Shadow Crown Page 15

  The question repeats itself over and over again in her head, and still, she cannot find the answer. She desperately tries to remember everything she’s shared with Opal—what information she’s dished so freely to this newly discovered conspirator.

  And as for Delwynn, his betrayal is far more surprising than Opal’s. For years, Cerylia had convinced herself that her advisor worshipped her and would never do anything to put her trust in him at risk. How terribly wrong she’d been.

  Feeling foolish, but knowing not to dwell on the matter for too long, Cerylia pulls herself to her feet. She marches toward the dining hall, just as she’d planned to do originally when someone runs into her. Her brows furrow as she realizes who it is.

  Delwynn?

  Impossible. He was just in Opal’s chambers, on the opposite side of the castle. The sight is enough to leave her lightheaded. She stumbles backward, almost falling over, but Delwynn drops his cane and rushes to catch her just in time. “Your Greatness, is everything all right?”

  “How are you here? I just saw you . . . in Opal’s room . . .”

  Delwynn gives her a concerned look. “Your Greatness, I do not know of which you speak. I’ve been in the Great Room with the counsel for the past few hours.”

  Cerylia looks him straight in the eye. Delwynn wouldn’t lie to her. He would never betray her. He is loyal. He is her most trusted confidante. She draws in a sharp breath as the reality sinks in. Delwynn wasn’t in the room with Opal.

  A Caldari was.

  “Delwynn, alert the guards,” Cerylia says through gritted teeth. “There’s an imposter in the castle.”

  BRAXTON HORNSBY

  BRAXTON SITS AT the bar top at the inn, his hands wrapped around a lukewarm cup of tea. Hanslow is behind the bar, making a racket as he moves dishes around—the same dishes Braxton had put away just an hour prior. He sighs as plates and cups clink together, breaking his concentration.

  It’s been three days since Xerin left. Braxton had hoped things would become clearer as the days wore on, but everything has only become more confusing. Xerin invited him to join the Caldari, the strongest standing members of illusié. At first, all Braxton wanted to do was laugh in his face. Xerin had tricked him into revealing that he was King Tymond’s son, and then asked him to join the very group that his father had banished from Trendalath—the very reason he’d fled the kingdom seven years ago.

  Confusion doesn’t even begin to cover it. Not even close.

  Braxton takes another sip of his tea before pushing his chair back and standing up. He runs a hand through his blonde hair and lets out a long exhale.

  Hanslow seems to sense that something is bothering him. “My boy, what troubles you?”

  Braxton slides his hand to the back of his head and presses firmly against his skull. The pressure feels good—exactly what he needs. “I’m fine.”

  Hanslow shakes his head and whistles as he wipes down the counter. “You most certainly are not. You haven’t talked my ear off like you normally do. And when I’ve asked for you to finish your assignments, you’ve done so without question.” He shakes his head again and makes a clucking sound. “No, sir, you are not fine.”

  Braxton shrugs, knowing that unless he says something to Hanslow, this conversation could go on for hours, and, at this junction, all he wants is to be left alone. “I just had a strange conversation with someone today. It rubbed me the wrong way, put me in an off mood. That’s all.”

  Hanslow eyes him warily.

  “I swear it,” Braxton says as he raises his hands, palms facing out. “No need to worry. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

  “I’d advise you to get some rest. You look like you could use it.”

  Braxton doesn’t say anything in response, just nods his head as he walks into the main room and through the front door. There’s no time to rest. Not when a decision as heavy as this is weighing on his shoulders. Xerin said he’d return in one week for his answer and by the way he’d said it, Braxton understood he’d only get one chance at this.

  Yes. Or no.

  There would be no turning back, no do-overs.

  A long sigh escapes as he walks along the dirt path to the forest. Four days isn’t nearly enough time to make such a life-altering decision. He needs more information, more facts, just more . . .

  His thoughts trail off as he reaches a fork in the road. Without even realizing it, he’s wandered off to an area completely unfamiliar to him. The sun is beginning to set and night is closing in. He turns around and looks back the way he came, suddenly feeling disoriented. Did I come from that way? Or was it this way?

  With a mind so cluttered, it’s hard to think straight. A task as simple as turning around and going back home feels like an impossible feat. Maybe Hanslow’s right. Maybe he does need sleep.

  He tries again to decipher which direction he came from, but it’s no use. His mind is mush and his thoughts feel like frantic butterflies flapping their wings every which way. A barrel of hay near a seemingly abandoned farmhouse catches his eye. Without a second thought, he heads straight for it. The doors to the barn are locked, so the barrel of hay will have to do.

  Hanslow will probably worry about him. The old man’s probably crazy enough to come looking. Hopefully that’s not the case. Being alone is exactly what he needs right now.

  He leans back onto the haystack, his eyes trained on the navy canvas above him. Nightfall came fast. Brightly lit stars already dot the sky, and he has to commend himself for recognizing a few of the constellations. The more he stares into the sky, the more at peace he feels, but a few questions still circle in orbit around his mind.

  Why wouldn’t I join the Caldari? What’s stopping me? After all these years, why am I still concerned with disappointing my father?

  The last question haunts him. It’s haunted him ever since he can remember. He shouldn’t care what his father thinks, not after the way he’s treated him—his only son. And especially not after the way he’s mistreated those who dare to challenge him, for the sheer purpose of instilling fear in an entire population of innocent, good-hearted people.

  No, his father is not a decent man, nor will he ever be. It’s time for everyone in Trendalath to know that, and there’s only one way Braxton can help.

  He makes his decision right then and there.

  ARDEN ELIRI

  WATCHING SOMEONE morph from a bird-like state to a human being is much more disturbing than I imagined it would be. Not that this is something that comes to mind frequently—it doesn’t—but still, it’s surprising, to say the least.

  I knew there was something odd about that bird when I first saw it looking at us from the windowsill. At the time, it appeared to be a normal falcon with its pointed beak and sleek black feathers, but there was something off-putting about it.

  Its eyes.

  They were crimson, almost as if its brain were bleeding into its eye sockets. Felix had shot out of his seat to wake Estelle, who’d swatted at him repeatedly. She’d been amidst a seemingly terrible nightmare. When she’d awoken, Felix had informed her of the falcon’s arrival. She’d seemed both anxious and excited.

  I’d had no idea what was going on.

  But then the falcon had morphed into a man with blonde hair and those same crimson eyes. He’d introduced himself as Xerin Grey and that’s when I’d understood. He was also a Caldari, one of them.

  Correction: One of us.

  Now, an hour later, I’m intently listening to Xerin and his precocious stories. Being a Shaper (that’s what they call illusié who can morph into other people and animals) has its advantages. Xerin gets to fly from town to town, discovering truths and revealing secrets. I feel a tinge of jealousy toward him and his freedom. He’s not tied to anyone or anything. No king to obey. No rules to abide by. No reigns holding him back.

  But what makes me most jealous is the fact that he receives no judgment. Felix and Estelle seem to accept him for who he is, as do
I, and I just met the guy.

  I snap out of my trance and back to the conversation as Xerin turns to me.

  “And how is our newcomer enjoying Orihia?”

  I raise my glass to toast both him and the beautiful tree village. “It’s truly remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Xerin nods his head sadly. His spiky blonde hair doesn’t budge an inch, and it makes me wonder if it gets windblown when he’s soaring over the cities. “If only everyone saw it that way.”

  The room falls silent.

  I’m not sure if we’re having a “moment”—or what a “moment” would even entail—so I hesitate before breaking the speaking. “How do you mean?”

  “Tymond,” my three new friends say in unison.

  “Ah, right. The exiler of illusié,” I say glumly. “If only he could see this place, and see all of you. Maybe then he’d come to his senses.”

  They stare at me as though I’m firing missiles and missing my target on purpose. “Or not,” I say quietly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

  “You were making a joke,” Estelle confirms, trying to clear the air. “It was just a joke. That’s all.”

  I notice both Felix and Xerin exhale as their shoulders drop.

  More silence.

  I try to cut through the tension, yet again. “So, how long have you all known each other?”

  “Well, Xerin’s been around for quite some time,” Felix says. “One may even say that he’s the originator of the Caldari.”

  “Really? That’s fascinating.” I’m pleased that Felix answered so quickly and it makes me hopeful that the last awkward silence of the night is over and done with. “What about you, Estelle?”

  Estelle regards me thoughtfully. “Let’s see. I joined the Caldari after Xerin and Felix. Felix was actually the one who found me.” She winks at him. “And thank goodness for that.”

  I tilt my head and eye her questioningly. “Why is that?”

  “I’d lived in Lonia my entire life until Felix found me. It’s a beautiful village with plenty to do, but I learned pretty early on about my abilities. I was too afraid to show my family because I was afraid that they’d reject me. Just when I’d planned to leave, Felix found me.” A hint of a smile tugs at her lips. “He showed me that there was nothing to be afraid of and that I wasn’t alone—that we could create a new kind of family and share everything. And so I left, but not alone.” She punches Felix playfully in the shoulder, making their brother-sister relationship clear as day.

  “So you came back here with Felix? To Orihia?”

  Estelle nods. “I sure did. Xerin was waiting here for me, too. I knew the minute I walked in that this is where I was meant to be all along.” She pauses, her eyes full of longing. “If only I’d found it sooner.”

  Xerin clucks his tongue. “There’s no use dwelling on the past, Stelle. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”

  My heart swells as I watch them exchange looks. They seem like such a tight knit group—like a family. Although I wouldn’t know what that feels like because I never truly had a family.

  Except for the Cruex.

  Really just Rydan, though.

  Rydan.

  I close my eyes as the floodgates open, memory after memory pouring through my mind. I hate the way we left things. I hate that I had to see that side of him. Rydan was always good and pure and untainted in my eyes. An example of who I should be. But now I know the truth.

  He’s exactly like me.

  I can feel the darkness swooping in. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on something else—on the three incredible people surrounding me. Just as I think it’s about to pull me under, and win, Estelle saves me.

  “What do you think of the Caldari so far?”

  Xerin chortles. “You’re basically asking her what she thinks of us! Not forward of you at all.”

  Estelle waves her hand absentmindedly. “I’m serious. I want to know.”

  I look into those deep violet eyes and say, “I agree with everything you’ve said, especially the last part.”

  Estelle furrows her brows and looks at Felix and Xerin. It’s clear she’s trying to remember what that was. They just shrug, unable to recall either.

  I give a half-smile before saying, “If only I’d found you sooner.”

  RYDAN HELSTROM

  RYDAN IS DISMAYED to see a burly shadow walking toward him. It’s been two days since he’s seen Vira, and he’s hoping that today she’ll visit. He worries that something’s happened to her, or that perhaps she’s been assigned elsewhere now. Had someone eavesdropped on their conversations? Had he unknowingly gotten her into trouble?

  Rydan gulps as the shadow, which happens to be a hefty man, comes into view. He recognizes the guard almost immediately. It’s the same one who led him off the ship from Lonia and to his fate in this wretched dungeon.

  “Happy to see me?” the guard grunts as he fumbles with his key ring.

  Rydan bites his tongue, afraid that if he answers, he’ll only get himself into more trouble. Something he really doesn’t need right now. Or ever.

  After a few tries, the cell door opens. “Hands,” the guard orders. Rydan does as he says and extends his hands, watching despondently as heavy metal clinks around his wrists, locking securely in place. The guard yanks him from the cell, causing him to stumble over his own two feet. “This way.”

  Feeling weak on his feet from lack of food and sleep, Rydan trudges up the stairs. Seeing as the guard’s hand is resting heavily on his shoulder, his pace is slower than normal. More and more energy is exerted, leaving Rydan partially out of breath as they reach the top of the stairs.

  “Keep going,” the guard orders as he changes position to lead the way. Rydan is pulled forward, and he quickly realizes he’s heading toward a familiar area. The Great Room.

  Hope flickers within his mind, but is quickly extinguished as multiple scenarios begin to infiltrate his thoughts. Tymond had made it clear that his trial wouldn’t be for at least two years. Hadn’t it only been a few weeks? A month at most? His stomach turns as another thought surfaces. What if this has something to do with Elvira?

  As they approach the Great Room, Rydan can’t help but feel lightheaded. He stops walking, but having fallen behind the oaf of a man, the guard tugs on the metal to keep him moving forward. Rydan howls as he loses his balance and falls flat on his face.

  “Get up!” the guard yells. With one hand, he grabs Rydan by the scruff of his neck and pulls him up.

  “Forgive me,” Rydan pants. “I haven’t eaten in a couple of days.”

  The guard eyes him warily. “I suppose that would explain your inability to walk straight or stand upright. I thought you were just drunk.”

  Rydan guffaws out of exhaustion and hunger, but mostly disbelief. “Believe me, I wish that were the case. Tell me, have the other prisoners been getting special treatment? Have I been ruled out for some reason?”

  The guard rolls his eyes, ignoring his jest. “Follow me.”

  Much to Rydan’s delight, they pass the Great Room and head straight for the dining hall. His eyes glaze over at the sight of trays and trays of croissants, sausage, ham—even the bowls of clumpy porridge look appetizing. The smell is enough to make his mouth water, and he realizes right then and there how truly hungry he is. Starving is actually the proper word for the situation.

  “Any requests?” the guard asks.

  Rydan takes a step back. That was a question he wasn’t expecting. He wishes he could take back all the negative thoughts he’d had about the guard. Maybe the guy has an empathetic side after all.

  “Honestly, I want everything,” Rydan says greedily.

  The guard wags a finger. “Choose wisely.”

  Internally Rydan pouts, but he keeps a straight face. “Croissants, please. With extra glaze.”

  The guard retrieves a basket of croissants and brings them to a nearby table. The dining h
all is completely empty, so he assumes from this, and the position of the sun just outside the window, that it’s between 1400 and 1600 hours.

  Rydan can feel the guard eyeing him in disgust as he scarfs down each and every crumb. When he finishes, he pushes the basket to the side and gives the man his most genuine, appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

  The guard yanks on the chains and pulls him up from the table, and just like that, his empathetic friend has disappeared. “Not a word of this to the king. Am I understood?”

  Rydan gives him a hasty nod.

  “Good. Now, come on. We’re already late enough as it is.”

  Rydan reluctantly follows the guard down the hall into the Great Room. The minute he enters through the double doors, he can tell something isn’t right. The air is stale and smells of copper—as if there’s just been a slaughter.

  No.

  He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push images of Elvira’s headless and bleeding body far from his mind.

  You’re jumping to conclusions. She’s fine.

  He keeps his eyes glued to the ground as he walks behind the guard. When they reach Tymond’s throne, Rydan lifts his eyes from the ground, feeling surprised to see that the king isn’t seated. His eyes drift to the window, where a figure cloaked in black and crimson robes stands, his gaze on the scenery outside. Rydan coughs, and the king swiftly turns his gaze to him. “Helstrom.”

  The words come out ice cold and send a shiver down Rydan’s spine. “Your Majesty.”

  King Tymond throws his robe behind him as he marches over to his throne, but instead of sitting down, he pushes past the guard until he’s eye to eye with Rydan. “Are you finding your accommodations . . . pleasant?”

  It seems more like a jab than a question.

  Rydan remains silent, but doesn’t break eye contact.

  “I’ll take that as an affirmative,” the king huffs. “I must say, it’s a shame about your little lady friend . . .”