Opal nods. “Trendalath is in a state of complete chaos. I can’t go into too much detail, but things are about to get worse—much worse. The Caldari plans to intervene and they . . . they needed to know where you stand.”
Cerylia bites her lower lip as she absorbs the information. It isn’t much, but it’s something. And yet, it still doesn’t explain the other half of the conversation she’d overheard. She gives Opal a small smile. “If you think I’d ever side with Darius Tymond, you have much to learn about me.”
Opal grins, then lowers her gaze. As if she can read Cerylia’s mind she says, “I’m guessing you heard the entire conversation. About my abilities?”
Cerylia gives a slight nod of her head, afraid that if she interrupts, Opal might change her mind and stop talking.
“It’s true. I have been able to travel back to the timeframe you’d originally requested. I’m actually able to go back as far as twenty years.”
Cerylia feels her heart drop into her stomach. “Why did you deceive me?”
“I know what information you seek, and I don’t think you’ll find solace if we go back.”
Cerylia’s heart thumps in her chest. Does this mean Tymond had nothing to do with my late husband’s death? The thought is enough to make her head spin. She clears her throat, then says, “I am not looking for solace, I am looking for answers. In order to rebuild the trust that you’ve broken, I demand that you show me what you know.”
Opal shifts uncomfortably. “I must forewarn you, Your Greatness, that the truth may come as a shock.”
Cerylia looks straight into those emerald green eyes and, without a second’s hesitation says, “Try me.”
BRAXTON HORNSBY
OVER A WEEK has passed and still no sign of Xerin. Braxton’s gotten into the habit of checking the upstairs and downstairs windowsills every couple of hours, just to be sure; but there’s been no sign of a falcon. No sign of Xerin.
After completing his outdoor duties for a few hours, Braxton decides it’s time to take a well-deserved break. He does a quick once-over of the inn, just to make sure no birds—nor their droppings—have decided to make a last minute appearance. The inn is pristine, spotless. He wipes the sweat from his brow and decides he can spare a few minutes to relax, maybe even doze off. Just as he’s closing his eyes, the clopping of hooves catches his attention. His eyes shoot open, focusing on the figures a few miles down the dirt road that leads to the inn. He can’t tell who or what is approaching, but from the sound of the many hooves, they mean business.
He dashes to the front of the inn to alert Hanslow. The innkeeper hurries through the front door to peer down the dirt road.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Braxton asks.
Hanslow shakes his head. “No, but they seem to be headed our way.” He runs back inside the inn in a tizzy.
Braxton follows, watching as his superior begins tidying up at an alarming pace. “What’s going on? Is there something I need to know?”
Hanslow shakes his head, but continues dashing back and forth across the galley. He begins wiping down an already spotless area on the bar top, and it’s then Braxton knows something is truly wrong. He rushes over to his Hanslow and places a gentle hand on top of his.
The back-and-forth movement stops. “The flag,” Hanslow whispers.
Braxton looks at him questioningly before heading back out the front door. The pounding of hooves is even closer now, and the mysterious guests are coming into view. So is the flag Hanslow’s talking about—thick black and red stripes with an emblem of a serpent in the lower right-hand corner sways in the breeze.
Braxton gulps and rushes back inside. “It’s the King’s Savant.” He tries not to look panicked so as to not give anything away, but Hanslow seems just as shaken up as he is.
The innkeeper motions for him to come behind the bar. As they kneel out of sight, he whispers, “We must close up shop. We are closed—better yet, we’re not even here. Understood?”
Braxton nods his head, relieved that Hanslow isn’t going to greet the Savant or let them inside. He rushes toward the front door and closes it, quickly pulling blocks of wood to secure it in place. Hanslow covers the windows with the darkest linen he can find and Braxton follows with more strips of wood. After a few minutes, every opening is covered. Honestly, it could be more secure, but it’ll have to do given the last minute notice.
Hanslow points upstairs before climbing the small staircase. Braxton follows closely behind him. They divide and conquer, covering as many of the windows as possible with the same dark linen.
A sudden knock on the door startles both of them. Braxton looks at him, then quickly finishes securing the last window. They both duck down, and Hanslow puts his index finger to his lips. Braxton nods as the knocking continues. It grows louder and louder, until it turns into a violent banging. Before Braxton can process what’s happening, Hanslow jumps to his feet and makes his way to the staircase.
Braxton stumbles as he rises from his crouched position. He catches Hanslow by the shirt just as he’s starting to descend the stairs. “What are you doing?” he whispers harshly.
“I’m going to talk to them and inform them that we have no vacancy.”
Braxton makes a wide gesture with his hand as his eyes bulge out of his head. “But clearly we do have vacancy! More than enough!”
“Shhh,” Hanslow hushes. “Keep your voice down, will you?”
“They’re going to see that we have no horses and no carriages outside. They’ll see right through it. They’ll know you’re lying!”
Hanslow waves his hand dismissively in the air. “Let me handle this.”
Braxton tightens his grip on the old man’s shoulder. “Hanslow, what’s going on? I thought you’d be happy to house the King’s Savant.” He tries not to spit the words, but the sarcastic undertone is blatantly obvious.
Hanslow gives him a knowing look. “You need to leave. Now.”
Braxton’s jaw drops. “What? Why?” He shakes his head. “No, I’m staying here.”
Hanslow turns to face him and puts both hands on his shoulders. “Son, sometimes I wish you’d just listen to me.”
Braxton stands firm. “I’m not leaving.”
“I know who you are,” he gives Braxton a sad smile, “Your Highness.”
Braxton stares at him as a tornado of emotions rips through him. Fear, relief, overwhelm—all at the same time. His grip loosens on the old man’s shirt. “I don’t understand. How do you—?”
“There isn’t any time,” Hanslow interrupts. “I’ve known all along. And I’m telling you, for your own good, you best get going.” His attention shifts to the door as the banging resumes. “Right now.”
Braxton struggles to find his words. “But what about you, Hanslow? What will they do to you?”
“As far as I’m concerned, they don’t know you’re here. Which is why you need to go. Now.” His eyes say it all. “I need you to trust me.”
With a shaky breath, Braxton nods and releases Hanslow’s shoulder from his grip.
“Find the ones who are like you,” Hanslow urges in a hushed voice. “You belong with them. And together, you will do great things.”
Before Braxton can ask another question, Hanslow bolts down the stairs and marches to the front door. Braxton looks behind him and darts to the room at the furthest corner of the inn. He uncovers the window he’d previously sealed shut, then spots an empty bag in the corner of the room.
Without a second thought, he rifles through the armoire, stuffing the bag with clothes and whatever else he can find. He grabs the bow and arrows that are perched against the wall and throws them over his shoulder. He pauses, listening for any indication as to how it’s going downstairs.
Against his better judgment, he tiptoes out of the room toward the top of the stairwell. Loud voices boom from outside. Wood pops and snaps, and he winces as the door is steamrolled by what sounds like dozens of men. It land
s with a thud on the ground. Hanslow yells at them to leave at once. Sinister laughter echoes from downstairs.
Braxton readies his bow and arrow. If only he could shoot the men from the top of the stairs—but there’s no way for him to get a clear shot.
Hanslow is on his own.
With a grunt, he lowers the bow and arrow and returns it to his back. While he can’t hear what is being said, he does hear Hanslow say one thing. “The boy isn’t here!”
It’s then he realizes that it’s time to go. There is nothing left for him here. And by the sounds of it, pretty soon there will be nothing left for Hanslow either. It pains him to turn away, to leave such a loyal and decent man behind, but he knows this isn’t the time to think.
This is the time to act.
He hurries to the window and swings his legs over the ledge, ducking so that he can fit his upper body through the tight opening. If he had known he’d be escaping through windows so frequently, he would have made it a point to practice more often.
Clattering and clanging, followed by yelling, sounds from downstairs. Braxton pauses to think twice about his decision. As much as he wants to help Hanslow, he knows that if the Savant find him, they’ll likely assume he’s been staying with Hanslow the entire time. Who knows what the punishment would be then?
Braxton inches the rest of the way through the opening, then pushes off the ledge. He falls two stories and, even after flailing a little in midair, somehow manages to land on his feet. He takes off toward the forest, feeling relieved as he makes his way further and further into the shrubbery. He stops mid-step as loud wailing sounds from behind him, from the inn.
Hanslow knows who he is. The old man had known his secret all along. And yet, he still protected him, still took him under his wing.
I owe him my life.
But turning around would be the nail in both of their caskets. Hanslow had told him to find his people. The Caldari. And that’s exactly what I’ll do.
The wailing is hardly audible twenty minutes later as he delves further and further into the forest. As much as he wants to forget this entire day, Braxton knows that this scarring memory will forever be etched in his mind.
ARDEN ELIRI
A FEW WEEKS in Orihia and I already feel like I’m settling in with my new Caldari family. The tree village is a wonderland that I never want to leave. There are other creatures that reside here, but as far as people go, it’s just me, Felix, Estelle, and Xerin (when he’s not flying around the world).
At first, I thought I might get bored and have trouble filling my time, but that’s not the case at all. There are so many hidden areas to discover in Orihia and an abundance of new creatures to befriend and learn about. Every now and again, when I want some peace and quiet, I head into the Thering Forest with Juniper and pick assorted berries and nuts to contribute to our meals. Estelle and Felix seem to appreciate it.
They’ve mentioned a few times already that they want to start me on my training. I have no idea what this entails, but apparently I have to go through some preparation before I can become a full-fledged Caldari. I suppose it makes sense, though, seeing as I honestly don’t know the strength of my own abilities. Felix has offered to assess my gifts, and Estelle jumped at the opportunity to be my mentor. We haven’t started yet, but I’m hoping we will soon.
I’m starting to get restless.
For the time being, each of us has been assigned to our own little huts to use as living quarters. Estelle has big plans for remodeling and rebuilding to make the dwellings larger, but for now, these will do.
After a long day of walking around the Thering Forest with Juniper, I kick off my boots, lie down on my bed, and gaze up at the ceiling. Juniper curls up at the edge, right by my feet. Although I love it here, I feel as though my mind hasn’t been stimulated in a while. As an assassin for the king, I’m used to training every day—not only my body, but also my mind. It takes more focus and discipline—more mental capacity—imaginable to be a full-time assassin for the royal court.
I think back to my first full day in Orihia in Estelle’s dwelling and my discovery of the hidden bookshelves. After had Felix caught me, I hadn’t dared venture back over there, but I’m feeling bold and adventurous tonight.
I sit up from my bed and pull my boots back on. There’s no way of knowing whether or not Estelle is back for the evening, so I’ll have to be stealthy. I open my front door and close it quietly behind me before making my way down the flower-lined path in front of the residences.
It’s so beautiful here, I almost can’t take it.
I walk as casually as I can until I reach a set of rocks that signal the path is about to come to an end. By this point, I’ve already passed Estelle’s residence, but I want to get a feel as to where Felix is. I don’t see him lurking about in the shadows (a good sign), so I make a quick left turn to walk behind the houses. Luckily, our row backs up to a line of trees, so if someone sees me, I can easily hide. It’s quiet and still, though, and the sun is just setting—it’s getting dark enough where hiding is unlikely.
I continue along behind the houses, stopping once I get to Felix’s. I crouch as I make my way through the backyard and onto the patio. I peek inside the window. It appears to be empty, but then I spot him with his feet up on the couch, asleep.
I grin to myself as I take off, my eyes trained on the gold and brown building that houses Estelle and her many eccentric belongings. I can only hope that she’s either asleep or off doing something else in Orihia.
As I approach, I get a sense of unease, but I push the feeling as far away as I can. I peek through the window. My lips are dry and my breathing is ragged, but adrenaline pumps through my veins as I take in the sight before me.
Estelle’s dwelling is empty.
I turn the knob on the back door, not feeling too surprised when the door pops right open. Estelle’s not one to lock things, especially in Orihia. This is her home. She feels secure in that.
I don’t plan on taking anything, per se, just exploring and maybe borrowing a thing or two. I have every intention of returning whatever I choose to borrow.
The wooden floor creaks as I slink across the living room. I sneak over to the bedroom to make sure that the house truly is empty. I slowly push the door open. The bed is untouched and there isn’t a soul in sight. I exhale a sigh of relief and head back into the living area. The black drape is right where we’d left it—when Felix so hastily told me to cover the shelves back up.
I whip the drape from its place and smile as rows upon rows of bookshelves appear before me. Whether it’s an optical illusion or not, I still can’t tell, but the feeling of awe remains as I walk up and down the aisles. There are so many choices that I can’t decide what to read first.
My hand travels over the old, worn bindings as I scan the titles. I’ve had my fill of magick over the past week, so I land on a book entitled The History of Trendalath. Although Tymond enforced history lessons during my Cruex training, it wouldn’t be surprising if I hadn’t been told the whole story. And seeing as there’s a banished book here specifically about the history of Trendalath, I decide it’s a good place to start.
I slide the book from its indented place on the shelf. There’s a heavy layer of dust on the pages, so I turn it over and give it a hearty shake. I take a seat against one of the shelves and begin to flip through the first few pages. I yawn, realizing how tired I am, but at the same time, I feel both energized and alive. I’m determined to find out whatever it is Felix doesn’t want me to know.
After fifteen minutes of scanning the text and illustrations, I begin to wonder if there actually is something Felix and the Caldari are trying to keep secret, or if it’s just something I’ve imagined in my head—wouldn’t be the first time.
I spend a few more minutes scouring the pages for information, but I come up short. There isn’t much in this history book that I don’t already know.
I feel defeated until I abse
ntmindedly turn to the next page. My eyes land on bold text that reads The King’s Savant. My breath catches as I read through the paragraphs. I have to reread a couple of the sentences, mostly because I have a hard time believing them.
From what I can gather, the King’s Savant has been around for ages and is the most powerful group of leaders, ancillary to the king. That part makes sense. The part that doesn’t is where it mentions that the King’s Savant is illusié.
Impossible. The king banished illusié from Trendalath a decade ago. Why would he have his own group of magick folk, especially when he has his hand-selected, highly trained Cruex assassins to do all of his dirty work for him?
I gulp as I continue reading, but I can’t seem to fully absorb the words or their meanings. All I can think about is why the king would need the very thing he’d gotten rid of more than a decade ago. Unless . . .
Unless he knows the Caldari are still out there and needs a force more powerful to defeat them.
My heart leaps out of my chest at the thought. I decide I’ve done enough reading for the night and yet, I still turn the page, eager to know more.
I immediately wish I hadn’t.
These pages are surprising. They have no text—instead, sitting between them, is a folded piece of paper. Gingerly, I take the paper between my thumb and forefinger. It feels like it could disintegrate at the slightest touch, so I unfold it with caution along the crease. I lay it out flat before me.
It’s an old drawing of a group of men wearing dark cloaks with an emblem of a serpent stitched into the sleeves. I take a closer look, realizing from what I’ve just read that they must be members of the King’s Savant. I scroll over their faces, landing on one that stills my breathing. I try to tear my eyes away, but they won’t budge.
This man in the drawing . . . he has my same pointed nose, same wide eyes. It’s almost uncanny how much he looks like me. But that’s not what is most disturbing. As I look his ensemble up and down, my eye catches what’s in his hand.
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