95. Cyara

Percival complained. Loudly.

Even after Lyrena shoved into him—accidentally, of course—on her way to take the lead.

It as a steeper climb than she had realized from the rocky beach to the center of the island. Every few minutes, Cyara would pause and flutter up into the sky, peering back the way they had come. Every time, there was the wall of white cliffs, precisely as it had appeared in the flames of Diana's spell. They had to be getting close. But when she looked ahead, she did not see any sign of a castle or fortress.

She almost flew ahead, away from the others. Scouting, like Arran had often done in his wolf form while they traveled across the human realm. But the queen and king's orders had been clear—stay together. Do not let anyone out of your sight.

Cyara swallowed the impulse and landed again at the rear of their party. It would be a while before Veyka was willing to let anyone she cared for go far.

Diana's breaths came in loud huffs, her heavy purple robes catching on roots and debris as they climbed up and up and up. At the front, Lyrena cut away the worst of the branches and understory with her sword. But it was still slow going.

Cyara was about to suggest a stop—she did not need Diana fainting dead away and injuring herself, especially with Isolde all the way back at Eilean Gayl.

Lyrena beat her to it.

Diana was already looking for a log or stump to sit on. Percival urged her ahead, pointing to what appeared to be a clearing just beyond where Lyrena had paused. Cyara shifted the pack she carried, mentally mapping out which provisions she would take out and where they were stored.

But Lyrena was still not moving.

Neither were Diana and Percival.

Cyara's stomach flipped as she closed the last few yards between them, all the sounds of the forest melting away.

Even Percival fell silent.

"It is not a castle at all," Diana murmured.

Accolon's ancestral home. They had expected a fortress of some kind, an old round tower, perhaps—or at least the crumbling remnants of one.

The clearing was certainly wide enough. The journal had mentioned Accolon's home; Diana's vision had shown the white cliffs. But it had never occurred to Cyara that they were not actually seeking Accolon's residence. Until she stepped into the clearing.

Because instead of the ruins of a seven-thousand-year-old keep, the clearing was ringed with massive monoliths. Standing stones.

Every single one of them was carved.