It was Corin who spoke first.
“Our scouts saw the rider make it to the border's edge. He made his way across the cursed river waters to Calanthe before he could be apprehened .”
A hiss went around the room.
Kael said nothing until Riven added:
“We have reason to believe King Alarik is stirring.”
Draeven stepped forward, hands braced on the obsidian table.
“Should we prepare the border?”
“No,” Kael said softly. “Not yet.”
Chapter eighteen
Rooms of the Throne
-Maris-
The shadows of late afternoon draped over the stone corridors like silk spun from smoke.
Maris walked slowly, arms aching from training and her mind buzzing with half-legends and whispered curses from another dizzying session with Aldwyn.
The lorekeeper had been especially cryptic today murmuring over passages too faded to read, pausing too long on mentions of Eiren, the sleeping goddess, as if he knew more than he dared speak aloud.
Her head throbbed.
All she wanted was a quiet bath. A cup of that strange, spiced tea the twin wraiths sometimes left warming on the hearth. But as she turned down the corridor toward her chamber door, she stopped cold.
The door was open.
And inside, the pale shadows twisted.
The twins blinked up at her, calm as ever, dressed in black and gray, their movement unnervingly fluid, as always.
“We were instructed,” one said.
“To relocate your belongings,” the other added, stacking a folded crimson nightgown onto a floating tray with eerie precision.
Maris stepped inside, eyes narrowing.
“To where?” She questioned.
“To the King’s private apartments.”
Maris froze.
The words fell into her gut like stone.
“What?”
“His orders,” the wraith repeated, voice devoid of malice. “You are to be moved to the east wing. The tower chambers.”
The tower chambers, Valea had described them as the highest rooms overlooking the Calyrix’s inner court, during her tour of the grounds.
Once reserved for favored nobles, now only housing Kael.
