Thiswas Larken Everest? The head architect? She was…not what I expected.
My thoughts must have shown on my features, for she gave a small smirk. “Before you ask: yes, I’m the youngest architect in two centuries. Yes, I’m a woman. And yes, I do, in fact, know what I’m doing. Does that answer any questions you may have, Miss Wolff?”
Twisting my hands in my lap, I swallowed. “I was surprised, that’s all.” And a bit embarrassed, not knowing the head architect was awoman. All of the past emperors had selected men for this position—and aged men, at that. The vast majority of architects were old enough to have witnessed multiple Decemvirates in theirlifetime. Larken Everest probably only remembered one,maybetwo.
Humming, she reached for a tea tray a servant had placed in front of her. “Would you care for some tea?” She held the ceramic pot in the air, gesturing toward me.
“No thank you, Miss Everest.”
“Please, call me Lark.” She poured a cup for herself and stirred in a sugar cube. “The guards filled me in on your situation, and I’m very sorry to hear about what happened to your family.” Her tone was genuine, remorseful. “I wish I could say attacks like that are abnormal, but unfortunately, we receive reports nonstop this close to the tournament. The emperor sends his guards to patrol, but it doesn’t seem to do much good, does it?”
My eyes widened as she took a sip of tea, her gaze watching me closely over her cup. Such a small statement, but even that was as brazen as I’d imagine someone could get toward the emperor, especially under his very roof.
“The attack isn’t what I’m here for, Miss—Lark. We got out of that unscathed.” Except for poor Larson. I closed my eyes as guilt gripped me. I’d scarcely thought of our elderly driver, how he’d lost his life simply for doing his job.
I was lucky not to have met the same end. I owed my life to the hooded mystery man, who my thoughts had wandered to several times in the hours since. How had he known we were in trouble? He had to be an Alchemist, or at least part Alchemist, with the way he’d cast to kill that Shifter. But whowashe? Why had he been there?
Shaking away my thoughts, I continued. “My uncle fell under the Somnivae curse last night after we were attacked. He is—wasthe Feywood challenger.”
Lark nodded, slowly rubbing her finger along the cup’s rim. “Yes, I’m aware of who your uncle is.”
I waited for her to say more, to offer some trite condolence or solution, but she stayed quiet. I pressed on. “Then you know thedifficult situation that puts us in. I came here to see what could be done about it. My entire province is relying on him to compete.”
Lark leaned back in her seat. “They are relying onsomeoneto compete.”
I blinked, unable to get a good read on this woman. “Yes, and thatsomeoneis currently lying in this palace’s infirmary, unable to wipe the drool from his chin. Is there time to bring in another challenger from Feywood?”
Faint wrinkle lines appeared on her dark features when she frowned. “I’m afraid that would take far too long, first to get word to them, then to arrange passage from Feywood to here. The Decemvirate begins in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Then postpone the start. Can’t you do that?”
“Unfortunately, that’s out of my hands.”
Irritation bubbled beneath my skin. It was like she didn’twantFeywood to compete, didn’t want to work to find a solution for my people. I couldn’t think of a single instance in the history of the Decemvirate where a province failed to produce a challenger. What would happen to our magic if that happened? Even when people had died in past Decemvirates, their provinces still received a small amount of magic in honor of the challenger who had participated. But Feywood wouldn’t get the chance now. What if our magic wouldn’t be replenished because of this? What if it continued to weaken until it disappeared altogether?
“Alright, then we find someone from Feywood who’s here for therevelry,” I offered, a bit of a bite to my tone. “There have to be plenty of people already in the city who could be at the palace within a couple hours.” And more than willing to wear the glory of the title.
“You’re right, there probably are,” Lark mused. She put her cup down and steepled her hands in front of her face. “What makes me curious is the fact thatyouhave not yet volunteered.”
My mind went blank. “I—volunteered for what?”
“To take your uncle’s place.”
Was shejoking?
I let out an involuntary snort, and her eyebrows quirked upward. “You find this suggestion funny?”
This whole situation was the furthest thing from “funny” I could imagine. Stumbling over my own tongue, I said, “I—I can’t do that. I can’t compete. I’m not—” My mouth hung open, words escaping me.
“You’re not what?” Lark leaned forward, her ample chest flush with the desk. “From what your uncle tells me, you’re very much like him in many regards.”
The hair on the back of my neck raised, my lips parting on a shocked exhale. “When have you spoken with my uncle?”What was going on?
She stayed silent. With a flick of her wrist, shadows billowed from the desk. I sucked in a breath at the unfamiliar display of power. Darkness tumbled over itself as some shadows solidified and sealed themselves in the cracks of the chamber door and others raced along the windows behind the desk, blocking the morning sun that peeked in through the curtains.
In an instant, the entire room was as dark as night, the only light coming from two flickering candles on Lark’s desk.
A Shadow Wielder. I’d never met one before. The way her shadows moved…it was like they were breathing. A living extension of her. It wasincredible.
