Page 12 of Once the Skies Fade (Immortal Reveries #2)

Chapter 12

Matthias

T hree weeks at home and I was already growing restless with the monotony of palace life.

Meetings. Meals. Training. More meetings.

Pointless meetings, about topics that could have been addressed in simple reports, but such was the life of a royal commander. At least my apartment—situated above the training ring—lay far enough away from the main house, allowing a bit of a respite from it all.

Of course, the distance didn’t prevent Connor from occasionally coming here and drinking all of my brandy. Granted there had only been one time, over a year ago, when he had done so without invitation or permission, draining nearly my entire bottle of Vrani?’s—a rare Dolobare brandy—and showing up at Lieke’s door, drunk off his royal ass.

I laughed quietly at the memory as I crossed my room to the wardrobe. It had taken me months to acquire a replacement for the one he had pinched, and out of an abundance of caution, I’d taken to hiding it among my undergarments. Pulling the drawer out, I reached to the back and pulled out the latest bottle. I held it up, tilting it slightly to verify Connor hadn’t somehow found its hiding spot. Satisfied, I returned to the sitting area where glasses sat beside my inferior varieties of liquor and poured myself a healthy portion—or a bit more than what was considered healthy.

Settling into my favorite armchair, I swirled the dark liquid in my glass as I reached for the small stack of reports that had continued to grow since I’d returned. My scouts, scattered about Emeryn and beyond its borders in the three other kingdoms, sent word via falcon or rider twice a month, whether they had something to report or not. It helped me to know what was going on around the country, if anything.

Taking a sip of my brandy, I opened the first report from across the mountains in Fairden. My scout there was a female fae who owned the local market.

No news.

While not altogether helpful in my efforts to track down the humans, this was decidedly better than hearing word of violence or growing tensions.

The next report was from Holsham where a miller kept a close eye on the main road into Kinham. I was about to open it when someone knocked at my door, startling me. My brandy sloshed in the glass spilling out over my fingers and dripping onto the paper.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I set the glass back down on the side table. Tossing the reports aside, I licked the spilled brandy off my fingers but remained seated. “Come in!” I called.

The door flew open, nearly hitting the wall before the young guard could catch it. Standing in the doorway, the male’s wide eyes darted to mine.

“Mr. Orelian,” he said, dipping his chin. I studied him for a quick moment, noting how he kept shifting his weight and tapping his fingers against the handle of the sword hanging from his belt.

“What is it?”

“Apologies for disturbing you, sir, especially at this late hour.”

I pulled my watch from my pocket. It was barely after dusk. “You have an odd definition of late.”

His lips thinned, and he bobbed his head again. “Yes, sir. You’re needed at the gate.”

At once I was on my feet, frowning at my unfinished brandy before retrieving my boots from beside my wardrobe and following the guard out the door. Hopefully I wouldn’t regret not taking the time to hide my Vrani?’s before leaving, but the guard’s uneasy demeanor pushed me to not delay. Grabbing my sword on the way out the door, I secured it around my waist as we bounded down the stairs and headed for the path.

“Anything I should know before we get there?” I asked, ducking under branches. “Is there a threat or?—”

“No, no threat,” the guard said, clearing his throat before explaining further. “But a…a development of a sensitive nature…”

My mind whirred with speculation as we pressed on. Could it be Raven? One of the rebels? Marin even? It couldn’t be someone from Wrenwick if the guard insisted there was no threat, but perhaps someone from Arenysen?

While it was standard procedure for me to investigate situations before the royal family was notified, I hadn’t been fetched like this in over a year when the rebel attacks ceased. Part of me was grateful for the change in routine, but another couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that deepened with each step toward the gate.

It wasn’t long before I caught the warm glow of the lanterns hanging on the stone wall on either side of the wooden gate. The gate had been locked, as it was every evening at dusk, but the smaller doorway—just large enough for someone to pass through—was propped open with a guard leaning lazily against his spear. He straightened as we approached and turned quickly on his heel, lifting his hand in a salute when he saw me.

I nodded in acknowledgment, glad when he didn’t bother with small talk but immediately ushered us through the doorway. Stepping outside the wall, I slowed as an unexpected scent assaulted me.

Blood.

Humans.

Another guard waited fifty meters away with his back to us, his head hanging low as he spoke gentle words to someone I couldn’t see. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he said another few words to the surprise guests before pivoting around and approaching me.

I fought back the urge to peek over the male’s shoulder or around his burly frame, deciding it best to respect his position and hear his assessment first.

“What happened? Who are they?” I asked as casually as I could, quieting the questions that screamed in my head.

“Children, from Arenysen,” he said, sighing heavily.

“Humans,” I said, not phrasing it as a question, but expecting confirmation all the same. He nodded rapidly.

“It’s not good, sir,” he said.

“Do we know why they came here?” As much as Connor wanted the humans to return to Emeryn, most mortals didn’t consider our kingdom amenable to them, and last we knew humans were living peacefully in Arenysen. Occasionally they moved between the kingdoms, but we hadn’t seen the same exodus of mortals from Arenysen as we had from Emeryn.

The guard rubbed his hand behind his neck and gazed off into the dark trees. A throaty sigh fell from him before he finally met my eyes again. “They’re pretty shaken up, sir. The youngest seems to still be in shock.”

What in the stars could have happened to them?

“How many?”

“Two.”

“And they haven’t said anything?” I scratched my hand along my jaw.

“Not much. They’re asking to see the king.”

Slapping my hand on the guard’s shoulder, I said, “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

He offered me a sympathetic smile and stepped aside, granting me my first view of the pair. My breath hitched, my eyes quickly skirting back to the guard who nodded as if to say, “I told you it wasn’t good.”

The younger of the two—a girl of about maybe ten years—was perched on an old tree stump staring blankly ahead. Her hands twisted and rolled the blood-drenched fabric of her skirt between her fingers nervously. The older, an adolescent boy, had his arm draped over her shoulders as he slowly rocked her back and forth. When his eyes met mine, the too-familiar look in them gave me pause, my mind pulling forward inconvenient memories.

Desperate battle.

Terrifying shadows.

Fear-filled eyes that dimmed as life slipped from them.

Shaking my head, I forced my mind to clear and made quick work of removing my sword and handing it to the waiting guard. Cautiously, I approached them, sure to keep my hands raised innocently in front of me where they could see I meant no harm. As I grew closer, the stench of stale blood threatened to make me dizzy, reminding me of the gruesome scenes I’d witnessed during the height of the rebel attacks.

Blood—dried and cracked—coated their arms from fingertips to elbows and soaked their clothes in large swaths over their knees and torsos.

“I’m General Orelian, head of the Emeryn army and advisor to the king,” I said, gently. “But you can call me Matthias.”

They didn’t say anything. The girl didn’t even seem to notice my presence, but the boy lifted his chin slightly. I took that as progress.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Teron,” he said. “She’s Tilly.”

“Are you injured at all?” I couldn’t see any visible wounds, and my gut said this blood was neither of theirs, but it had to be asked.

The boy shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “Our mother…”

“Where is she?” I asked, dropping my head to the side.

“Dead,” he said flatly. “She and our aunt.”

Drawing in a deep breath, I took a moment to choose my questions carefully. “And you came from Arenysen?”

He nodded once.

“Did this happen there or in?—”

“There. At the castle,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

My gaze fell to the blood coating their clothing. My gut tightened, my mind whirled, and my sister’s words echoed in my head: “What if it was the queen who killed him?”

The rumors surrounding Calla’s possible guilt had only gathered strength over the last few weeks, and now this. Maybe she was responsible, or perhaps someone was trying to implicate her, to oust her from the throne. Either way, more deaths—and brutal ones, by the looks of these kids’ clothing—at the castle could not be ignored by Emeryn, especially when we were still trying to glean what had happened to Brennan.

“Do you know what happened? Did you…see…it happen?” I asked, meeting his eyes and realizing a bit late that my second question might not be the best to ask them in their current state.

The boy’s eyes glazed over for a moment. Blinking, he peered up into the dark branches overhead. “We were there.” He paused, swallowing hard. “She just ripped them apart in front of everyone…for no reason. They had no chance, no time to even scream before she… The blood. So much blood.” He tucked his sister closer against him as his voice trailed off.

“Who? Who did this?”

Please don’t say Calla. Please don’t say the queen.

“Queen Vael.”

Shit.

Roughing my fingers back through my hair, I drew in another slow breath. This didn’t mean she’d killed Brennan. Stars, this didn’t even mean she’d actually killed these women. The boy was clearly distressed. I’d need to confer with my scouts, find out what they knew, but before that, I had one final question.

“You said she ripped them apart,” I said, hating how the girl flinched at my words and pulled her eyes closed. “How did she do that? Did she use?—”

“Shadows,” he blurted out, his head snapping up and his eyes burning into mine with such conviction as he repeated the word. “Shadows.”

My blood iced over, seeming to freeze my heart and hold my breath hostage.

If this boy was telling the truth, then we had a much bigger problem in Arenysen: Their queen was a Shadow Keeper.