The sky erupts. Rain—no, hail—crashes against the stone walls of the citadel, against the panes of glass, driven by merciless winds. A bolt of lightning strikes somewhere close, followed by a deafening boom that shakes the very foundation of the prayer hall. And just as the king utters his final word, one of the large windows shatters with a violent, splintering crash.
Glass explodes into the hall, and a collective gasp ripples through the gathered mourners. Instinctively, I raise a hand pulsing with power as the shards rain down, scattering across the marble floor, but none of them touch me or Nadya. Torbin’s golden coronet tumbles from the pedestal, much the same way that Torbin himself fell from the tower. The wind surges inside, extinguishing more candles, sending the banners of mourning into a wild frenzy.
I inhale sharply, my heart hammering, a harsh sting behind my eyes.
What… just fucking happened?
ChApter
Ten
The prayer hall is in chaos. The king’s guards move swiftly through the crowd, ushering the courtiers toward the heavy double doors, their voices sharp with urgency. Among them is Sir Holden, who pushes his way to me. Once he’s certain I’m secure, he escorts me forward. I move with Nadya at my side, weaving through the dispersing crowd. My skin still tingles, the phantom sensation of that buzzing energy lingering in my fingertips.
Nadya pulls her shawl closer around her, her curls tossed by the wind. “That was spooky. Almost as if King Silas angered the gods.”
I keep my face carefully neutral, though my heart is still pounding. I don’t know what to believe. But the way the storm arrived, the way my own emotions had surged moments before, the sudden pain that came along with it… Was it just coincidence? Or did I somehow cause this?
The pain that blossomed behind my eyes makes me wince for a moment before it begins to fade.
Before I can dwell on it further, a familiar voice cuts through the commotion.
“Princess. Lady Nadya.” Indira stridestoward us, her dark brows drawn in concern. Even in the frantic atmosphere, she carries herself with her usual poise, her hands folded neatly in front of her as though nothing could ruffle her. “Let’s get you to your rooms.”
But before Indira can get us to follow her, I notice the crowd parting in the hall. My heart leaps into my throat when I realize they are moving aside for Mylo. His tall and muscular form heads quickly toward me with wide eyes.
My breath catches. “Mylo?”
“Commander! Your uncle is awake.”
For a moment, I don’t move, hardly able to believe what he’s saying.
Nadya takes my arm, practically shaking me. “Celeste, go. Sir Holden can escort you.”
Before I can respond, she gives me a reassuring nod and turns, following Indira and disappearing into the sea of black-clad mourners being funneled out of the hall.
Clenching my jaw, I turn on my heel and hurry toward my uncle’s room with Sir Holden in tow. As Mylo leads the way, my mind is burdened with worry.
He’s awake. That should be enough to calm the storm in my chest, but it doesn’t. What if it’s only for a moment? What if he slips under again before I get there? What if the elixir damaged him somehow? The thought knots my stomach. I should be grateful. Iamgrateful. But the underlying fear is persistent. It curls beneath my ribs, whispering of fevers and failing breath. Of too much lost time.
Mylo bursts through the chamber door, stepping aside quickly so I can enter. The scent of tinctures lingers in the air—earthy and bitter, with something metallic beneath it. I rush into the dim chamber, my skirts brushing the stone floor.
Ezra stands by my uncle’s bed, blocking my view as he removes a soaked cloth from my uncle’s head. When he turns to me, I notice the tight line of his shoulders has eased, though the shadows under his eyes remain. “Ah, you’re here,” he says, taking a step back.
Uncle Kormak’s weary eyes meet mine, and I let out a sigh of relief.
He’s propped slightly against the pillows, blankets tucked up to hiswaist. His face is gaunt, paler than I’ve ever seen it, with deep hollows beneath his eyes and the kind of stillness that speaks of pain long endured. Now that he’s awake, I can see he’s grown thinner, but his chest rises and falls with steady breath, for which I’m unbelievably grateful.
“Celeste, my dear,” he rasps, his voice like dry leaves scraping across stone.
For a breath, I can’t move. Then I cross the room and drop to sit on the edge of the bed, clutching his hand in both of mine. It’s colder than I expect, dry and frail, but the moment he squeezes back, I nearly lose what little composure I have left.
“Thank the gods,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat. “You had me so worried.”
A faint smile tugs weakly at his lips. “Don’t you know I never give up until my duties have been fulfilled.”
Behind me, Ezra steps away to give us space, retreating to the shadows by the window. Mylo drops into a chair near the hearth, releasing a long breath as if he’d been holding it for weeks.
I glance back at my uncle, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Please tell me you’re all right. Tell me the pain is gone.”
