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“I’ll keep that in mind, Dace.” The smallest hint of a smile graced her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I sighed, as the door closed completely.
No matter what I did, my eyes burned with the need for sleep. Red seemed well rested though, as she incessantly tapped her foot, with her lips turned down in a cranky frown. If I closed them even for one, slightly-longer-than-average blink, sleep threatened to take me under. But we were close enough now that I could hear the calls of the capital that surrounded the castle.
The weather here was mild enough, similar to the Obtune Court. I was already beginning to think I’d never get out of these clothes and I’d die in a puddle of sweat. Leaves on the trees took on a different hue the closer we came to the capital. Green scalloped foliage faded into plum reds or sun-faded brown. Yet none of them littered the ground like they would have in the shift of season back in Tierasia.
As homes and pedestrians came into view, I tested Red’s cuffs on both her ankles and her wrists. She wouldn’t be getting away this time. Sun glinted off the metal, making it even harder to keep my eyes open.
“Better make sure these are nice and tight,” I murmured, the click of the locks reminding me of the thousands of times I’d done this back home.
This would be my first encounter with King Windre, the man who supposedly broke the Nymphs of their rebellious spirit. We would have to see for ourselves what this king was all about, if he was everything he said he was and more. Though I had to remind myself that the entire point of working with King Ottack was to waste time and avoid the true reason for my visit to Stylica.
Finding the Fae who took my queen's token had become more of a pressing need for her when she’d begun to spiral and felt out of control. Queen Atarah lashed out against her own lands, to appease the need to know what she could command—disregarding the thoughts of if she should. The way that event had shaken her gave me hope that she could get rattled enough that we could knock her from her throne, as she had done many years ago to the king and queen who had ruled Tierasia in peace for their entire reign.
Whoever held the token, held the crown our laws dictated. Atarah had the token. She’d lost it. Now she wanted it back.
She knew she needed the chance at more than her own average gifts. All that the king and queen had really had was half of the token. She would have to find the other half to take advantage of the powers it would grant.
Queen Atarah hadn’t wanted peace when she and her cult following ambushed the castle. The people didn’t need peace; the people needed power, she had said. I’d heard this story time and time again. Atarah had only given herself power, not the people.
In her attack on the castle, she had been successful in killing the king, queen, and their son, but even though she fought hard to stop the rumors, sometimes people still whispered about the possibility that the young prince, hardly even eight years old, had gotten away.
The king’s corpse was found in the fury of the battle inside the castle. The queen had gotten farther. Her body had been carried back from the long expanse of forest behind the estate, along with the slew of men she had killed along the way. How far had the prince gotten? According to Atarah, not far at all. Yet, his body was never found or publicly displayed as his parents had been.
Along with her rule came a proclamation. The final words of a dying witch. Someone would come to Tierasia, someone who wasn’t meant to be there, and they would take what the queen treasured most—the fucking token.
Years later, Randsin had appeared, dazed and confused, in the middle of our godsdamned court nonetheless. My assistance in the matter made him successful in stealing the token, and then the fucker stole the love of my life. I didn’t like Randsin, but I needed him alive. I needed the token to be protected or destroyed.
Maybe it was for the best that I was here, away from Eydis, anyway.
I exhaled loudly trying to pull myself from the stinging memories. In my periphery, buildings ordained with intricate gold trim came and went, but I didn’t give them enough attention to differentiate between home and storefront.
“Why areyoupouting?” Red asked. “It’s not like you're the one getting ready to be brutalized.”
“You could always just keep your mouth shut and comply with everything you’re asked. That would probably save your ass.”
Red rolled her steely eyes, her body rocking with the sway of the wagon as we passed over uneven roads. Her attention drifted to the pointed towers of the gray castle when glimpses appeared through the tree line. She would try to distract herself by chewing at her nearly nonexistent nails, or wearily watching people on the busy merchant-filled streets try to sell items to us as we continued by.
Fae called to us and other passing pedestrians from their storefronts or wagon backs. Dark, looming clouds overhead merged to cover the sun. A few people, wise to the simple signs of an upcoming storm, plucked out umbrellas or scuttled back into their businesses.
We did not have an umbrella.
“Buy this beautiful hand-quilted blanket, sir,” one offered, holding up a white cloth embroidered in gold swirls.
“Yes, Milo, why don’t we stop for you to buy some souvenirs for this little trip. Maybe you can take one back to your queen.” She turned to look at me.
“Don’t talk like that,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“I like it when your jaw cords like that.” Red actually managed a small grin.
“You like to drive me batshit crazy, is what you like,” I said as I fought to release the tension in my jaw.
The rain held off until we left the busy street and went through the small gathering of trees between the castle walls and the citizens of Caratona. Quiet grew where there was no longer the chant of sales to be made. Only the occasional caw of a bird as it took flight was left to listen to, but that was preferable to the salesmen begging for my nonexistent coin.
The emptiness between the rest of the world and the castle felt ominous in the shadows of the sagging trees. Through the last of the brush, the sound of water lapping against rock became apparent. Wood and plants met on a short bridge over the small, flowing river. The wagon jostled over the worn planks of the bridge.
There it was. The outer wall that surrounded the castle. A stony gray fortress, tall, and spiked. Whether it was to keep people from coming in or from attempting to escape would be determined. Two guards were posted at the gate. Their brown uniforms were trimmed in the same gold as the blanket the merchant had offered.
