“The darkness hovering around the Flame Temple…” I begin, uncertainly. “It felt…sad, didn't it? Like a crushing, bottomless grief.”
Her tail goes still.
“Is it the same thing you sense when you look at the King of Mouren? The same one you said permeates the arena where the royal family once held their performances and demonstrations?”
She hesitates, lifting her gaze toward that distant arena, just barely visible above the hills separating us from it.
I wait, forcing myself to breathe steadily.
Yes, she says.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ispend the next two days scouring the royal arena, looking for more evidence of thissorrowthat seems to permeate so much of Mouren's kingdom, trying to find its roots so that I might properly deal with it, whatever that takes.
It's easy enough to gain access to it. I just tell Reave that Sesca and I are more accustomed to practicing here, that it helps us focus to be in a familiar environment—and to be left alone while we do it.
My request becomes his royal command, and then no one dares to question it.
Wedopractice while we're there, too, even though memories of our first brutal sessions—and of Commander Gareth—still hover over this space like thick, acrid smoke that makes my lungs feel like they’re shriveling up. Even then, we push through and make some progress, and afterwards, I spend as much time as I can exploring every space attached to this once grand center of royal entertainment.
Eventually, Sesca and I narrow our focus to a roomtucked away at the end of a narrow corridor running past one of the fanciest viewing suites.
The door creaks badly when I push it open. There are boxes everywhere; it appears to be nothing more than a small storage space—dark, dingy, unassuming—and I'm about to turn and head back outside when I feel warmth gathering in my palm. The tingling soon becomes searing, and I realize it's Sesca pushing fire into my veins. Like she's nudging my hand from a distance, trying to get me to lift it.
After a brief debate, I decide to trust her, holding my hand up and inhaling slowly, imagining myself drawing more of her heat inward.
Fiery light illuminates the lines of my palm.
I exhale and release it into the air, letting it drift upward like a torch. As the amber glow steadies and spreads, I notice there's another door behind one of the stacks of boxes.
I can't safely balance the fire while I try to move things, so I prop the door to the outside open to let in a little more light. After giving my sight time to adjust, I carefully make my way back to the stacked boxes and move them aside, fully revealing the door's frame, which is carved with symbols I don't recognize.
Sesca lets out a low, uneasy sound. I can hear her wings fluttering and her tail swishing anxiously back and forth in the arena's sand.
She can tell something is off about this, too.
It's not exactly the same feeling I had in the temple, but it's enough to draw me in. Enough to make me want to try and open this door, for better or worse.
It's locked, of course.
I've encountered more than my share of locked doors during past jobs, though, so I'm not completely deterred. ButBriar is better at breaking and entering than I am. And she'd be furious if I explored any further without her, anyway, so I decide to go look for her first.
I'm distracted before I can find her, however—lured toward the kitchen by the smell of savory things. I quickly locate the source in the same smaller prep room I’ve found Reave in before. The tables are covered in a mess of scattered ingredients and half-finished preparations. But there are several finished dishes, too: a small platter of herb-roasted meat; a crock of braised root vegetables still steaming; stacks of what look like strawberry tarts.
Most importantly, there’s a tray of perfectly-browned rolls, just begging me to take one.
I'm not surprised to hear Reave’s voice the moment I grab one.
“You're very predictable, do you know that?”
I turn to find him leaning in the doorway, watching me.
I don't reply, I just pop a chunk of the warm bread into my mouth without ceremony. It's soaked so completely in butter and herbs that it practically melts in my mouth, and it’s so delicious that I nearly forget what I was in the middle of doing.
“Honestly,” he continues, “if I ever need to snare you for any reason, I'll just bait a trap with loaves of bread.”
“That…” I swallow, taking a moment to savor the lingering taste on my tongue. “That would probably work, actually.”
