The little wood nymph set the tray down on a stand beside the table, clearing her throat primly. “Beg pardon, my lord, but I couldn’t help overhearing . . .”
Fione’s cheeks flushed as we all turned to look at her. “If it’s Adraeis clay you need, I know Her Majesty kept some here.” Her gaze flicked to the royal guard. “She used it to heal Master Adriel whenever he got into scrapes as a youngling.”
I felt a swell of hope at Fione’s revelation, though I quickly tamped it down. It sounded almost too good to be true. Was it possible something was actually goingrightin our quest to rejoin Morta with her hands?
“She kept it in the ironwood cabinet in her chambers, my lord. I don’t believe it was damaged in . . . the attack.” The little female faltered on the last two words, her face growing ashen at the memory.
A cold vise clenched around my heart as I imagined Fione fleeing into the woods while Semphrys’s demons sacked the manor.
Kaden must have been picturing something similar, because his expression hardened. “Show me,” he said, his chair scraping against the hardwood as he rose from the table.
Fione gave a curt nod, backing out into the corridor and leading him up the wooden staircase.
I followed behind them, lured by my own curiosity and a desire to explore more of the manor. The steps creaked loudly underfoot, and I hoped the blackened wood would not crumble beneath my weight.
We reached the second floor, where a set of carved wooden doors opened on a wave of magic that tasted likemorning dew. Light spilled onto the singed oak floorboards, and I blinked as little motes of dust fluttered all around.
The queen’s chambers were airy and refined, though the walls had been charred by hellfire, and the periwinkle bed linens lay in burned tatters. The crumbling remains of a beautiful four-poster stood against one wall, and a cracked and spotted mirror reflected Kaden’s ashen face.
He looked haunted as he took in the bedchamber. The wood-paneled walls were decorated with the same style of carvings that had adorned the House of Guile, though in here, they seemed whimsical rather than sinister.
An oil painting of two younglings hung over the hearth: the first had raven-black hair and a mischievous glint in his eye; the second was a serious-looking redhead with skinny arms and legs.
Adriel.
My chest squeezed. According to Kaden, Queen Elowynn had created Adriel as a companion for her son. But one look at this painting, and it was clear that the child of the clay had meant much more to her than that.
Despite the black marks that marred the frame and a bubbled corner of the canvas, the two younglings were lovingly depicted with gentle brush strokes in a warm, golden light.
The corners of my eyes stung as Fione led Kaden to a sturdy-looking cabinet that stood tucked against the wall. It was crafted from a wood so dark it was nearly black and decorated with those same woodland carvings.
It was immediately obvious that the flames hadn’t touched it. While the floor was singed and covered in ash, the cabinet was pristine. A portrait of a younger Sorsha saton top, the artist having managed to capture the wild glint in her eyes despite her demure pose.
The door squeaked as Kaden opened it and peered inside at the contents. Dusty bottles crowded the shelves, all with yellowed labels marked in a fine, spidery handwriting that reminded me of his own.
The bottles clinked as he rummaged in the cabinet, pulling out a few leather-bound notebooks and a bundle of feathers. These he set carefully aside before withdrawing a small pot sculpted from clay that was a riot of greens and golds.
Removing the lid, Kaden inhaled, and I caught a whiff of a pungent earthy smell that conjured up memories of sunbaked earth and a laurel-scented breeze.
“It’s still good,” he said, gaze flicking to mine. Though he sounded relieved, his eyes were hardened with resolve and something that resembled grief or longing.
He turned away before I had a chance to analyze it, tucking the pot under his arm and carefully replacing the items he’d removed from the cabinet. He closed the doors with a gentle reverence, and my heart beat faster.
We were ready to face the Three again and sever the threads of the stolen souls Semphrys had taken for his own.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
LYRA
Atorrent of rain greeted our departure as we set off on horseback. The four of us wore oilskin cloaks over our leathers, hoods drawn against the downpour that pattered the tops of the trees.
Our horses made slow progress, their hooves sinking into the mud as it spattered our faces. The incessant hiss of the rain drowned out everything else, and the air smelled like crushed flowers and decay. The moisture drew those scents to the fore, obscuring even Kaden’s familiar smell.
My skin prickled. I didn’t like it when my hunter senses were dampened — especially not in the Ravenous Woods.
Somewhere overhead a bird gave a loud squawk, but when I whipped around to see if we were being followed, all I saw were our tracks in the mud.
