My mind drifted to conversations through a mirror of a different nature. Glancing up at the horrid paintings, I ground my teeth. I really should have told him where I’d gone.
Too wrapped up in my thoughts, I stifled a gasp, pulling up short just before slamming into King Bringham himself as he rushed toward the dining room.
An amateur mistake—to not look where you were going. Maybe I’d lost my touch with this. I ruthlessly teased Fen about his being rusty. I had no excuse.
Bringham stopped abruptly and staredthroughme. I glanced over my shoulder and found another gruesome painting. It depicted Phynnic soldiers pushing Source-wielders off the cliff at the Plateau.
The King’s eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles had grown below them; a thin, bloodied bandage covered his cheek. His brow pinched as though he sensed something amiss.
I slowly backed away, but my boot squeaked, drawing his attention to where a puddle collected around me.
“Who is there?” he shouted, stepping into my space.Fuck.
He reached out, intent on grabbing me.
After spinning on my heel, I ran down the hall.
“Guards! There is someone here!”
The thud of falling boots rounded the corner. I dodged the three men, racing for the bailey where my prints would not betray me.
“Where, sir?” they called out, seeming skeptical. “We see nothing.”
“There, there!” the King shouted as I pushed open the door. Only then did I hear their footsteps quicken behind me, the guards believing their King’s cry.
I blew the whistle, and for seconds that felt like hours, I heard no wings beating the air.
Please don’t be frolicking in the roses, menace,I prayed.
This could not be my last adventure… That note had not been an adequate goodbye.
Finally, a Griffith cry sounded above me as Mayra swooped down.
Guards at the gate charged with spears.
If she landed there, the guards would take her down. “Stay!” I shouted.
Think. Think. Think.
Before Mayra’s talons could touch the ground, I leapt and willed the wind to carry me. It worked just enough to get my torso up over the saddle.
“Go, menace, fly!” I commanded, precariously holding on to whatever saddle straps I could reach.
We narrowly avoided the arrows that showered us from the ground before taking cover in the clouds.
Chapter 50
Larkspur
Dritan fixed his shirt collar at the floor-length mirror in the corner of my guest chamber, looking more anxious than I’d seen him. He stared into the pane like it had wronged him, continuing to fuss with the bow until he let out an exasperated sigh.
“Here,” I said and pulled his arm away, forcing him to face me. “Let me.” I’d watched Papa do this enough through the years, when Mama forced him. My fingers fumbled but eventually got the knot just right.
We’d arrived in Helos last night, and I’d snuck him past the guards and Lynx by Shadowing us into the bedchamber. The rat-feline hybrid creatures had an impeccable sense of smell, and I could hear a few of them through the night sniffing at the door. I wondered if they recognized my scent or could draw the link between their master and his kin.
Dritan’s jaw clenched, and his brow remained consistently indented.
“It’s going to be okay.” I circled my arms around his waist before resting my head on his chest. He leaned into me; his steady weight and solid form brought me comfort.
