31. Chapter 31

thirty-one

N evander raked his fingers through his hair, his scalp tingling with the force of his frustration as he faced his sister. “Because I lied to her! I made her believe I was just a simple man.”

Ciana crossed her legs beneath her. “Aren’t you a man like any other, with feelings and desires?”

“No,” he retorted, frustration simmering. “I have responsibilities…” The words tasted bitter. Duty, his eternal shackles.

Ciana’s hand on his arm silenced his spiral. “Alright, what did you lie about? Did you make up a bunch of stories?”

Actually, he hadn’t. Every piece of himself he’d shared with Kallessa had been real, raw, and honest. It was just under false pretenses.

“No,” he admitted. “But at first it didn’t matter. It was only a two-week party, for goodness’ sake.” He paused, running a hand over his face. “And then there was that damn fake engagement—”

Ciana laughed. “Wait, you have to tell me what happened.”

Nevander shook his head. “It was that blasted Warwick Ratliff. He was harassing Kallessa, and you should have seen her, the desperation in her eyes. How could I not help her?” He let out a soft chuckle. “I have to admit I was shocked when she announced our engagement to Castien. ”

Ciana howled with laughter. “Oh my, I need to get to know Kallessa. I think the two of us could be good friends.”

Nevander huffed before staring into the flames. “You would like her. She truly is a kind person.” Guilt gnawed at his insides. “I should have told her the truth.”

Ciana wiped moisture from her eyes with her fingertips. “Well, why didn’t you?”

“Because that page interrupted us,” Nevander said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was weak.

His sister raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, you could have told the page to wait.”

He could have.

He could have told the bloody page to go pound rocks, but he didn’t. He’d used it as an excuse to have just a few more moments of that adoring expression on Kallessa’s beautiful face.

It was fear, plain and simple. Fear of watching her face turn to scorn, or horror, or disgust. Watching any affection she’d formed for him burn to ashes and that golden light go out in her eyes.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he finally said, kicking his feet back up onto the coffee table and burying himself in the cushions of the settee.

“That much is true,” Ciana teased.

“Thanks, sis,” he responded flatly, crossing his tired arms across his chest. He was going to be too sore to move if he didn’t get a hot bath soon.

“I have a confession to make,” Ciana spoke after a moment of silence.

Nevander raised an eyebrow. “Oh? ”

She flipped her long auburn hair behind her shoulder. “Castien and I have been corresponding about you for over a year.”

So that’s what those covert looks shared between Castien and Ciana had been about. But before Nevander could get upset over their meddling, she held up her hand. He heaved a sigh and shut his mouth.

His sister’s eyes went soft. “I was worried about you. When you came back from the war with your arm in a sling, I knew your body would heal. I wasn’t so worried about that. You’re young and healthy.”

She blinked and looked away from him, her gaze settling on the shadowless evening outside. “It was when I looked into your eyes that I knew something was very wrong.” She turned back to Nevander, her eyes shimmering with tears. “My brother was missing. And left in his place was this hollow shell. A person who responded when spoken to, who smiled when required, but was empty.”

She jumped up and grabbed the poker, stirring the embers back to life before turning. “And then you went off with Tarrick, of all people, drinking yourself into a stupor, and only goodness knows what else.”

Nevander sank deep into the cushions, wishing the plush velvet could swallow him whole and shield him from Ciana’s probing words. She didn’t need to know the sordid details of what he’d done during those dark times in the aftermath of the war - the reckless bouts of drunkenness, the numbing oblivion he sought in brothels, the self-destructive rage that consumed him. He’d been desperately trying to forget those memories himself .

Now his sister was dredging it all back up from the murky depths where he’d submerged it. All this time, he’d deluded himself into thinking his carefully constructed facade had fooled everyone around him.

“When Castien wrote me, I clung to the hope he might help you, because I certainly couldn’t. And I refused to let you go down the path of destruction. So, we devised a plan to get you away from home.”

She turned away from him, replacing the poker on its stand. “I just couldn’t watch you destroy yourself and feel so helpless to do anything about it.” Her shoulders slumped, her back still to him as she spoke quietly, “I love you, Nevander. And if anyone deserves happiness, you do.”

Kallessa’s berated herself once more as the shadowless afternoon slipped toward evening. What had she been thinking? At least they’d ridden past the snow, and the roads were dry, but she hadn’t even brought food. Her stomach growled in protest as she stopped by a stream, gulping the icy water while Sunu grazed on autumn grasses. They had to find shelter before dark.

On the way to Ravenbluff, the inns had been evenly spaced for a carriage. One had to be near. Despite her late start, Sunu was faster than any carriage. Kallessa’s heart leaped as she crested the next rise, an inn materializing in the distance. She nudged Sunu into a trot, and the mare, sensing rest and food ahead, needed little encouragement .

At the inn, Kallessa quickly scanned the stables, hoping to spot the Wynlar carriage. Nothing. Nausea chased away her hunger. Well, they could be a full day ahead. Maybe they stopped at the next inn. Weariness weighed on her as she handed Sunu off to the stable boy, one of her few precious copper coins in his hand. She could survive on next to nothing, but Sunu needed strength and rest.

Darkness fell as Kallessa pushed open the inn’s door. Shemmar was off the main road to the capital, so this inn wasn’t very busy, which was just as well. She didn’t want to answer a lot of questions.

The innkeeper glanced at her, then the door, before frowning.

“Is it just you, miss?” The Krithadean man’s disapproval was palpable.

“Oh, ah, my companions are on their way. They should arrive within the hour.” She forced a smile, earning her a grudging half-smile in return.

He didn’t believe her.

“I have the coin, though. I was sent ahead to secure a room.”

His grimace softened slightly as she retrieved her pouch. She may be a woman alone, but money was still money.

“Ye have your choice this evening. Only one other guest. Second floor room overlooking the barn, or main floor beside the fireplace.”

A fireplace was tempting, but privacy and keeping an eye on Sunu won out. “Second floor, please.”

“Twelve coppers,” the innkeeper demanded, his gaze sharp.

Kallessa nearly dropped her purse at the outrageous sum, but years of negotiating with seasoned merchants steadied her expression. If she could bargain with the best traders in the bustling markets of Teansong, she could certainly haggle with this cantankerous old man.

Taking a deep breath, she countered, “Seven coppers.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Ten.”

“Eight,” she said, holding her ground.

He harrumphed loudly. “There isn’t anywhere else to go this time of night. Nine coppers, and that’s final.”

Seizing one last opportunity, Kallessa asked, “Does it include supper?”

Exasperated, he relented. “For you, miss. Of course.”

Her stomach cramped in gratitude. “Then done.” She counted out the coppers, her purse feeling alarmingly lighter. She needed to make better time tomorrow. Only funds for one more night remained.

The innkeeper shuffled over on a crippled leg, wear and age etched into his face. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, pointing with a stubby finger. “It’s the last door at the end of the hall.”

Before she ascended the stairs, he placed a large tarnished key in her hand, its metal cold against her palm.

“Do you want supper in your room or in the main hall?” he asked, eyeing her travel-worn appearance.

Kallessa just wanted to fall into bed and let the weariness of the road slip away. “My room, please,” she replied, stifling a yawn.

“I’ll have Millie send it up shortly.” He paused, his faded eyes falling on hers, concern etched in the surrounding creases. “Keep the door locked, miss.” With that warning lingering, he stumped his way back to the counter and out of sight, his uneven gait echoing in the empty space .

The room was a shadowy, cold cave even with the lamps turned up. A small bed shoved in the corner had a wool coverlet and soft flannel sheets covering it and appeared to be clean. At least she wouldn’t wake up with bedbugs. She shivered. Cool night air seeped in around the small window overlooking the stable as promised. Maybe she should have chosen the room by the fireplace.

A knock on the door made her jump.

“Here’s your dinner, miss.”

Kallessa opened the door to a diminutive woman, even smaller than herself, with silver hair in two braids over her shoulders. Calloused hands held a tray of food that smelled heavenly.

“Thank you.” Kallessa smiled, but the woman left without a word. She set the tray on the table and locked the door behind her.

A large hunk of brown bread sat next to a thick stew full of turnips and carrots and small bits of venison. A tankard of small beer chilled beside it. Her mouth watered at the sight.

She devoured the meal, scraping the last bit of stew out of the bowl with the bread, then drained the tankard. The bed beckoned, as her full stomach lulled her into drowsiness. Stripping to her chemise, she crawled into the flannel sheets, pulling the blankets high. Exhaustion overtook her, her dread of the upcoming days lost to a dreamless sleep, and Nevander’s name a whisper on her lips.

It was silent, so silent. Even the frigid winds that whistled down the Narian pass had calmed. Nevander stopped feeling the cold hours ago. Or was it days ago? Time ceased to have meaning in this frozen wasteland. Bodies draped the vast landscape before him, blue and stiff in death. Snow drifted across warm puddles of crimson, melting, then refreezing.

His men lay dead. He'd failed them. From his vantage in the pit, the world was all slowly turning white. Friends, enemies, the snow covered them all indiscriminately.

Thirst clawed at his throat. His empty canteen was a cold, hard lump at his side, along with his spent musket and satchel. What if he closed his eyes? Only for a moment?

No! He couldn't.

Move or die. He dug raw fingers into the snow, struggling to rise. Shaking like a weakling, he climbed from the pit and stumbled back to the ship.

But the ship was gone.

In its place, on the frothy sea littered with black ice, floated a small female form, facedown in the undulating waves. Her long dark curls tangled with bracken, her indigo gown drenched and partly dragging her under. His feet stumbled over the slick rocks, every step in slow motion, time stretching in reverse. Wasn’t he moving forward? He watched his boots, torn and bloodstained, as he tried to get to that floating body.

He turned, searching for footprints. There were none. Then he saw his body still in the pit, frozen under mounds of dirt, blood oozing from his shoulder.

Get up! He screamed. She needed him. Yet he lay there amongst the dead, waiting for daylight.

Yelling. Rumbling. Soldiers running...

Nevander woke, gasping, tearing at the blankets as if climbing from a grave. Moonlight cast unsettling shadows across the room. That nightmare, he’d had it so many times. But this time the ship was gone, and in its place was a body. The hair on his head rose and prickles ran down his body.

Kallessa. Her body floating lifeless in the icy sea.

Panic propelled him from the bed. What if she was hurt? He had to find her. Even if she left on her own.

Yelling from the hallway jolted him into action. He yanked on trousers and tunic, not bothering with laces, and ripped open the door.

A guard rushed past, shoving a maid aside in his urgency. Nevander followed, giving the maid an apologetic look as he, too, ran past. His gut twisted with each turn, leading to the family suite.

Declan’s sharp gaze caught his as he rounded the corner to Castien’s bedchamber. The doors gaped open, every lamp blazing. On the floor lay Castien, twisted unnaturally, a fireplace poker still gripped in his hand.

Nevander shoved past the guards gathered in the doorway, his heart pounding. He knelt at Castien’s side, dread coiling in his stomach. But Castien still breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, pulse fluttering against pale skin. Blood smeared from a split lip and his eyes were black and swollen. Beaten within an inch of his life.

“Get him to a bed! Don’t just stand there, you idiots. Declan!” Nevander barked, his voice cracking with urgency. The soldiers remained rooted in place. Nevander gritted his teeth, the metallic taste of rage flooding his mouth. He didn’t rule here, had no authority over these men.

He should have prevented this. He’d failed Castien, just as he’d failed his men. Failure, failure, failure—the mantra pounded through him, his breath sawing in and out as he stared at Castien's battered body.

Declan gripped his arm, fingers digging in. “Van, get a hold of yourself,” he whispered.

Nevander clenched his jaw, struggling to regain his composure. He’d led men through countless battles, suffered through days and nights of uncertainty and guilt, but he was here right now. And right now he had a chance to help.

He could do this. Shoving away the spinning thoughts trying to drag him down, he flicked his eyes to the captain.

“Do I have your permission to take over?” Nevander asked. Declan’s dark blue eyes bored into his. After a tense moment, he gave a sharp nod.

“Everyone do as Prince Nevander commands. That’s an order!”

Nevander straightened, projecting authority despite the turmoil raging within. “Cut his clothes away so we can assess the injuries. When did this happen?”

A soldier stepped forward. “Not sure, my lord. Perhaps in the past hour.”

Nevander gritted his teeth. Anything could happen in an hour. “Have we secured the queen’s whereabouts?”

And what about Ciana and Wynna?

He pointed at two soldiers. “Help me with the prince. The rest of you search every room. Report back immediately.” He turned to Declan. “Find Ciana and Wynna.”

Declan paled and bolted from the room.

Nevander directed the soldiers as they carefully cut away Castien’s clothes, revealing a body battered and bruised .

Thin, so thin. He wanted to clench his fists until they cut through his palms. Instead, his touch was feather light as he checked for breaks and straightened Castien gently. His skin was like ice.

“Carry him to the bed and cover him with blankets,” Nevander ordered. Once Castien was on the plush bed, he stoked the fireplace into a roaring blaze.

Ciana burst into the room, eyes wide, Declan close behind. Her hair fell in disarray to her waist, her green robe hastily tied.

“Where’s Wynna?” Nevander asked.

“Still asleep with a guard at her door.” She looked down at Castien and gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “Was he attacked?”

“I think so,” Nevander replied grimly.

“By who?”

“I don’t know. He suspected the poisoner was still at large. That’s why he asked me to come. I should have been looking harder.”

Ciana placed a hand on his arm. “We’ll find who did this, but right now, he needs us.”

“I’ve sent word to the capital,” Declan said, his eyes flicking between Castien and Ciana.

Declan had been here when Dane was killed, when Castien was poisoned. Perhaps Nevander had been going about this all wrong.

“Declan, you and Ciana are the smartest people I know, besides Castien, and he’s no help right now. You two scour this place for clues. I’ll stay by Castien’s side.”

He’d be damned if he let another man die on his watch.