Page 34 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

“I thought you were sleeping?” I quip, running my teeth over my bottom lip.

Immie chuckles before smacking her lips together. “Never too deep in my dreams to miss the opportunity to watch a man flirt.”

I choke out a laugh. “He was not flirting with me.”

“If you say so. But I can’t imagine it is normal for a guard to bring a prisoner a book, let alone to acquiesce to her requests.”

“It is because he wants the information he thinks I have. The only thing he is flirting with is the idea that I might provide him with something useful about Rhea.”

Immie grumbles out a response that seems suspiciously mocking but then changes the subject to ask when we might get our next meal. Our conversation wanes as time passes, and our meals are eventually brought to our cells, the meager bread and broth barely edible. That doesn’t stop either of us from finishing it. Stomach mildly settled, I scoot to the edge of the cot to catch enough light to continue reading The Sword and The Swan. Shadows dance from the way the torch’s flame flickers, and I’m reminded of what Xander said happened to those guards in the meadow the night of our escape.

Shadows.

I close my eyes, digging through the foggy contents of my mind, fragmented images of the tower flitting by as if they are butterflies on the wind. Shadows. Why am I drawn to that word? Why— I see Rhea dropping to her knees, her head in her hands as she cries. Squeezing my eyes shut harder, I follow that memory, grateful when more of it begins to form.

It is sunset, and my eyes bounce from the door to where Rhea is kneeling on the wood floor, her sobs cracking my chest open. I whimper, the soft sound going unheard by her. Inhaling, I smell her honey and lily scent, but something else lingers just beneath. Something masculine and familiar. Alexi.

I remember this moment. Alexi had just told Rhea that he would no longer be able to visit beyond his normal supply drop-offs. That he was worried the king would catch him. Rhea held it together long enough for Alexi to leave, but once the tower door closed, she collapsed in her grief. He was her only lifeline to the outside world besides the king, and to lose that? She was devastated. But what does this have to do with anything Xander said?

Gasping, my eyes shoot open as my fingers tighten around the book, scrunching the thin paper beneath them. Rhea had fallen deep into her despair and released a harrowing sob that I felt in my bones that night. But that wasn’t the only thing that clouded her. That night, Rhea did something that I don’t think I ever saw her do before—or since. That night, while curled over herself, glittering shadows rose into the space around her.

“Gods above,” I whisper, my hand moving to cover my mouth. Rhea had magic, that fact was undeniable. But it wasn’t just light that she wielded, as I previously thought. It was darkness too.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Siyala

The shock of the memory keeps me awake, even as exhaustion aches from my bones. While the discovery doesn’t change what I believe about Rhea to be true—that she is the only person worthy of power like this, the kind of person that can be trusted with it—it does make what I know all the more valuable. And, despite his proclamations, I don’t know that Xander wouldn’t run directly to the king with this information. What sort of trap would they set for Rhea knowing that she has magic like… that?

When I do finally slip into sleep, it is restless. My mind bouncing from one veiled memory to another, none of them clear enough to comprehend—a thought both comforting and terrifying. At one point, I’m dropped into a scene with Rhea in the tower. Humming as she cleans the living area, her contentment quickly melts into terror when she notices my ears grow rigid and my head tilt. My signal that the king is coming. His steps grow heavier, my own heart racing as she begs for me to hide. I try to follow her command but remain stuck in place, my feet rooted to the ground as if I’ve sprouted there. The thud of a heartbeat, of two, accompany the steps, and I try again, willing my dream self to move and hide like I’d done so many godsdamn times before. It doesn’t work. Then the door to the tower is thrown open, and the king steps in, his chestnut hair brushed away from his face and a beard cropped perfectly over his jaw.

He prowls through me to Rhea, as if I’m not even there, and I watch as she flinches from his nearness. How she cowers beneath the touch of his hand and the curl of his lips at her cheek. His mouth moves, but the voice that comes from it sounds different. “Wake up!” What? Metal clashes, as if guards are battling beside me. “We have some questions for you…”

I hear the startling noise again, my heart pounding in my chest as I’m yanked from the dream. I sit up with a gasp and blink the bleariness from my eyes, rubbing a hand down my face. Swallowing the dryness in my throat, I move to get up from the cot but freeze at the sound of Immie’s voice.

“What the hell are you doing? I was sleeping,” she groans, just as the familiar click of a key sliding into a lock rings out.

“You have been granted plenty of respite by His Majesty since your capture.”

Ensuring the book Xander gave me is hidden, I press my feet to the ground, all but tip-toeing towards the cell bars, my eyes narrowing at the men that stand in front of Immie’s cell. The flame lit on the wall casts them in an amber hue, outlining the golden armor of one and the dark tunic of the other.

“I’m afraid the time for rest is over.” A King’s Guardsman marches into her cell, drawing more words of protest from Immie until she cries out, my stomach dropping at the pain and panic in her voice. “The more you fight, the worse it will be for you in that room.”

Immie stumbles as she is yanked forward, and for the first time since she was brought down here, I get a clear look at her face. Deep wrinkles crease the corners of her wide eyes, her gray hair disheveled and matted the farther down her braid goes. Gods above. I should have asked Xander for so much more than food for her.

“Well, well, well. It’s been a long time,” the guard drawls in my direction as he hauls Immie past, her eyes finding mine. The small smile she forces in my direction does nothing for the knot sitting heavily in my throat. I reach for the bars, the metal cold beneath my fingers. “I’ll see you later. Maybe you can join in on the fun.”

I glance up at the partially hidden face beneath the golden helmet, the sticky sheen of his pale skin making my blood grow cold. It’s the commander who tied me to a tree after I was captured, whose hand I bit in my attempt to escape. He chuckles as he passes, Immie’s bare feet slapping against the stone as she tries to keep up, her weak thrashing useless in his grasp.

Behind them both, the second man follows, though he is not a guard. Hands clasped behind his back, he looks down his nose at me, tilting a head of close-cropped dark hair, silver streaks running through it. “So you are the infamous shifter,” he says, stopping in front of my cell.

My gaze jumps back to Immie and the commander as he pulls the door to the torture room open. “Why is he bringing her in there?” I ask. But I know why, so when the man doesn’t answer—opting to just watch me instead—I send a glare in his direction. “What kind of man harms an old woman?”

“Interesting,” he says, voice lowering as he works his gaze down my body. My skin crawls under his attention, prompting a snarl from me. It makes him smile, the expression shallow, “And to answer your question, my morality does not hinge on who I am extracting information from but rather why I am doing so. Imelda ran from the palace over two decades ago to illegally start a business when she was already bound in duty to the Maxwell family. She then went on to harbor a stolen princess and her captor. Though you already know that story, don’t you?” I don’t like the glint that sharpens his blackened gaze as he angles his face towards me. “How interesting it is to know that you are a shifter, yet you live on this side of the Spell. Still able to draw from your magic. I’m curious why you haven’t tried shifting back into your fox.”

He raises his brows halfway up his forehead, as if an idea has just formed. But then Immie shouts, and the commander’s voice echoes menacingly from the torture room. Standing tall, the man rolls his shoulders back, turning to give me his side.

“It appears our friend is eager to make my acquaintance,” he says.

“What is your name?” I ask, if only to delay the inevitable by another few seconds. “I might like to brand it into memory so that when I get out of here, I can find you and kill you.”