ThecandlesintheRoyal bedroom winked out one by one, bathing the entire room in night’s murky darkness. The sleeping King and Queen did not stir as the bedroom doors creaked open.
Illuminated by the faint candlelight in the hallway, Adara stood, her hands balled into fists. Her expression brimmed with rage as she slunk into her parents’ bedroom. As her skirts swept across the floor, bodies of the guards in the hallway became engulfed in silver edged flames–burning only them–before a ghost wind swept down the hallway, scattering their ashes.
Adara, her head cocked to the side, white-blonde hair spilling out of her tangled braid, stepped lightly towards her father, not even sparing a glance at her mother–her likeness. The Princess raised her hand where short, jagged nails grew longer, sharper. She whispered in an ancient tongue as her nails began to glow with the same unearthly silver as the fire that consumed the bodies of the two gargoyles that had been stationed at the door.
Her hand slashed down. The sickening sound of flesh tearing, followed by panic gurgling of the King choking on his own blood filled the room. Adara whipped her other hand towards the open door, where a translucent shield appeared, concealing the voice of the dying King from anyone with fae hearing outside.
The Queen, her mother, launched up, her eyes filled with fear and pain as she beheld her daughter. Blood slid down Adara’s arm as shecrooned, “It won’t be long now.”
The Queen’s head whipped towards her mate, and she screamed, throwing herself over his convulsing body, as her own began to bow in pain–the soul tie ripping her life force out as the King’s dimmed.
Adara began chanting in the same ancient language, silver light wreathing her hands, as King Scottrell died. His mate let out a low whimper as her life dwindled and extinguished.
The light disappeared as the Queen took her last, shuddered breath, and met her mate in the afterlife. Adara smiled, her blue eyes dull, as she leaned her head back and laughed, the maniacal sound breaking the quiet of death, before she turned on her heel, walked out of the bedroom, and waned.
Chapter forty-three
Lenna
LennasluggedthroughthePrism as the images of the dead King and Queen faded, the quaint dining room coming back into focus. After what they had witnessed, the yellow table and the mismatched colorful chairs seemed too loud, too bright.
“Fuck.” Merrick’s ragged voice pulled Lenna’s subconscious the remaining way back. Merrick’s wings drooped at his sides, the grief on his handsome face palpable, as he slowly ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair. Laurent, across the table from the gargoyle, wordlessly poured a hefty glass of wine for himself and passed the rest of the bottle over to Merrick.
Tears streamed down Sparrow’s cheeks, her face devoid of color. With shaking fingers, Sparrow reached across the table to Esmeray, who had not moved except to pull her hand out of Lenna’s. Esmeray didn’t meet her gaze.
The Queen’s voice broke. “Adara framed me by murdering them the way I’ve trained to kill… The nails…” A single tear slid from her glassy eyes. A moment later, another followed, then another.
“What do you mean?” Sparrow asked gently, taking her friend’s hand, squeezing lightly.
Merrick answered, since Esmeray just continued to stare wordlessly at her wine glass. “Esmeray slashed the throats of some of the gargoylesthat came for us at the waterfall. If Adara knew how Esmeray would fight, it would be easier to frame her for the murders. Adara must’ve watched you train to figure out your tactics.”
Esmeray frowned. “Adara shouldn’t have that magic. The bare bones of it is that I can make my nails sharp with illusions. Adara only has water magic.”
“She must have used a spell to somehow recreate youracat.” Laurent shuffled some papers around the table, finding a blank piece before picking up a quill, dipping it into ink and starting to write. “Or she's been hiding another gift this whole time. Royals hiding rare fae abilities is an annoying part of court life that I've uncovered many times during my days as Spy Master.”
Lenna peered over his scribbling arm. The words made no sense, but Lenna worked through the pronunciation silently.
“That’s what Adara was saying. It’s a spell.” Lenna said quietly.
Sparrow and Merrick craned their heads to take in the writing.
Finally, Esmeray moved. Snatching up her glass, she swallowed the remaining wine, growled and poured another. “We need someone to translate what the words mean. And we need to know what other spells Adara knows.”
Sparrow looked at Lenna, before standing and taking the remaining full bottles of wine to the kitchen, announcing they were all cut off, they needed to sober up, and that she was making coffee.
Lenna stretched her legs out under the table. Using the Prism for hours today made her dizzy, and seeing the carnage of the dying King and Queen made her nauseated, especially after finding out Diana was dead. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep for two full days.
In her temples, the first beat of a headache thrummed, in perfect sync with her heartbeat. The throbbing amped up, until Lenna squeezed her eyes shut against the crushingonslaught of pain.
She inhaled deep, exhaled slow, relaxed the muscles in her face. The agony let up–slightly. She took another breath, and another, the spasms lessening.
One minute.
She could close her eyes, breathe deep and slow for one minute before anyone would notice.
The low voices around her faded.
All Lenna could hear was her breathing and her heartbeat as the pain slowly released its talons from her head.
