31
It was strange standing on the beach, looking up at the palace. Scarlen was a little disorientated for a moment as the gentle waves rolled into froth behind her, the soothing sound and salty scent keeping her company as Raven flew away in the distance.
Dipping to one knee, she scooped the cool golden grains, watching it trickle through the gaps in her fingers as she straightened. The heat in the night air felt foreign after so long in the cold, and she had to wonder what the real temperature would be if her ancestors hadn’t enchanted Borough South to be so tropical. Had there always been sand and sunshine? No one had said. Only witch magick brought the rain when needed, and quite often it wasn’t required at all, just the occasional storm to release the pressure.
Home no longer felt somewhere she belonged, not that her father ever made it such a place his children would cherish. All she had were nightmare memories, a trauma she was certain would remain forever, and fury for what he had done to Lancen. If only Milon weren’t away, she could confide in him. Have him stop their father. Do something.
Outside lights streamed up the chalky cliff to the large white-stone building, offering a small creamy beacon to the secret tunnel she knew she could easily navigate to her quarters. Perhaps fall into bed and not bother to wake her father until morning.
It had been a long and hard journey riding upon Raven’s bony back, clinging onto his dark feathers for dear life as he swooped high and low through clouds. She was sure some of his manoeuvres were done to add to her travel sickness. If only Rav would show his nice side again, but no. He didn’t seem to like her much at all.
Her walk to the caves below the palace was slow and steady, no long strides through the sand, as so much of her didn’t want to head that way. If only she could have stayed in the north, made peace with Bear, slept in his arms once more.
Instead of thinking about seeing her father, she calmed her thrumming heart by wondering what Bear would say once he was told of her whereabouts. She hadn’t seen him since he had stormed off, not that she had words for him anyway. Her father had brutally murdered his mother. And now they knew he had also killed Blyton. Would Bear come to kill the king? She stopped at the entrance to a small cove with dusty white walls and seaweed-stained edging.
I could kill my father.It was an idea, and one that did not disturb her. Had he made her so ruthless? How easy it would be to be just like him. Push him over the clifftop. Flay him till he was raw and have no healer mask the wounds.
The damp smell of the cove took her away from her past and the inner scars that no healer could mend. Her task was a book and an imprisoned knight, but now all she wanted was revenge for her sister, her mother, her brother, and every single wicked thing her father had done to her. To end him would end thesuffering of many, and she had always got close enough to him to strike.
First she would beg forgiveness, but not too much. Strength had to be shown. Then she would make him believe she was the warrior he wanted, as the kingdom must see a mighty royal family, like those from the past. It’s what he craved. A kingdom ruled as it once was. It was all so clear now, his scheming, his collection of witches, his addiction to power.
Scarlen made her way through caves and tunnels, climbed slopes and iron stairways, keeping quiet as she plotted and planned her attack. The one battle the king wouldn’t see coming.
The pathway narrowed, then ended at a solid wall of cream stone. On the other side of the wall was a bookcase. At least she hoped nothing in her bedchamber had changed.
She pressed her ear to the cool barrier, straining to hear any movement, but nothing could be heard, so she slowly pushed, poking her head around the opening to peer into the darkness, as no sconces or hearth lit the room.
Quietly entering, she closed the door to her escape route, then checked to see if anything on the bookcase had been tampered with. After a quick look, all seemed in order. In fact, her room was untouched, looking very much the same as when she had left, which seemed a lifetime ago.
If she lit a sconce, it might notify someone outside her chamber, if any guard held that position while she was absent. So she stood in the darkness by the clean hearth that was only used during stormy nights, her thoughts of her cold cell, the thin cover. It would have been good to have one of Temple’s food bars at hand, as her stomach was empty and queasy, and on further inspection, no food lined the fruit bowls by the veranda.
Sighing, she sat on the edge of the large bed and stared at her hands, then a jolt to her body slammed her to the carpet, stunning her for a moment before hands grappled with her own,accompanied by panting and groans, one loud as she caught the attacker in the groin with her knee, able to roll out of his hold.
Scrambling back on the floor, the intruder came into focus. His sand-coloured uniform.
‘Mitch?’ she whispered, unsure why she felt the need to be quiet after the noise their scuffle had caused.
Catching his breath, he rolled to his side, one hazel eye glaring her way, the other covered by a dark patch. ‘Adoria? What the fuck!’
She crawled over to him for a better look, then smiled at the guard who used to be Lancen’s best friend. ‘It is you.’
‘Yes, it’s me. Thanks for busting my balls.’ He sat up, drawing deep breaths, wiping the tears leaking from his eye.
‘Erm, you jumped on me, remember?’
‘I didn’t know it was you sneaking around in here.’
She chuckled quietly, not meaning to while he was still in pain. ‘You always could hear a pin drop.’ She reached for his face, concern taking her smile. ‘What happened to your eye?’
His sigh was long and steady as he rested his back against the side of the bed. ‘Your father took it when you ran away. My punishment for not keeping an eye on you.’
Guilt, rage, sadness, it all burned as Scarlen crossed her legs and arms. ‘I’m so sorry, Mitch.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ Even though his words were gentle, they made no impact, she still felt to blame.
‘I didn’t know he would take it out on my guards.’
Mitch lowered his head, then looked up and raked back his blond locks, his jaw strong, and eye now dry, stern. ‘My father told me about Horstal.’
