Chapter 11

"It's magick. It must be." Jorlyn's voice was barely above a whisper as they all sat in the garden, drinking tea as if they weren't openly discussing the very thing Ser Parzival told them to stay away from.

Magick. Aymeri couldn't believe they were talking about that again. Sure, they had assumed she was able to summon magick of some sort—the dagger flying into her hand, the fire she had made—and that was believable enough, but for magick to be the reason she got to the wrong floor using the same staircase? That was too much to believe.

"Do you hear yourself, Jorlyn? There's no way. I have read about people summoning magick, but for doors and castles to have it? They're inanimate objects. There's no way."

"Have you ever read the legends?" Drystan chimed in. "There would be a way if the legends are believed to be true."

She sighed exasperatedly. "And what legends would these be?"

"The kinds that say objects can be enchanted, and that illusions can be created."

Aymeri stifled her laughter. "Do you really expect me to believe in all this? Drystan, really?"

"We know it's insane, but there is a whole land out there where magick thrives, Aymeri. Your mother told me."

Her breath hitched. Her mother was always telling stories about a magickal land named Veralun. About how it had been one land teeming with magick. Sentinel beings, guardians, divided the land and took the magick away from anyone who was infected with dark magick. Not once did she believe it to be true. But for her mother to share that information with outsiders, she had to truly believe it.

"Okay, let's say my mother was right. Let's say that magick is somehow real, and objects can be enchanted and illusions can be created. Would that mean that somewhere near the guest staircase to this floor, there has to be a trick staircase?" Aymeri thought aloud.

Jorlyn and Drystan nodded their agreement. Clearly, they had been thinking more about magick than she had been.

"I will take on the duty of finding it," the assassin responded. "After all, I'm trained to keep to the shadows, and no one will suspect me."

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, Jorlyn. Someone tried to kill Ismana. Do you truly believe that person isn't still lurking around?"

"Ser Parzival promised he got rid of the ones who were poisoning Mother's food, remember?"

"But those are the names we know. What of the names we don't know?"

Admittedly, she hadn't thought of that. Are there truly others, or is the worst over now?

"Drystan, I am an elite assassin in the highest ranks of your kingdom. Which is home to the largest military in all of Dramolux. I will be fine."

"And what if you're not? I can't lose you, too. If someone got the drop on Ismana—a warrior— the same could happen to you."

"Except a warrior is quite different from an assassin." She quickly turned her gaze to Aymeri. "No offense."

Aymeri shook her head. "None taken." She enjoyed listening to their back and forth. It showed her how much they cared for each other, and she wondered if that's how her and her sister would have been if she had survived. For the first time since her mother passed, she realized just how alone she was. Every so often, Ser Perzival left the castle to visit family in one of the keeps he maintained, though she wasn't quite sure of the relationship he shared with the people there. Jorlyn and Drystan had each other. Who did she have?

As the siblings continued to bicker back and forth about Jorlyn's safety—she was positive the assassin was going to win the argument—tears fell silently from her eyes. Not only was she mourning the loss of her mother, but she was also mourning the rest of her lonely life.