I hadn’t realized I’d stopped walking, too wrapped up in my thoughts and all the possibilities. I looked up and found Katrinka’s eyes on me, her face tight with worry.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “I... I... I was lost in thought. Is Uncle Tyrn okay?”
“No,” she hissed. She spun around again and tromped down the hallway. The servants were nowhere to be seen. Not that I had yet to see them before now.
I hurried to catch up to Katrinka, but I was struggling to concentrate now that I was moving again. The black walls and doors I’d previously passed without thinking much about any of them had painted markings on them. The floor. The ceiling. The... chandeliers.
The markings were familiar. And while it took me a few minutes to place them, I soon realized they were the ones in my mother’s spell book. Runes.
Why had Ravanna painted runes all over her castle? Was Tyrn maybe physically fine but in danger instead?
And then I realized they were meant to protect the castle and all living within. The entire Keep was painted in protection charms. I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Blythe near the door to the dining room, and even she had a rune painted on her forehead.
The Bog Witch had not just given me the ability to read the pagan language but she’d also given me the ability to see it where it had previously been hidden.
As we stepped into the dining room, I took a steadying breath and leaned against a sideboard. Tyrn sat at the head of the dining table with his head in his hands. There were no guards in sight. No food in sight either. Just my uncle pulling at his hair with two fists and making sounds that made it almost seem as though he were crying.
“What have we done?” I heard him hiccup on a sob. “The children. By Denamon, Ravanna, the children.”
“There, there,” she soothed, gesturing for us to come closer. “Here they are. The children are fine, Tyrn. They are right here. You’re mistaken. They’re right here.”
He wailed a sound that sent chills skittering down my spine. But then he listened to his sister and looked up. His gaze found Katrinka and me, muddy slippers and all, standing in front of him. For just a second, his vision cleared, and he released a trembling smile.
“They’re here,” he said on a ragged breath of relief. “Oh, thank the Light, they’re here.”
Ravanna reached out and patted his cheek. “Right here, my love.”
“It was just a nightmare,” he continued, new tears for a new emotion. This one delighted relief. “I only dreamed they had been killed.”
“Yes,” Ravanna whispered soothingly. “A dream. Nothing more.”
But then his expression twisted with rage, and he pounded the table with his fist, jostling the elaborate candelabra in the center. “They want to take my throne. They want to take it from me.” Spittle flew from his lips, and his cheeks burned red. “They’ve come to take everything from me. They want to kill me, I think. They want to murder me!”
Instinct propelled me forward, and I knelt before him, laying my hand over his. “No, Uncle, we do not want that at all. The throne is still yours.Willbe yours for years yet.”
Katrinka joined me in front of him, humble and meek, exactly the way he needed to see us. “We love you, Uncle,” she promised him. “We would never wish you harm.”
His expression screwed up again, this time from fury to distress. “Do you see this, sister? Do you see what I must tolerate day and night? They are just like her! They taunt me with their goodness... with their power. How can anyone stand this? How can anyone survive this madness?” He dropped his face into his hands and let out another wail of agony.
His cries made my skin itch because they were so very tortured. He wasn’t just upset about something. Uncle Tyrn was going quite mad.
Ravanna stepped away from the table, looking as distraught as I’d ever seen her. She whispered words and moved her hands over his head.
Tyrn somehow noticed what she was doing and kicked out at her. She dodged his attempted blow easily and shot him a disappointed look, but he was back to weeping again.
“Please, no more. I can’t take anymore.” He sucked in a rasping breath that made it seem like he was drowning. Even though there was no water in sight. “No more,” he begged and begged, repeating it over and over.
Ravanna stepped back, tears clearly falling from her eyes, although she made no sound with them and her expression remained placid. She continued to whisper as she moved around the room. Tyrn’s violent weeping turned to softer cries that shook his shoulders and made him whimper. It was less shocking but no easier to watch.
“He needs an elixir I make for him sometimes,” she said absently, reaching for the handle of a far door. “Sometimes he gets lost between the past and the present, sometimes even the future and the present. And this... this helps him find his way again. I’ll be right back. Please, make sure he doesn’t leave.”
Katrinka called for her to wait, but she’d already stepped into the hallway. Very suddenly, we were left alone with our uncle and a side of him we’d never seen before.
Tyrn hiccupped a series of sobs before coming around to his senses again. He plopped his chin in his hand and rested his elbow on the table, looking very much like my brother Benedict used to when he was pouting. The sight of him so upset, and so familiar, made my heart ache for his pain.
And even though he had treated me so poorly since my return to Elysia, I couldn’t help but feel true sadness at his state. He was so different than the man who locked me away and treated me worse than a slave all those months ago. The man whose right-hand man had tried to assassinate me.He seemed so...burdened.
“It’s too heavy,” he murmured. “The weight of it is tearing me apart.” His gaze focused on me in particular. “You’ll see what I mean soon enough. The power is broken. We tried to fix it, but”—he started sobbing again—“but we broke it worse.” Tears streamed down his gaunt face and pooled on his tunic. He was barely dressed in a simple white tunic and leggings. But all his clothes were dirty from what I assumed was his hasty travel, wrinkled and splattered with mud. “It’s a broken crown. And the broken pieces of it, they dig, and they dig, and theydiginto your mind until your head is as shattered as the gold.” He made claws with his hands to illustrate and tore at the make-believe head in front of him. “It will break you too, niece. You are not the rightful heir. You are a girl who should be dead. And when they put it on you, it will smash you into pieces so small and useless, you’ll never find yourself again.”
