“You tried to kill me.”
His gaze flicked to Pherin, whose feathers had flared into a puff around her. “You should cut ties with that thing. It can’t protect a fly.”
“She’s amazing, unlike you.”
A low growl rolled from Derren. Maddox’s eyes cut toward him, then back to me. “Enjoy your evening, teammates.” He shoved away from the table, the bench screeching over the stone, and stalked toward the other end of the hall.
“Pleasant as ever,” Lexie muttered, ripping at a hunk of bread.
I shrugged, even as the tension in my shoulders remained.
“He’ll get tired of trying to get back into our good graces eventually,” Kerralyn said.
“I doubt it,” Derren said.
We ate a bit and during a lull, I told them about the last line and shared my thoughts about the drawing of the young girl in the book.
“It just…re-resmeared itself?” Derren asked, and I nodded.
A frown knit Kerralyn’s brow. “Was he speaking of the girl or someone else?”
“I don’t know.”
“You really think it’s your mother?” Lexie asked, concern in her eyes. “How is that possible? You said the book appeared old, which, I guess, is odd in itself since the Skathes came through the veil only sixteen years ago.”
“Weirder things have happened around here lately,” Derren said.
“The book suggested that Velacross Blyte may have traveled through the veil to the other realm,” Kerralyn said, her journal out on the table, her pencil hovering over a clean page. “How could your mother be a part of anything related to the Skathes?”
“She died when I was ten,” I said.
Frowning, Kerralyn tapped her pencil on her top teeth. “Sixteen years ago. Interesting timing.”
“What’s your mother’s history?” Lexie asked, leaning forward.
“She was an orphan, raised in Caldrith Court. One of my father’s most trusted advisors introduced them.” They’d married not long after.
Kerralyn looked up from where she was taking notes in her journal. “Maybe she knew Velacross?”
I told myself that I would’ve been too young for her to share much from her past, but I’d never seen my mother as someone with secrets.
Except the secret we kept together of my magic.
We tossed out theories but it was hard to come up with much based solely on a drawing that may or may not be of my mother and cryptic words. Giving up, we returned to our meals.
The great doors at the far end of the hall opened, and the rush of air that followed didn’t dim the chatter swirling around the room. Only the torches on the walls shuddered.
Trew entered, dressed in leathers sporting stains and tears. A broadsword rode in a sheath down his back, and twin daggers accented his narrow hips. Even exhausted and battle-worn, he was devastating. The way he moved through the room commanded attention, with his shoulders back despite the weariness on his face. He was still every inch the king, even when I could tell from the exhaustion in his eyes that he was close to falling apart.
Pherin left my shoulder, flying straight to him like she recognized her other half.
Smart bird.
The curl of his shoulders and the creases on his face made him appear…defeated. Maybe that wasn’t quite the right word, but it fit.
His hair was wet, like he’d dunked his head in a trough of water, and his clothing was almost as damp. Maybe he’d bathed near the battlefield and redressed in the only outfit he’d had. Yet he’d come here rather than go directly to his chambers.
His usually controlled expression had fractured, and devastation hung beneath his golden eyes. Gavelle shifted on his shoulder, digging his claws into Trew’s tunic, his ember eyes glowing.
