Page 11 of Once the Skies Fade (Immortal Reveries #2)

Chapter 11

Calla

A s fatigued as I was from the long ride, sleep still proved restless. I was haunted by images of blood spilling from Brennan’s mouth, his lifeless eyes shifting into those of my parents as they sank down into their watery tomb. After only a few hours of fitful rest, I forced myself out of bed with a growl.

Sunshine streamed in through the window, warming the room. Padding across the floor, I was at least pleased to find the staff had done as I’d asked, and the few remaining items of Brennan’s had been removed from sight. A platter of fresh fruit and pastries sat atop the table in my dining room, but my stomach—having become accustomed to foregoing food for the past couple weeks—had no appetite. Not just for the food here, but for anything. The thought of eating turned my mouth dry and soured my stomach. I’d need to, though, if only to appease Isa and save myself from her lectures.

Spreading butter across a flaky biscuit, I nibbled on it as I made my way to the bathing room where a bath had already been prepared and kept hot by Louisa’s elemental magic. It was no coincidence that the female had been selected for the esteemed position of royal handmaid by my mother years ago.

Lowering myself into the water, I plopped the last bit of pastry into my mouth and tried to gather my thoughts. Time marched on even after death, and I could do the same.

I had to.

Yet, it seemed my weak heart and troubled mind refused to cooperate. Turning my head, I gazed out the open door to our bedroom beyond, and I could picture Brennan—as clearly as ever—leaning against the door frame wearing nothing but that cocky grin I loved so much.

I slammed my eyes shut against quickly gathering tears, but they spilled over all the same. Feverishly, I wiped them away with the back of my hand. Still they came, as if the past week’s worth of unshed agony was finally bubbling up. With a roar I threw my fists down into the bath over and over, splashing water onto my face to mask these damned tears.

Opening my eyes, I turned back to the doorway. Empty. My heart fractured a little deeper, pulling me under the water, but I had barely slipped below the surface when a rapid knocking echoed through the room, followed by Isa’s familiar, but muffled, voice.

“Calla, are you ready yet?”

My chin bobbed up out of the water as I mumbled, “Nearly.”

Isa’s face appeared, hard and unamused, in the doorway. “Nearly, my ass. You barely touched your breakfast.”

I stared blankly up at the ceiling, relishing in the soothing effects of the water on my sore joints and muscles. It was a shame it couldn’t also cure the numbness in my heart.

“Not hungry,” I whispered, bracing for her rebuke.

But all my general offered was a deep sigh before changing the subject. “I’ve scheduled the meeting with the Assembly for tomorrow morning, but unfortunately Graham refuses to delay the citizens’ grievances any longer. You’re expected in the Great Hall within the hour.”

Tilting my chin up, I closed my eyes and slid lower into the bath until the water covered my ears.

“I’ll be there,” I said and lifted a hand to wave her away.

Her voice seemed so far away when she asked, “Should I wait for you? I can escort you down.”

“Fine,” I said, not wanting her to know how relieved I truly was to not have to walk into a crowded room alone. “Make yourself useful then?”

“And?”

I pointed toward the bedroom. “Clothes?”

Isa didn’t answer, but I counted her faint footsteps as she left the room.

While she was gone, I finished washing and stepped begrudgingly out of the hot water, wrapping myself in a towel just as she returned, holding out a simple, dark purple dress with long sleeves and a high neckline. I would have preferred black, but I had been the one to suggest I stop mourning and move on. This seemed as good a first step as any.

The Great Hall was more crowded than I’d anticipated. Hadn’t I only been gone for a few days? How had so many developed grievances in such a short time? But then I remembered that we had postponed these hearings after my parents’ deaths, and again after Brennan’s. No doubt my subjects had grown impatient over these long months.

Isa, who normally stood behind my seat on the dais, positioned herself directly to my left, presumably to block my view of the matching, now vacant, chair. I could have kissed her for that courtesy.

For the first two hours, I judged several disputes between neighbors, approved aid to one family whose home was destroyed in a recent fire, and listened to countless requests for tax deferment and increased protection on the roads. Isa took notes, provided the necessary written declarations to each citizen, and offered her recommendations—whispered in my ear, of course—when I stalled on a decision. All in all, the morning proceeded better than I expected, and my confidence swelled. Perhaps I would be able to find some sense of comfortable normality and routine quickly after all.

But when the next pair of citizens stepped slowly forward and tucked their fine hair behind rounded ears, I bristled.

No, worse than that.

I burned.

Rage flared in my chest, pulling my teeth together hard.

These were not the humans who had killed Brennan. The Olanders were to blame for that, not these two women.

All logic and reason vanished from my mind, drowned by the incessant images of Brennan’s body on our balcony.

His hand reaching for me.

His lips trying to speak to me as he lay dying.

My hands started to shake in my lap as my pulse quickened. I clasped my fingers tighter together, desperate to quell the rising flood of anger.

They didn’t kill him.

These women are not to blame.

I repeated these words, over and over with every step the women took toward me, but the closer they got, the hotter my wrath burned. No, their hands hadn’t killed him, but I couldn’t ignore their mortal appearance, couldn’t shake the memories and the grief. I couldn’t look at them without seeing Brennan’s dying eyes staring back at me.

I couldn’t do this.

How could I rule them—how could I help them—when the very sight of them twisted my thoughts and clouded my vision with vengeance?

They stopped directly in front of the dais and bowed their heads in unison.

“Your Majesty?—”

“No,” I growled, pushing to my feet. Isa’s hand lighted on my shoulder, but I nudged it away as I fought to keep my shadows reined in. “That is all I can manage today,” I said.

Time. Yes, all I needed was time.

Time for Minerva’s curse to dole out its justice.

Time for my heart to heal.

Time for my rage to quell and for my mind to calm.

The humans—two young women, sisters perhaps—exchanged bewildered glances before they both looked to Isa for guidance. Isa turned to me.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered. “Do you need a break?”

“Please, Your Majesty,” one of the women begged, but her voice scraped against my patience, worn dangerously thin from my torment.

“No,” I said again through gritted teeth. My magic surged, and I had to clasp my hands together behind my back to keep my shadows from breaking free. “Leave. Now.”

“Pardon?” one of the women asked.

My hands began to shake. My shadows seemed to be bucking against my resolve. “Get out of my home. Out of my kingdom.”

An eerie quiet hushed over the room as everyone seemed to hold a collective breath. Only Isa moved, approaching me gingerly, like I was a wounded animal in the wild.

“Your Majesty,” she said before dropping her voice into a low whisper near my ear. “What are you doing, Calla? Why would you?—”

My head snapped around to look at her. “Because…”

The humans killed him. Just say it! Four little words.

But no matter my efforts, my lips, my tongue, my breath would not cooperate.

Stars-damned witch.

Yes, I had wanted to know the truth, and I had understood the price of that knowledge.

But how could I make Isa—make everyone in my kingdom—understand why I needed the humans—all humans—to leave? I didn’t want to kill them, but I could not rule them any longer, at least not fairly. As irrational as my anger was, I could not look at them, let alone care enough about them to be their queen.

Breathing deeply, I searched for words that I could utter, hoping Isa—and Graham and the Assembly—would accept and support my decision.

“I need all humans out of the kingdom,” I said as calmly as I could manage, given the weakening hold I had on my powers. I needed my general to understand, willed her to with an intense, pleading look. “I can’t do this. I can’t be their queen.”

Isa searched my eyes frantically for a few breaths, but I couldn’t tell what she noticed. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t to me.

“Ladies, I’m afraid the morning has been too taxing for Her Majesty. Could your concerns be addressed at a later date, perhaps?”

I glowered at my friend before whirling on the women still standing before my dais with confusion still playing across their features. One of them inched forward slightly before bowing her head again. She elbowed her sister sharply until she did the same. When they finally turned to leave, I relaxed my fingers—now throbbing at every joint—but I had moved too soon, trusted myself too much.

“She’s gone mad.” The woman’s words—mere whispers breathed into her sister’s ear—slammed into me as if she had screamed them for the entire castle to hear. “No doubt that’s what drove her to kill the king.”

My shadows unfurled before I could stop them, shooting out of my palms like water streaming from a broken dam. The inky black tendrils writhed like snakes as they coiled around the limbs of the women. My grief-stricken heart raged within me as I threw my hands wide, and I watched in dark delight as my shadows tore the women apart, spraying their blood across the gleaming floor. I pulled the darkness back, and two pairs of arms and legs fell with a delightfully sickening thud atop their collapsed bodies.

As my shadows snapped back into my palms, an eerie cackle filled the room, and it took me a moment to realize that the laughter was mine.