist. She dares to gripe about the challenging stars and the ever-changing prophecies the Gods of Fate want to play with.
Damn the Gods of Fate who think they can control my destiny.
I stare down at Clarissa. Her words echo in my head. Find the speaker of trees with the dimmed heart. Damn it. Damn it all. “She was supposed to change everything!”
Clarissa takes a deep breath, turning her back to Ewan and me once more. “She is.”
“How can you say that? How can you dare stand there and tell me to still believe in this stupid prophecy?"
“I need you to trust me,” Clarissa pleads, turning back towards us.
These fickle games of Fate and thrones were never supposed to be mine. I told Amos from the beginning, when he tried to drag me into them, I would play a small, small role.
All I agreed to was disrupting the crown and helping pave the way for the Halstead family to uproot our vicious crown.
Clarissa shakes her head at me and flips through a tall deck of cards. “These are the paths we must take. We need to tread carefully. The game has shifted.”
“How?” Ewan asks.
“He knows,” Clarissa whispers. A chill runs up my spine as panic begins to suffocate me.
“Explain,” I say through my teeth.
“He,” Clarissa trips over her words. “He has someone. Someone who can read the stars and words Fate leaves us. He knows who she is.”
Ewan looks at Clarissa to me, and back to Clarissa. “What do you mean? Who is she?”
“She has the power to undo the entire line of Prince Cailean and the Queen Regent.”