8. Chapter 8

eight

C anary blossoms and feminine sweetness lingered in Nevander’s nostrils as he strode toward the royal chambers. His heart raced, the treasonous conversation still echoing in his ears.

“So, the little bastard still lives, although he looks like death. Why couldn’t he just die like his brother? It would have made all our lives easier.”

“What about the king?”

“He’s getting old. His time will come. Soon, we’ll see the downfall of the whole stinking Ravenbluff family.”

“Good riddance.”

Nevander’s fists clenched. If only he’d been alone, he would have dragged those shadows into the light. But he couldn’t alarm the woman beside him. He finally had a name to go with those large golden eyes.

Kallessa.

He wanted to see her in the daylight, see the sun glinting off her sooty lashes and mahogany curls.

Her accent held the murmur of southern winds through golden fields, a melody of gentle days beside azure waves. So different from the harsh, driving snows and biting cold of the northern reaches.

Birazahia was a prime example. Before the empire fell in the war, Nevander had fought in the frigid Narian mountain range, bordering Dracia and the old empire. The people there were hardy and stout, with no time for pleasantries. Except for Shaydn, that young healer he’d rescued. Her compassion had unknowingly shaped the future of kingdoms.

Could he ask Castien about her? Did Castien even remember the healer Nevander had sent to tend to him?

Nevander tapped on Castien’s chamber door. No response. Of course, the prince wouldn’t escape the opening event so easily. Thank goodness he was here under guise. Castien had laughed when Nevander told him he disguised himself as a son of a shipbuilder looking for backers.

“Isn’t that what you really are?” Castien had asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Pretty much. Father is always trying to figure out ways to build more ships.”

“What is his obsession with ship building, anyway?” Castien inquired.

“First, the war destroyed entire fleets, so building is always good business. Second, I’ve always seen that wanderlust in his eyes at the shipyard as he looks out to sea. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day Mother wakes up to find a note from him tacked to the bedpost saying he’s sailed off into the unknown.”

“You and I had dreams like that once.”

“We did, didn’t we?” Nevander had agreed, lost in the memories for a moment.

Letting himself into Castien’s chambers, he scanned the dimly lit room. Heavy drapes concealed the windows, blocking any errant light .

He pushed them back, swinging open the windows. The distant sounds of festivities blended with the early autumn chorus of crickets.

Castien’s book on Ravenbluff’s history lay on his nightstand. Its pages were dogeared with use, filled with tales of hidden passages, of wars and loves, each word laden with the dust of secrets. The bookmark betrayed the last words Castien had devoured:

Great-great grandfather Darington constructed the underground passages that span the west and south wing. Their uses were many in the last war, but were also used for such things as Grandmother Ravenbluff’s lovers. After one such tryst was caught, the passageways were blocked off and have fallen into misuse. I’ve been in them, but they are in dire disrepair and threaten to collapse upon one’s head. I endeavored to catalogue all the tunnels, but I fear I have fallen short. This land holds more mysteries than I can catalogue. If only Darington’s records hadn’t mysteriously disappeared.

“Read anything interesting?” Castien’s voice broke Nevander’s focus.

Nevander glanced up. “I never knew about the underground passageways. Imagine the trouble we could have gotten into.”

Castien grinned. “I know. This book was hidden on a high shelf behind the land management journals. My illness had me reading everything to ease the boredom.”

Nevander laid down the book reluctantly, even though he itched to read more. The Ravenbluff estate had always been a conundrum, old and new, state-of-the art and crumbling ruins.

Castien closed the window, shutting out the crisp night air creeping into his bedchamber. He shivered and stoked the fire back to life. His lips were tinged with blue as he tossed off his dinner attire, throwing it on the bed.

“So, I saw you leave early this evening,” Castien said, quirking an eyebrow. “Any reason?”

“Remember the blond-haired little tyrant that stole my room at the inn?” Nevander replied.

Castien lips quirked. “Yes. It seems I recall you grumbling about her.”

“Well, she’s actually here.” Nevander continued.

“I know.” Castien responded.

“Of course you do,” Nevander muttered. In Castien’s world, nothing was ever truly a secret. “Did you know she traveled with a companion?”

Castien rummaged through his wardrobe, his voice muffled as he answered. “Are you really asking me if I don’t know who is at my own estate?”

Nevander rolled his eyes. “Fine. You take the fun out of everything.”

Castien withdrew a heavy fur cloak from the wardrobe, then mimicked sealing his lips and motioned Nevander to continue his tale.

Nevander paced, the night in the stable flashing in his mind. Would Kallessa ever realize it had been him? “Her companion did something nice for me, and I repaid her unkindly. When I saw her leaving the hall, I thought I’d apologize.”

Castien raised his eyebrows.

He paused, jaw clenching. “Also, she’d been sitting next to that odious Warwick Ratliff.”

“Permission to speak?” Castien asked .

“Granted,” Nevander replied with an exaggerated sigh.

Castien flipped his hand dismissively. “As you know, I have attended every insipid ball and banquet at the estate since I was a child. Consequently, I know every tiresome person who is at this ridiculous festival by name.”

“Well, that’s all fine and well, but I haven’t gotten to the reason I’m here,” Nevander said.

“Spit it out then,” Castien said impatiently, though Nevander could tell his curiosity was piqued.

“I may have hidden behind the curtains in your father’s office with her.”

A broad grin spread across Castien’s face. “Oh, this is rich. What happened?”

“I didn’t intend to, but two more people came in. Maybe you should put some locks on these doors.”

“But then, where would all the lovers hide?” Castien teased.

Nevander stopped pacing and stared at him.

“So, who were they?” Castien asked.

“I thought you knew everyone here.”

“Not psychically.” Castien replied flatly.

“I never saw them, but they were speaking Birazahian.” The harsh, guttural language of the far north was unmistakable. Nevander had become fluent in the language while stationed along the Narian border during the war, though he’d struggled initially to wrap his mouth around the alien phrases. Dracian, his native speech, had a far more melodious flow, but most people of the southern countries spoke the common language.

Castien’s smile faded. He strolled to the fireplace, staring into the flames. “Interesting, but not unreasonable. More refugees have fled Birazahia since the war ended. Mother invited some dignitaries as a sign of peace. I wish she’d stop being so trusting.”

“True, but these two were talking about Dane.”

Castien froze, his gaze fixed on Nevander. “And what did they say?”

“That it was too bad he was the only dead Ravenbluff.”

Castien’s eyes narrowed to slits, his expression darkening like a thundercloud rolling in. For a tense moment, he went utterly still, the only movement the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathed. But when he finally spoke again, his voice held an edge of dismissal.

“Unfortunately, the Ravenbluffs aren’t universally loved, but that is something to go on. I’ll check the invitation list for our foreign guests.”

He jabbed the poker into the fire, sending sparks dancing up the chimney. Abruptly, he flopped into the chair closest to the hearth, his piercing gaze boring into Nevander.

“Now, tell me about the girl.”

Kallessa could have really used that chocolate biscuit right now. Her stomach fluttered as she paced across the plush carpet, her heels sinking with each step. For a girl whose most exciting event was the delivery of the monthly periodicals her aunt subscribed to, this day had been a whirlwind.

That mystery man’s oddly familiar voice taunted her. He’d been so charming and then, poof, gone. And the other people in the room, speaking in an unknown language... That mystery right there was enough to drive a person to distraction.

She needed air. Turning up the lamp on the desk, she pulled out the map from her handbag. Her finger traced their location in the south wing, following the hall to the nearest exit. With a deep breath, she picked up the lamp and stepped into the corridor. The rumbling of conversations sounded far away from the private quarters, and Kallessa heaved a sigh of relief. She'd had all the peopling she could stand for one day.

The soft swish of her skirts accompanied her as she pushed open the paned double doors. A rush of cool air enveloped her, sending a shiver down her spine. Maybe she should've worn one of Dovina’s flimsy shawls. Not that it would've warded off much chill. Back home, she had a soft woolen jacket for nights like these, not some useless lacey thing.

How much had Uncle Talos unwittingly paid for this new wardrobe? Probably more than he gave her and Aunt Gevene for the entire year. If nothing came of this trip, perhaps she could sell it all. Buy herself more time to figure things out.

Her dark blue gown had sleeves and skirts made of three layers of gauzy taffeta that rustled when she walked. It was beautiful, and she couldn’t fault her cousin for her taste. But after this time was over, she would have no use for such finery. Cleaning chicken coops and cooking dinner called for much simpler clothes.

Boxy holly shrubs lined the walkway, their berries turning red in the dim light. The path split three ways, and Kallessa raised her lantern, its glow quickly swallowed by the darkness. In the distance, a subtle light caught her eye .

As she approached, relief washed over her. The stables. Here, at least, she could relax without judgment. As she roamed among the stalls, breathing in clean hay and crisp night air, a low whinny caught her attention.

Her heart stopped. Those glossy dark eyes, that russet coat with a black mane... It couldn’t be.

“Sunu?”

The mare neighed, shaking her head.

“Is that really you, girl?” Kallessa’s hand trembled as she reached out. Sunu’s velvety nose pushed into her palm, warm breath ghosting over her skin.

A lump formed in Kallessa’s throat as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. This was a fragment of her past, a link she’d thought was severed forever when Uncle Talos sold off every last one of her family’s horses.

Her fingers stroked Sunu’s thick mane as memories flooded in. Days spent in the stables, mucking out stalls and brushing the mares until their coats gleamed, watching her mother train their horses, laughing at her little brother, Blain, as he fed them stolen sugar cubes. To be reunited with Sunu felt like a shard of her shattered life had been returned.

“You’ve grown up so pretty,” Kallessa whispered, her voice thick. “Mother would be proud of you.” If only she wasn’t in this stupid dress. She would climb over the railing and hug the mare. Instead, she leaned over the wood beam, stroking Sunu’s soft mane and satin cheeks.

The image of her mother, tiny but strong, working tirelessly to ensure Sunu’s difficult birth, rose unbidden. Love and loss tangled in Kallessa’s chest .

Tears fell, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. “Oh, Mama,” she choked out, “I miss you so much.”