Chapter 16

Elanor

With Nylren as my guide once more, the garden is unusually silent, our footsteps on the graveled path the only disturbance.

The palace grounds have an eerie stillness to them, devoid of birdsong or wildlife of any kind. Twisted, spiky vines and thickets of thorns dominate the landscape, covering every inch not occupied by the stone trail. It’s less a garden and more of a maze of hostile vegetation, arranged in dense barricades with narrow passages. Shadows cling to the overgrown corners and even the flowers bloom in threatening strangling clusters rather than cheery beds. Unease grows with each step I take, and I find myself longing for Averion’s joyful gardens.

When King Airdan announced he would be busy over the next few days, I thought I would finally get the chance to investigate the city. My excitement quickly dimmed as I realized he wouldn’t leave his guest alone, assigning his son to accompany me instead.

As each hour passes, angst floods every bone in my body. I’m nowhere closer to finding Azran. I’m kept busy with useless walks within the palace walls, introductions to nobles, fancy dinners, and pointless displays of artwork.

I’ve got to admit that Nylren’s reserve makes for a surprisingly comfortable companion. Less diplomacy and decorum are needed with him, since he doesn’t talk much.

At least Milan doesn’t leave my side. He follows me everywhere, always a few steps behind me through this joke of a mission turned golden cage.

We discussed sending him or one of his men into Nyths, but opted against it. They would be spotted in an instant and there is no legitimate official reason I could use to explain that away, but I’m not giving up.

I spent the last few days looking for a way to get information, and as it turns out, I have one. I’m looking at it right now.

Cold air whips my face as I study Nylren. His gaze is fixed on the horizon. Eye contact is not really his thing, and he spends most of our time together looking at his shiny black boots. He must have memorized each detail of the shoes by now, from the way the leather folds with his steps to the silver buckle around his ankles.

There’s something about him. I got a glimpse at his relationship with his father over dinner, and let’s just say that their dynamic is weird at best. The only father-child relationship I’ve ever witnessed was mine, and ours was never that distant.

Airdan always appears put together, confident, and charming, but Nylren’s different. I just need to figure out if he can be trusted enough for me to attempt something. I need to play a more subtle game than the one I’m used to. Hell, subtlety has never been my thing, but I can learn, right?

Straight up asking him for help is out of the question, but maybe he could be useful some other way. I can’t afford to sit still any longer. Staying put, surrounded by frivolities and sterile conversation, is killing me.

I’m restless, my power unstable, and even my connection to the spirit world and Savage is not enough to keep me hopeful.

Nylren clears his throat before pointing to a small turret ahead.

“The armory and training grounds are over there. Do you dabble with the sword?”

“Yes.” The word leaves my mouth with more enthusiasm than anticipated, so I quickly add, “sometimes.”

I calm my racing heart, reminding myself I can’t go around parading my fighting skills.

“We should go.” Nylren nods towards the palace. “It’ll give you something more exciting to do.”

We exchange one of our rare moments of eye contact, and the tiniest smile tugs his lips. I guess I’m not doing the best job at pretending that I’m entertained.

**

I plop down on the edge of my bed as I soon as I make it back to my room, Milan right behind me. Holding back my strikes with Nylren has proven even more testing for my sanity. It does nothing to ease the tension in my body, far from it.

“At this rate, it is going to take me weeks to gain Nylren’s trust.”

“Do you really think he can help?” Milan’s dark eyebrows shoot up on his forehead.

“What other option do I have?” I raise my hands in defeat. “I can’t walk into the royal chambers demanding a battalion of soldiers to start searching for Azran.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that the High Lord got to Nyths with a delegation but never made it to the palace?” Milan asks quietly.

My mouth opens and closes again as I consider his words. Tilting my head, I study his face. Milan can be stoic, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, he doesn’t speak idly. And Calen wouldn’t have assigned him to my guard if he didn’t trust him.

“You think—“

He shakes his head and silences me with a wave of his hand before pointing to his own eyes and ears.

My brows draw together at his implication.

I can’t say the idea’s never crossed my mind, but I dismissed it early on, as I couldn’t make sense of the King’s potential motivation in this mess. Maybe I dismissed him too quickly, though. Could he be tangled in this shit? What would he gain? And if not him, could someone else here know something?

I smooth the skirt of my violet dress and sit up straight.

“You may go, Milan. I will retire for the night.”

His brow furrows at my sudden change of tone, but I nod reassuringly.

Once alone, I prepare for bed, and by the time Jaida enters to help me, I’m already under the covers.

“My Lady, is there anything else you’ll be needing tonight?”

I repress a yawn, covering my mouth with my hand. “No, thank you. I will rest, now.”

After Jaida closes the door behind her, I pull out the book I brought with me to Nyths from under the mattress and flip through its pages.

I’ve read it from front to back, but it’s gotten me nowhere. Just like Mor said, gods used to walk this earth ages ago, taking carnal form and toying with the forces of good and evil. Death was among them, reaping the souls of those whose time had come, and keeping a watchful eye over the balance of the world.

The gods no longer dwell among us, taking their names with them as they departed, and leaving only the phantoms of their purposes in old texts. Death, Nature, War, Love, Fertility, and Justice.

In places, the pages are so worn the letters have blurred, making them impossible to decipher. I don’t know what made them leave, or why Death inhabits me, but I’m determined to find out. Did we provoke their wrath or expel them? Was the world a better or worse place without them in it?

Part of me refuses to entertain the idea the gods were a menace, for that would confirm my worst fear—evil stirs inside me, threatening those I love.

Settling back into the pillows behind me, I call on my power and retreat inwards, seeking peace and calm. The dark energy instantly floods my body and mind, taming the fear and angst, although never truly able to hide the still-strained bond.

I live in a constant state of hurt, my heart set on fire, never truly numb even with my power set free, but it’s the best I’ve got. A part of me never wants the pain to go away, not until I’ve found Az and told him what I need to tell him. In a fucked-up way, I’m still connected to him, and I’ll take this over his complete absence or the excruciating hurt I tasted when he laid in my arms, his blood decorating the grass around us.

Hours later when sleeps threatens to take me, I resist, searching for the pain, exploring the most horrifying memories I have to keep me up, to keep me focused and alert.

When I’m sure the whole palace is asleep, I toss my covers aside.

I’m up in seconds, already dressed. I eye my boots in the corner of the room but opt for leaving without. Although the palace is covered in rugs, I can’t risk the sound of my soles hitting the floor.

I open the door just enough to glance around the corridor. The movement attracts the attention of Gavriel and Seth, standing guard in front of my room.

With my finger pressed against my mouth before a word leaves theirs, I step into the hall. I sign for them to stay put and close the door behind me. Both pairs of eyes shoot daggers, but I don’t care. We all know they can’t make a scene and wake Milan. I give them a knowing look before sneaking away, assured of their cooperation.

My heart pounds in my chest like a drum, the rhythmic thud echoing in the silence of the deserted halls. I turn a corner and call on my power, cloaking myself in shadows. The halls are eerily silent except for the sizzling oil of the torches.

In the dimly lit corridors, elongated and distorted shadows dance along the walls, cast by flickering torchlight behind sculptures and art pieces, turning the place into a haunted castle with monstrous figures lurking in the corners of my vision.

The darkness of my power envelops me, clinging to my every move as I press myself against the cool, rough surface of the corridor.

As I move cautiously, the distant creaks of the ancient palace settling into the night accompany me. Fear tinges the edges of my consciousness, making every creak and flicker an ominous sign of potential discovery.

I haven’t forgotten the last time I tried sneaking around in a palace, and every instinct in me screams to go back to my room. The last time didn’t exactly go well, only it was in Averion, a place I’ve learned to call home.

With each passing moment, the tension heightens and keeps my senses on high alert, but thankfully the useless walks around the palace have at least helped me memorize the layout.

My pulse stops sounding so loudly in my ears as I manage to get a grip and find my way through the empty hallways, my target in mind.

I enter a spiral stairway, pausing on the landing to listen for footsteps. The steps have been left bare, with no rugs to muffle sounds, which could play both in my favor and disadvantage. I’ve mapped out the way to the royal chambers a thousand times in my head, and this is the trickiest part. If I encounter someone in the stairwell, I’ll be royally fucked. The hiding spots are almost nonexistent.

I listen carefully for sounds of another soul wandering the corridors but come up empty.

I begin climbing the stairs, holding my breath as I count the steps and landings I come across. The royal wing is two floors up.

With a hand against the cold stones, I let my steps guide me until footsteps echo from above. I freeze.

Sending a rush of power to crush the wave of fear forming in my heart, I consider my options. By my count, I’m closer to the upper floor than the lower one, but if the night stroller is closer to me than I think, I could run right into them if I keep going.

With no time to further weigh my options, I climb steps two at a time, careful not to make a sound, silently thanking my past self for deciding to go barefoot and praying to whichever gods decided to put me on this earth.

The footsteps are getting closer and a shape appears on the stone walls of the tower I’m climbing. My blood freezes. I have mere seconds before I’m discovered.

I crush myself against the far wall, gathering my shadows and calling on the darkness around me to make me hers and shield me. If they’re carrying a torch, I’m done for.

My hands search the stone behind me as the shadow stretches, confirming the passerby has light, until my fingers find purchase in an opening. I step aside and discover an arrow slit in the wall, the opening so narrow I didn’t notice it on the way up.

The gods may be looking out for me after all.

Squishing myself into the tiny opening, I clear the steps, darkness still wrapped around me, just in time for a hooded figure to round the bend. I press myself against the cold stone wall, the rough texture digging into my back as I melt into the shadows.

The figure hurries downstairs, the hood casting a deep shadow over their face, rendering their features indistinguishable. A solitary torch clutched in their gloved hand illuminates the immediate vicinity, sending dancing tendrils of light across the stone steps. The flickering flames cast a warm, golden glow that briefly reveals the metal buckle on the figure’s boots.

The hooded figure’s cape billows behind them, a dark cascade that conceals any hint of their identity. The only sound that betrays their presence is the soft shuffle of boots against the cold stone, echoing through the narrow passageway.

I release a breath when they’re too far to hear, and quickly make my way out of this damned spiral stairway.

I crouch against a wooden chest in the hallway, giving myself a few seconds to regulate my breathing.

I’ve been to fucking hell and back, quite literally. I can do this.

Azran’s face appears in my mind, and I keep going, set on finding out what goes on behind closed doors here.

I make it to the royal wing, but freeze on the stairs’ landing. Light is streaming from a doorway a few steps away. The King and Prince’s chambers are further down, and I’m not sure what lies behind this door.

Looking both ways, I get closer as muffled voices reach my ears. I repress a grunt of frustration when I realize I can’t make out the words, but don’t dare lean my head against the wood.

A laugh resounds, chilling me to my bones, high-pitched, unrestrained, and familiar.

The hair rises on my arms as I listen attentively for another hint.

I step away abruptly when steps approach, warning that someone is coming to the door. I dive behind an unidentifiable piece of furniture.

I wait for the door to open, but it never does, keeping its occupants and their secrets frustratingly out of reach. The footsteps retreat. Letting out a slow breath, I make for the spiral stairway once more and head back to my room as fast as I can.

I can’t recall how many times my heart almost stopped in the last hour. I’m done for the night. I learned my lesson in Averion and won’t take unnecessary risks out here.

I don’t know who I’m dealing with but I’m not about to find out by getting caught wandering the castle in the middle of the night. I doubt my charm would be enough to fend off inquiries.