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Chapter Eighteen
Aika
An unearthly scream wrenches me from a fitful sleep.
I’m not sure what’s worse these days.
The surreal dreams where Zaina’s face looks at me with accusation as a collar snaps around her neck before she’s dragged away, where I try to go to her, but my legs are chained to the floor.
Or the reality I’ve been thrust into upon waking.
It’s been three days since I set fire to the Pillagers and left Remy in an alley in the slums. Being stuck at Mother’s estate was almost a relief, almost a peaceful respite from the events of that day.
Until now.
Another shrill scream rings out, and I recognize the voice as Mother’s.
Damn it.
Throwing on my robe, I dash out of the room and down the marble staircase, heading straight toward her chambers. The maids are scurrying away as quickly as possible, and I gesture for them to head toward the kitchens. They’ll be safer there from whatever is going on in this room.
I push open the door, my dagger at the ready as Mother screams again.
My eyes scan the room, desperate for any clues that might have caused this reaction from her. Then I move closer to assess her for any sign of an injury. There’s nothing.
“Did something happen?” I ask cautiously, preparing to subtly flee the room if she appears to be on the murder path again.
She turns on me, a letter in her hand, her violet eyes a tempest of fury so deep I’m not even sure she really sees me. Only Zaina’s death has ever had the power to unhinge her this way. A dark thought crosses my mind.
“Is it Mel?” The words come out raspy.
“What? Of course not.” Disgust joins her maelstrom of rage, like I should have known better than to think she would be upset by anything so trivial as her actual daughter.
I hide the relief I feel knowing that my sister is still alive.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Mother continues, her hand flying to her temple, her long, elegant fingers pressing in. “How couldallof them be cured? Where did he find the flowers?”
She appears to be talking more to herself, so I am contemplating creeping back out of the room when she finally, truly, notices me.
“When Einar gets here, I need you to find out everything you can about his visit, what he’s here for, what he’s brought with him. I need to knoweverything.”
I don’t miss the oddly familiar way she says his name, but I give her the only response I can.
“Of course.”
Mother has her hands in so many machinations, I don’t bother to guess at what she’s talking about.
I’m not even sure I want to know what she’s planning these days.
* * *
I hidein my room for the rest of the morning, though I have to wonder if Mother’s anger would be preferable to the time alone with my thoughts.
My mind whispers of every mistake I have ever made, slowly driving me mad. I need a distraction, anything to keep me sane. What I stumble across next does the opposite.
My desk is covered with coded notes and missives about the royal family and their staff, but in between all of those is an envelope.
A letter.
