16. Breya

SIXTEEN

brEYA

B reya started feeling uncomfortable after they toured the healing center. The shifters who were hurt from the quake itself seemed appreciative of her presence, but the healers and assistants made her uncomfortable.

That wasn't something the witch could easily relay to the king as they did their rounds. He was oblivious, somewhat, stuck in his own royal bubble where subjects wouldn't dare whisper anything remotely off base.

Then, he'd purchased her the necklace. It was dazzlingly beautiful, and the cost had a nightmarish quality to it. But he bought it so casually, which left Breya in a cross mood.

He had noticed that she was bothered earlier, as much as she tried to hide it, then during the rest of their visits. He then took it upon himself to travel to a rich part of town and buy off her comfort and affection. It was all too much, spinning like a torrid of uncertainty in Breya's belly.

The heat wasn't helping. She wasn't used to such intensity, having gone from the mild and standard four seasons back in her home village. Despite the thinness of the fabric she was wearing, Breya felt like she was being drained from top to bottom.

The jewelry excursion had left her feeling stale, so she asked Thorne if they could go for lunch next. He obliged happily, chuffed with himself for having purchased his potential queen something so excessively grand. She could feel his pride leaching through his skin along with the sweat that laced around his forehead like an unseen crown.

That was also what put her off--his inability to read her body language and mood. She wasn't one to sulk, but Thorne's practice of casting aside inconvenient concerns was positively stupefying.

And infuriating.

They ate within the affluent part of town in a breezy private booth that overlooked the dismal desert flatlands. There was a fountain next to them, streaming softly and misting them gently. Breya felt like she could finally get a grip on what she was feeling without the distraction of the meddling heat.

"Can we talk for a moment? Privately?"

"Yes, yes. Of course, my sweet," Thorne said.

Vale was nearby and within earshot, whereas the other enforcers were standing on the main floor near the entrance. Their private section was cordoned off with no one but the fountain keeping them company.

"Check on the men downstairs," Thorne said.

Vale nodded loyally and disappeared down the steps and out of sight.

Thorne turned back to her with what could only be described as puppy-dog eyes. They were sheen and smooth, the light blue eclipsing the silver for the first time since she'd known him. She felt a pang of guilt about what she was about to say next, but the voice of her sister encouraged her.

Say what you feel. That is vital to any relationship.

"I want to go back to the castle now," she said, trying to be blunt. "There's been a lot going on the last few days, and I think I need some time alone."

His forehead creased and his body went rigid. Breya braced herself for his disappointment.

"I was going to go out to the fissure site and look it over with the team. I thought you might want to accompany me since you were the one who healed it."

Breya shook her head adamantly. She had to get out what was rolling around in her head before he could sway her in any other direction. Her affection for him was very real. But sometimes her empathy traveled too far in one direction or the other.

Balance was also a key.

"I appreciate the offer, but I would rather not. I'm just so tired."

The king leaned on his fist like a statue, pondering. The majority of his hair had been still during their various visits, but Breya was starting to notice a few stragglers drooping around his forehead. It gave him an angelic quality that made her heart bounce in her chest. She wanted to brush the tendril from his face as if that would push his bemusement away. It was frustratingly confusing to be so drawn to this man, yet infuriated by him all at once.

Not man, shifter, she corrected.

"I understand," he said curtly. "Vale and my men will take you back while I visit the site. Do you want to take the necklace back with you?"

There was a tiny twitch in his eye when he mentioned the necklace. Breya didn't pick up any malice, but there certainly was a slight jab embedded within its speech.

"I can give it to Vale. He will keep it safe," she responded.

Thorne called his lead enforcer in and instructed them to take her home.

"Would you like a carriage sent for you?" the brute asked the king.

"No, I will find my way back after checking out the fissure. Thank you, Vale."

When they parted, she gave him a faint kiss on the cheek. His silvery stare would not meet hers.

Breya knew a man's dented ego when she saw it.

"I enjoyed learning about everything," she said passively.

"I'm glad," he said, smiling thinly. "Vale is waiting for you out front."

She left him at the booth and trailed down the steps. She felt a flinching quiver of guilt and mentally doubled down on her conviction. He couldn't buy her affection like that, no matter how expensive and rare a necklace it was.

Breya emerged into the scalding heat, the sun flaming overhead. She pulled on her moved toward the open carriage door.

"Miss Breya!"

She didn't recognize the voice immediately as the witch's thoughts were occupied with Thorne and his transparent attempt at enticing her. But she turned toward it anyway and was greeted by the same strange and sunken smile that had found her the night before at the ball.

Breya tried to hide her grimace.

"Nyfain," she said lightly. "It's nice to see you again. What are you doing around town?"

The sorcerer drew in closer. He still managed to look pallid under the stifling sun, with jagged teeth sticking out of his mouth that made Breya think of corks from a champagne bottle.

A chill ran up her back, the word decomposing coming to mind faster than she would have liked.

She also realized at that moment she hadn't told Thorne about him. She would later understand how grave a mistake that slip of the mind had been.

"Ah, simply exploring the paradise of what Savanna has to offer," he said with a light and flippant lilt to his voice. "Would you like to come back to my home? I have infinite tomes and relics that will make you feel right at home."

Vale and the other shifter enforcers had gone ahead of her, the streets faded to a strange silence. It was the same kind of silence that fell over the castle just before the fissure snapped through the earth like a popsicle stick.

Breya noticed everything all at once, her mind taken predominantly on the subject of the king and his emotionless grasp on intimacy. She was uncomfortable speaking to Nyfain, but she didn't feel threatened.

Combing through relics and venturing around ancient tomes certainly sounded more appealing than having to navigate Thorne's mood once he returned to the castle. But a rancid, mildewy scent kept brushing in her direction. It was her witch's sense that said she should feel threatened.

She tried her best to appear nonchalant.

"Oh, I can't right now. I apologize. Maybe another day? I've got to head back to the castle now. I am unwell."

The hideous smile on Nyfain's face dropped like a bag of sand. The heavy cloak the threadlike man seemed to be swimming in was thrown off his back, hitting the cobblestone with a dense thud. Breya watched as the sorcerer's jaw tightened.

The realization came reeling through Breya's mind a fraction too late. Nyfain had already begun his incantations, muttering Latin under his breath with the velocity of an auctioneer.

Breya knew what he was trying to summon. The spell was from the Book of the Dead, a mandatory text for any witch or sorcerer looking to practice magic. It was taught formally and informally as a warning, a defense training of sorts that magic folk hope to never have to rely on.

"Venite mortuos et angeli facti sunt!"

The ground beneath Breya's feet began to mumble. It then thumped with the weight of Vale and his two lion shifter enforcers, rushing toward her and Nyfain as oily black smoke began to pour from the sorcerer's fingertips.

"Get down!" Vale screamed at her.

Breya knew how to defend herself as a witch, but there was barely any time to react. Vale shoved her to the ground intending to protect her, then dashed into Nyfain's pluming smoke. She couldn't warn him before it was too late.

From the shimmering distant desert came the shuffling of what at first looked like a swarm of people all with the same limp.

Breya's heart beat hollowly as she watched the horror unfold, realizing where the tedious scent of rotting flesh was coming from.

Nyfain was leading an army of the undead.