Page 115 of Nocturn

“Renata,” I started, taking a moment to catch my breath. “She is gone.” I croaked.

His mouth set into a hard line, and grief lines marred the corners.

Deborah plopped onto the chair, eyes going vacant. I bit back my grief.

“There was nothing I could do. She was already—” I choked off, dragging in a breath.

“We know the risks.” Liadan’s soft spoken words did nothing to comfort.

Deborah kept silent, her hands trembling in her lap. I had to force my focus away from the pain slashed across her face. “How did you arrive if Renata was not . . .”

“The prophet,” I answered. His brow furrowed. “The true prophet—the council held her prisoner.”

“What?” he hissed, combing his hands through his hair.

“That’s just the beginning. There is much information we must discuss.” I cleared my roughened voice.

“Come sit,” he ordered and held the chair for me.

“Approved knowledge coming from a single source allows control. They have been feeding us information they want, because it keeps them in power,” I said as I strode to him. “The realms are much, much older than they have made us believe.”

“Who?”

“The council, they are behind everything. They’ve molded Sycarious into exactly what they want.” I breathed shakily. “But I found what you and Renata told me to find. The Lore of Old.” Renata would never know the mission had been successful. I squeezed my hand into a fist. Her presence was a heavy weight.

Grief flashed across Liadan’s features before he rubbed his mouth.

“I managed to transcribe a few pages.”

Liadan leaned forward and nodded.

“Tell me everything.”

Gladly.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Run

It took a long time to cover most of the information I discovered. About the council, Al, the prophet, the grimoire, and Lord Draven being a pawn.

The last part was the hardest for him to believe.

“Perhaps you are thinking too highly of him.”

“Perhaps,” I whispered, staring at a little splinter sticking up from the surface of the table. I set the teacup on top of it as both Deborah and Liadan watched me.

“We must get to that grimoire.” Liadan’s change of topic was needed.

“I hid it under a wardrobe in the feeder wing. Much too deep within the House of Lords. There is no possibility to retrieve it without being caught, there are too many officers.”

“Fuck,” Liadan muttered, running his hand over his hair.

We sat in silence. Dawnlight would break soon. We had been talking for far too long.

A commotion began outside, still a distance away. Liadan stiffened and stood, striding across the shack to pull aside the thick curtain hiding the window. He cursed.

“They began the search for you.”