46. Jess

Chapter 46

Jess

I watched the Mage vanish through the doors and slumped back into my chair.

First mysterious killings—by animals, no less—now magic failed.

What is next? I thought. Is this really what my reign will be? Chasing one disaster after another?

A moment later, I rose and turned to head to my chambers. I needed a long soak in a hot bath like a dying man needed redemption.

“Your Majesty,” a page’s voice called from the entrance before I could escape.

I tilted my head back and sucked in a breath.

“Yes? What is it?” I asked, turning toward the page.

The liveried boy scooted out of the way, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dusty blue uniform entered. Our eyes met, and my exhaustion evaporated.

“Keelan!”

He dropped his pack just inside the chamber. When the doors closed behind him, he barely blinked.

I took a few steps forward, my brow creased with concern. “Keelan, what is it? What is wrong?”

“Jess, I—” His voice broke.

I raced to him, and despite his road-worn state, wrapped my arms around him and held him. I felt the warmth of his breath on my neck, then the pressure of his hands against my back. His powerful arms encircled me—and his chest heaved.

“Oh, Keelan. What happened?” I couldn’t imagine what could reduce such a strong, steady man to tears.

I lost track of how long we held each other.

He finally spoke in a hushed voice. “I can’t feel my Gift anymore. Jess, I tried over and over. I can’t feel the nagging sensation when something isn’t right. I can’t tell when someone is lying. I can’t protect you—or Atikus or Declan—or anybody anymore.”

I pulled back and gripped his face with my hands. “Keelan, look at me.”

I waited until he gathered himself enough to hold my eyes. “ Everyone’s Gifts are gone. Everyone’s. Even the Mages’. It is not just yours. Something has happened to magic that we have yet to understand, but we are working on it.”

He tried to look away, but I held his face.

“We are going to fix this somehow. We will make it right, but your Gift is not what makes you special. It is not how you protect people. Your Gift is just a tool. Yes, it is powerful, and yes, it is part of you, but it does not define who you are, and it certainly does not take away your ability to help those you care about.”

He nodded, but I wasn’t convinced he believed me. The small boy looming over me looked more frightened than I had ever seen him, and I had no idea how to reassure him with more than hollow words. My heart ached as I stared into the anguish of his eyes.

Hours later, when I entered the family dining room, Keelan was already standing politely behind his chair. He’d shed his dusty uniform, bathed, shaved, and donned a sharp, tightly fitting charcoal-gray coat piped with golden thread. His eyes were so brilliant against the darkness of his coat I nearly missed a step, wobbling on one foot before righting myself. Keelan was there in a flash, offering a hand to steady me, never looking amused at my predicament.

That simple act made my heart flutter even more.

Dinner was served exactly one half hour from the time I asked my maids to alert the kitchens. Being Queen carried unfathomable weight and responsibility, but the food and service were to die for. The staff brought platters of roasted turkey and vegetables lathered in garlic and butter.

The fresh, steaming bread appeared to be Keelan’s favorite.

He hadn’t eaten that day and was clearly starving.

He dove into the turkey with ravenous abandon and savored rich sauces that drenched the vegetables. Midway through, a frightening thought struck—would the stink of the herbs and garlic prevent a repeat performance of our kiss in the gardens?

Conversation was awkward at first, until I caught one of the older serving women grinning, her eyes glittering. The Queen emerged and sent that woman to the kitchen for more . . . whatever . The maid curtsied and giggled as she scurried out of the room to bring her moonstruck Queen a giant platter of something .

At that point, we were able to pull ourselves together enough to start a proper conversation.

Keelan asked how things were going with Council appointments, knowing that particular duty still nagged at me daily.

I asked about his journey, avoiding the gruesome parts. He obliged with small talk of the people and village of Oliver.

I asked how Dittler was treating him, grinning as I remembered how the stallion nipped at the giant man every time he came near.

His fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Jess, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot. You haven’t seen Dittler in over a week. I’m sure he would love a visit. Care for a walk by the stables, then through the gardens?”

I beamed. “I cannot believe I had not thought to visit him either. I would love that.”

I set my fork down, having licked it clean of the blueberry dessert we’d just devoured, as he rose and extended a hand. “May a humble Constable take the Queen for an evening stroll?”

I giggled like some love-maddened girl and stood.

Taking his hand, I lifted my chin and said in her most imperious voice, “We are pleased with your offer. Lead on, good sir.”

A few moments later, we stood outside the stables. I still wore my garnet gown and pearl necklace. The plan was to pay Dittler a quick visit, then stroll through the gardens. I would come back in the morning in my riding leathers and give my stallion a bit of proper exercise.

Keelan appeared in the opening to the stables, reins in hand, with Dittler nipping at his shoulder and whinnying each time Keelan tried to shoo his bites away.

I grinned at the pair.

“Looks like you two learned to get along.”

“If you count me getting nipped every five seconds as getting along, then sure.” He chuckled and pushed the horse’s toothy snout away again.

At the sound of my voice, Dittler’s ears shot forward, and his head snapped up. He began dancing on his front legs and surprised Keelan by yanking the lead out of his hand with a quick tug. Within seconds, the massive stallion had kneeled on his front knees before me, his snout nuzzling against my chest.

I laughed and stroked the horse’s ears in exactly the spot I knew could make him weak.

He let out a gruff snort—something akin to what a thousand-pound cat might do when given a good scratch.

“My baby boy,” I said, pressing my cheek against his forelock.

The powerful-beast-turned-helpless-puppy dared not move; he breathed and snorted as his mistress praised and stroked him. After a few peaceful moments, he pulled back and eyed me.

“What is it, boy?”

He snorted and stamped once, then resumed staring at me.

“My Gift is not working. I cannot see your thoughts in my mind.”

He snorted and stomped again.

Keelan stepped up beside me, careful not to startle the stallion. “I think he senses something’s off but doesn’t know what it is or why you’re not understanding him.”

Dittler leaned toward Keelan and nudged his arm with his muzzle, then nickered and bobbed his head.

“Did he just agree with you?” I asked in amazement.

Keelan laughed. “Jealous? I’m pretty sure we bonded on this trip.”

On cue, Dittler lunged forward and nipped Keelan’s coat.

“I see how you boys bonded.” I laughed. “And I think you are right. He has always been more perceptive than people think. Part of it is being a Cretian—everyone knows they are the smartest of horse breeds—but there is magic at work here, too. It might not be a Gift exactly, but he has shown me many times over how much he understands.”

That earned me another nuzzle.

“Traitor!” Keelan quipped. “Nip me but nuzzle her.”

Dittler turned and nipped Keelan again.

Both of us laughed, and I thought I heard Dittler snorting a little too merrily himself.

Then Dittler let out a deep-throated roar of alarm.

All at once, the peaceful night turned into a blur of motion.

The sound of another horse’s hooves on the cobbles clanked through the yard, and a mottled gray steed broke through the darkness from around the stables, headed straight for me.

I screamed as Keelan pulled me to the side as the horse reared and missed, nearly striking my head with its front hooves.

“Get back inside!” Keelan yelled as he ducked away from the horse’s angry teeth.

I turned to run, but my gown and shoes were made for dinners, not sprints, and I sprawled face-first across the cobbles a few paces away.

At the sound of my cry, the gray horse turned from Keelan and charged for my prone body.

Dittler, enraged, snapped at the horse’s neck, gripping a mouthful of its mane in his mighty teeth. He yanked backward, twisting the smaller animal’s head around. The gray pulled himself free and, in the same motion, turned his hindquarters toward Dittler, landing a painful blow with both of his rear hooves straight into Dittler’s side. The Cretian snorted in pain, stumbling sideways a pace, then he charged forward again, teeth bared. The two reared on hindquarters and exchanged vicious blows on the other’s neck and head.

In battles for dominance, such fights were common.

To an outsider, it would appear the challengers were trying to kill one another, but this wasn’t usually the case. Horses generally fought until one submitted, then the order of supremacy in the herd was restored or remade.

But the gray horse wasn’t trying to dominate.

He wanted to kill .

And though he fought Dittler, his eyes kept returning to me.

Keelan darted out of the way of the dueling beasts and helped me to my feet. I threw off my heels and turned to run for help. The gray broke free of Dittler and charged again, this time slamming into Keelan, knocking him several paces away and onto his back.

My protector out of the way, the gray locked eyes with me and reared.

His enraged whinny tore through the night, and sharp hooves glared down at me, their helpless target.

As its hooves were inches from crashing into my face, Dittler charged and rammed his entire weight into my attacker’s side.

The gray, still on just his hind legs, was knocked off balance and flew into the side wall of the stone stables. His head smacked into the hard surface, and blood oozed from a massive gash the impact had created. The horse’s eyes lost focus, and he struggled to rise on wobbly legs, but Dittler was there before he could stand, battering him with forehooves and biting into his throat and withers.

Keelan shook off the last blow he’d taken.

He darted into the stables, returning with a manure fork he found hanging on the wall. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

He raced back to where Dittler continued to stamp the wounded gray.

The gray continued to bite and struggle.

In one lucky thrust, it managed to rake Dittler with a hoof, scoring a bloody line across the stallion’s chest.

Dittler staggered back a few paces, leaving an opening for the gray to try to rise.

Keelan was there before he could stand.

He raged and roared like a man driven by the lust of battle, stabbing the fork into the gray’s head and side again and again until the horse lay motionless on the bloody stones.

Keelan’s chest heaved.

Dittler wheezed and panted as sweat foamed over his sides.

His eyes were frenzied, so Keelan staggered away slowly, giving him space to calm.

I ran to Keelan and threw my arms around him.

He winced as I gripped his likely broken ribs but still pulled me into him. A moment later, silver-plated guards poured out of the Palace.

“The Queen! To the Queen!” they yelled.

Before Keelan could speak, we were safely surrounded by a protective ring of iron.

“I am all right,” I said in a small voice as I pulled away from the safety of Keelan’s embrace.

A man with a bright-green plume on his shiny helm stepped into the circle. He bowed curtly. “Your Majesty, are you hurt? What happened?”

I drew in a few breaths, then looked up at the man. “I am fine. Keelan may need a Healer, and Dittler definitely will, but I am unharmed. That horse came out of nowhere and . . . I do not know . . . attacked me. It all sounds insane now, but that is what happened.”

The guard’s brows knitted in confusion as he looked from me to where the gray horse lay, then back to me. “A horse attacked you, Majesty?”

I nodded. “That is right. He is right over—”

My words caught in my throat as I turned and pointed to where the horse had lain only moments before.

There was no horse.

There, lying in a pool of his own blood that still poured from his head and chest, was the body of a man in silky brown robes. Pieces of a shattered mask depicting a snarling gray horse with stubby antlers lay a pace away.