“Prager,” Reyla breathed.
Farris whined, his fur standing on end as he pressed against my leg.
We were being hunted, and our hunter wanted us to know it.
We moved faster. The road climbed up and up, each turn of the spiral shoving us closer to the summit. Birds didn’t call. No insects hummed. The hush was too perfect, as if the woods had been warned of our arrival and silenced themselves for some worrying reason.
When the castle finally came into view, I stopped. I’d been to the outskirts of Halendor but hadn’t had the chance to approach Irridain. I’d studied stolen floor plans of the inside and the painted images of the exterior.
This place didn’t have Evergorne's elegant beauty. Irridain was a fortress masquerading as a palace. Pale blue walls shimmered with veins that looked too much like dried blood. Towers jutted skyward at harsh angles, and narrow windows watched us with predatory eyes.
At the center, the main keep rose taller than the rest of the structure, its peak lost to the fog curling down from the mountaintop behind it. Ivy coiled around the base, but it had turned black in the cold. I could swear I saw a patch writhe when the wind blew just right. At least there was wind here, unlike inside the garden or along the trail.
The courtyard beyond the portcullis sat empty other than more statues coated in gauzy moss and bent in poses that showed agony and torture.
At least I didn’t recognize their faces.
“We’ve arrived,” Reyla said softly, her breath misting around her face.
I nodded, sweeping my gaze across the area again but seeing no movement.
As we stepped into the courtyard, the two-story woodencastle doors ahead jutted open with a creak like a scream muffled by cloth.
A tall, thin woman strode into the opening, wearing a gray dress that clung to her frame like cobwebs. Her nose could have cut glass. She’d coiled her black hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were slits of ice that rivaled the blue stone around her.
Her lips curling, she looked at us as if we’d tracked in something filthy on our boots.
“Lord Rutherford. Lady Rutherford. Lord Vikire,” she said, her voice flat and nasal. “You’re late.”
Beside me, Reyla stiffened. I offered her my arm, and after sheathing her blades, she took it, her fingers curling into the crook of my elbow. I didn’t look away from the servant.
“Yet we have arrived,” I said in an equally clipped tone. No point in wasting breath arguing with a mouthpiece.
She sniffed. “You can still join the others in the dining room if you hurry and dress in something more appropriate.” The twist of her lips told me we weren’t wearing anything near fancy enough. Our clothing was perfectly suitable for travel.
Turning, the woman entered the building, and we followed, the enormous foyer gulping us down. The air inside felt only a bit warmer than outside, and it smelled like ancient stone and clothing in sore need of a wash.
A vaulted ceiling spiked high above us, supported by thick pillars. Lights wavered in iron sconces, creating writhing shadows on the walls. Tapestries hung between the pillars, depicting hunts and coronations.
Charming.
Our footsteps echoed on the black marble floor.
A rustle from the broad, gilded staircase that emerged into the center of the foyer caught my attention.
Queen Naveer and Princess Laphira descended the final few steps and joined us on the marble floor. The queen’s gown shimmered like ice, every bit of fabric adorned with glittering beads. The dress clung to her body, accentuating her large breasts. Her face was hard, angular, and proud, too proud for someone with no warmth in her eyes. The princess walked a step behind, her golden gown a softer echo of her mother’s. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor.
A golden chain circled her throat, supporting a featherdorn that caught the light. My breath stopped.
The talisman.
It rested against her skin, so close I could probably reach out and touch it.
Should we grab it and run?Reyla asked.
Too many protective wards.I wouldn’t be able to flit us to Evergorne before they dropped over us, trapping us in Irridain’s grip.Queen Naveer commands magic we're not ready to face.
I’m willing to try.
