Page 153 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

“Then how do we make sense of any of this?” Caiden asked, standing and running a hand through his hair. “The temple in Isjord, I remember I barely made it past the half the veil all the nine times that I entered. Ryuu. Abendrot tomb. This thing is able to go through them all. This thing is what’s collecting his sceptres.”

The room grew grim.

If we made one step forward, Silas had found a way to push us ten steps back.

Chapter twenty-two

Superus

Snowlin

Since the meeting, I've been watched like a hawk. Guards seemed to all keep an eye on me, where I went and who I met. Priests were oddly now circulating the castle corridors, all wearing a look of surveillance each time I passed by. The beast was nowhere to be seen, nor was the witch. I should be looking for both, but there was something else bothering me at the moment.

Three times a day, a bell rang outside the wall of the castle every day on cue. Curiosity had eaten me for days before I decided to venture into Tenebrose to see what all the commotion was about. Like Nissa had promised, the northern gates were empty when we passed through.

The two guards accompanying me murmured to one another, surely uncertain on how to get in my way. They kept close pace behind me, but from the corner of my eye I'd caught several more trailing in disguise just behind us.

The second bell of the day rang just in time as every day and I sat in a bakery’s storefront eating a lemon glazed muffin, expectant.

“Sit,” I said indignantly to the two hunks of ice beside me. “You’re blocking my view.”

“The king doesn’t wish for you to be out in Tenebrose at this hour, or at all,” one of the stiffs of ice said. “It is a dangerous time, and you are far too recognizable.”

I levelled a glare on the soldier. “And what are you and the rest of the bunch behind the bakery with me for, to feed me gossip and check my lipstick? Don’t make me repeat myself. Sit. Down.”

The two exchanged another annoying glance and then signalled the men behind us to pull back.

Three muffins and several bell rings later, a throng of Isjordians and their dead ancestors' pants gathered in Tenebrose city square. Such a crowd and for what?

A young priest took centre stage on the square’s platform usually used for hangings. After a bow to the thick crowd, he took something out from between his robes—Eirlys book. “Ner Krig’t khȏlda, zel Hodr khȏlin.” With Krig’s blessing, to Hodr heavens, he greeted loudly in old Ysolt, holding holy sign.

“Ner Krig’t khȏlda, druval ȃt wȃlkya da,” With Krig’s blessing, might they welcome us, the crowd echoed back, and I stopped chewing.

What the—

They all kneeled before the platform, bowing their heads as the priest began reciting tenets and exalts to Krig and Hodr.

Holy hells.

My two guards murmured among one another, again, and I turned to them. “Did the Night King hit me hard on the head or are these stiff praying?”

The two tensed, shooting more careful glances to one another. “They are praying, Your Highness.”

“Huh.” Taking a big bite of my last muffin, I stood and dusted crumbs off my pretty dress. “So, all the bell rings are prayer times?”

The other nodded. “Yes.”

“And Tenebrose gathers like this at all times?”

Another nod.

“Willingly?” I asked again.

This time the response was delayed and interrupted by another glance to his comrade.

I patted his chest. “Got it.” Father was forcing these prayer sessions. Question was why? The man never did anything without purpose.

The priest shut the book and a soldier handed him a thick bunch of what looked like leaflets. On his command, the Isjordians stood, and he flicked the papers in the air for them to catch. “Today’s lessons,” he said, before bowing and descending away into the corridors of Tenebrose.