Page 50 of Once the Skies Fade (Immortal Reveries #2)

Chapter 50

Matthias

I sat there for an embarrassingly long time, staring at my door, picking apart what had just happened. The confident strength Calla had initially shown, even when she yielded control to me, had gradually faded, and I couldn’t figure out why.

It had been good—no—it had been stars-damned perfect.

Maybe that was the problem.

Calla needed a distraction, something empty and frivolous. Whatever this was between us may have started out as that, but somewhere in the midst of it all, something had shifted. I’d seen it in her eyes. I’d felt it in my own veins. This wasn’t some casual fuck with some pub owner. This was… fuck, I didn’t know what it was. All I knew was this was going to complicate everything.

The mission remained, though.

Regardless of what may or may not have been happening between the queen and me, even with the blood vow I’d made, my duty—my loyalty—was to the Durands first and foremost. I would do what needed to be done for the good of my kingdom and for the peace of my friend, even if it meant killing this female.

I just needed to keep myself focused on the reason I was here.

And it was not to fuck the queen.

Having fun was fine, unless it put the mission at risk––and whatever had changed between us tonight was an undeniable risk.

They postponed the next trial until after the citizens’ forum, which left me with altogether too much time with my own thoughts—traitorous, mutinous thoughts that insisted on returning to the queen no matter how hard I tried to stop them. What the fuck had she done to me? Never before had I felt such a loathsome emptiness after bedding someone.

Growling, I pushed to my feet for the hundredth time that morning and began pacing. I needed to do something, anything, aside from sitting here wallowing. I was no closer to knowing if she’d killed Brennan or not, but who could I speak to? Where could I look?

What did I already know?

First, Connor had received word from the healers that Brennan had been poisoned.

But Hilde worked closely with the healers and claimed they had ruled out poison, pointing instead to suffocation.

The healers refused to speak on the matter, understandably so, and Graham had been little help except to confirm there were no visible wounds, which could indicate poison—or not. He was obviously too afraid—even as Calla’s former advisor—to say anything to implicate her and wouldn’t be of any more help.

Maybe I could try the healers again, or find something helpful in the infirmary. They must have kept records or files on Brennan’s death. But how could I get in there without them seeing me?

It’s too bad I don’t have shadows to hide in.

That thought snapped my eyes to the far wall where I’d first noticed Calla hiding in my room. How had she gotten in here? She probably had a master key to every room in her castle, but something nagged at me. That night, she’d looked back at this wall, as if contemplating something. Hastily, I rushed across the room and examined the tapestry, running my hands gingerly over its soft surface and curling my fingers around its edge. The palace in Emeryn had its own secret gates and passages, so I wouldn’t be surprised if this castle did as well.

But when I pulled the fabric back, all I found was the same stone that made up every other wall. Shoving aside my initial disappointment, I lifted the fabric higher. There. Behind the middle of the tapestry, roughly half a meter up from the floor, lay a sizable gap in the stones. I rushed back into my bedroom, grabbed a lantern from the side table, and returned, holding it up to the dark crevice. Sure enough, past the opening lay a narrow passageway.

Wherever this led, taking it would prove far more fun—and hopefully more productive—than moping about in my room.

I stepped over the short wall of stones and plunged into the cramped space, holding the lantern out in front of me. My foot knocked into something, sending it toppling over with a loud clank against the hard floor. Peering down, I noted a small lantern similar to the one I held and smiled at the memory of Calla sneaking into my room.

Shit, I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her. At least not fondly, anyway.

Forcing myself to focus, I pushed on ahead, navigating the passage and visualizing where I was in the castle as I went. At the first intersection, I turned right, confident this would take me to the stairwell, where hopefully the tunnel would follow it down to the lower floors. On either side of the passage at irregular intervals lay alcoves for hidden entrances into other rooms. I checked the first few, but finding nothing of interest, I gave up investigating the others.

Until, halfway down the passage parallel to my hallway, muffled voices caught my attention and pulled me back to the alcove I had just passed. Creeping into the tight space, I craned my neck, pushing my ear closer to the entrance, careful to keep the lantern back in case they might be able to see the light somehow.

“You were supposed to kill him,” a male’s voice growled, familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“No shit,” responded another, this one easily identifiable—Korben. “It’s not for lack of trying.”

“He cannot win this tournament.”

“So I’ve been told,” Korben groaned. “Why does it have to be me?”

“You’re the only one with a viable reason to want him dead, or have you forgotten how your friend died at the Emeryn palace?”

“It’s a tournament to the death; that should be reason enough for any of us.”

“Just get it done, or you might be next to have a tragic accident in these games.”

Heavy footsteps stomped away, and I jumped when glass crashed violently against the wall nearby. Hurriedly I backed out of the alcove and resumed my trek onward.

So someone had hired Korben to kill me, but who? The Assembly? That made the most sense, honestly. They seemed all-too-eager to get Calla off the throne, and short of that, no doubt they’d want some say in whoever sat beside her as king. But what threat did I pose specifically?

I stopped in my tracks as a thought struck me.

I was from Emeryn. Not only that, but I had close ties to the Emeryn royals. Was that why Brennan was killed? Because of the alliance? But the alliance was intended to help both our nations stave off potential war. Who in Arenysen could be against such an arrangement?

Someone who wanted to rule.

Shit.

It had to be the Assembly. Had they killed Brennan to sever the alliance?

It was more than possible, but I needed more than mere speculation.

I took off down the passage, spurred on by this fresh trail to follow, reminding myself that this didn’t clear Calla of any guilt. She could have been working with the Assembly. She could have arranged for her parents’ deaths and then Brennan’s.

Just the thought turned my stomach. Every interaction I’d had with her—every moment, and not just the intimate ones—pointed to her innocence, but I’d be a fool to let my feelings for her cloud my judgment.

Fuck, did I truly have feelings for her?

I shook my head and pressed on. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Until I cleared her name—until I could prove she didn’t kill Brennan—whatever feelings I’d stupidly developed for her were moot.

It took an embarrassingly long time for me to finally find where the passage led down to the lower levels. It didn’t follow the main stairwell as I had hoped, and I’d had to backtrack several times and try different paths before discovering a set of narrow ladders leading in both directions. For a moment I peered up toward the dark opening that lead to the upper floors, wondering if Calla’s suite lay above my head somewhere. My muscles itched to climb the rungs to see, to check on her, but with how she had fled from my room last night, she probably didn’t want to see me.

No, she’d come to me when she was ready.

And if she doesn’t?

I shook my head.

Then it is what it is.

But now, I need to focus.

As quickly as I could––while precariously carrying the lantern in one hand––I slipped down the ladder, one level and then another and another, noting how the air chilled as I descended. Here there were no alcoves along the narrow passage, but in the distance came the faint sounds of chatter mixed with the dull clanks of metal and wood. I crept forward, following the noise. My stomach grumbled when the comforting aroma of braised meat and baking bread drifted toward me.

If the kitchens were that way, then the infirmary would be in the opposite corner to the left. Spinning around, I pushed forward, keeping my steps quiet as I continued. Around two corners and down one long stretch of darkness—the scents and sounds of the kitchen lessening with each step—I walked, trying to ignore the ache of my feet. The corridor then split, one path angling up, gradually rising. Leading to the outside perhaps? To the forest?

I shuddered slightly at the memory of the creeping vines and deadly trees.

The other path, unlike any other I’d traversed so far, had a dim light glowing at the end. Lowering the flame in my own lantern, I set it on the floor before slowly moving on. A crevice the same size as the one in my room was cut into the stone wall, but instead of being covered by a tapestry, it appeared to be hidden behind a large piece of furniture that stood just far enough away from the wall to allow me to step into the room.

I immediately recognized the scent of healing herbs and cleaning solution.

I was back in the infirmary.

Carefully, I shifted to the edge of the shelving and peered around it, releasing a heavy breath at finding the room empty. The lanterns—several placed throughout the space—burned low, giving it an eerie quality that tightened my stomach. I just needed to find their records, discover something—anything—that would support the queen’s innocence, and get out.

What if she’s guilty though?

Then I’ll do what I have to, what I swore I’d do.

My job was to find the truth and act on it. I couldn’t let any bias keep me from accepting whatever it might be.

On the desk in front of me, a short stack of papers crowded one side. With one final check that I was alone, I rushed forward and quickly searched through the pile. Records for Korben from when I’d brought him in unconscious lay on top, followed by an order signed by the queen and her general for the release of Oryn, complete with authorization to have him transported home to Emeryn. Below that were a few pages signed by each of the healers dictating all they’d done to aid me after I’d barely survived the first trial. There was nothing after that of any significance, only some receipts for healing supplies and a handful of memos from the other healers stationed throughout the kingdom. The rest of the desk was clear, aside from a pad of blank paper and a few ink pens laid neatly in the center.

Squatting low, I hid myself behind the desk and pulled open the top drawer—nothing but wax seals and unused envelopes. The drawer below it held several sachets of tea, spoons, and napkins. Boring and not in the least bit helpful. I was about to open the final drawer when the soft pad of footsteps hit my ears, slowly growing louder.

Shit.

Sprinting back to the cover of the shelf, I slipped into the crevice in the wall and focused on slowing my breathing and calming my pulse. Hopefully the heavy scents crowding the air would mask my presence well enough.

I held my breath as they entered the room—two sets of feet, two heartbeats—one of them speaking heatedly.

“Jocelyn, are you sure the remedy you’ve been providing the queen is sufficient? With the citizens’ forum approaching, she can’t afford to not have an adequate hold on her shadows.” The harsh tone had to be the healer Ami.

Jocelyn’s softer voice answered. “Yes, Ami. I am. I used the same for her mother for many years prior.”

“Yes, but her mother didn’t have a propensity for rage and a hidden power that could kill so easily.”

“Calla is stronger than you all give her credit for,” Jocelyn argued.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ami noted darkly.

Feet shuffled, jars clinked together, and something fell onto a solid surface before Jocelyn spoke again.

“I will need more ingredients soon, though. She requires a larger dose than her mother did, and my supplies are quickly dwindling. Do we have the status of the latest shipment?”

“It’s been delayed,” Ami said. “Transport is taking extra precautions with the tournament. We’re under a bit more scrutiny with some troubling questions being raised about the king’s passing.”

Jocelyn hesitated before timidly asking, “What kinds of questions? Raised by whom?”

“Some have been led to believe that it may have been poison,” Ami said, her voice thick with suspicion. “Where could they have gotten that idea?”

“Possibly from their own experience?” Jocelyn offered, and I smiled at the hint of sass in her tone. “The king’s family had their fair share of trouble with the poison. It would only be logical for them to consider it as a possibility.”

Slow footsteps filled the resulting silence, and then Ami’s voice lowered into a menacing hiss. “I never said anything about his family. Why assume?—”

Jocelyn’s exasperated sigh interrupted her question. “They are the only ones whose skepticism would have you worried like this. I told you we should have told them the truth from the beginning, but what are you implying? That I went behind your back and informed them somehow?”

“Did you?” Ami asked pointedly.

“And what could I possibly hope to gain by doing that?” Jocelyn asked.

Sharp footsteps cut through the uncomfortable silence that followed. Ami whispered, “A lot could go wrong if a certain neighbor of ours starts poking around in our business. What happens if they link the poison to the queen, hm? Did you ever think of that?”

“She didn’t do it, though,” Jocelyn protested.

Ami scoffed. “No one knows that for sure, and now that they have reason to believe it wasn’t natural or an accident, they’ll be ramping up their own investigation rather than trusting us to handle it.”

“We should just destroy the remaining poison we have on hand, then,” Jocelyn said.

“No,” Ami said, her tone once again darkening. “They need it for the next trial.”

“What? They can’t do?—”

“They can, and they will, Jocelyn. That’s why I need you to make more of the antidote. You’re the only one with the skills to do it.”

“We should have destroyed it all before the general got poisoned,” Jocelyn said. “Do we know for sure that male didn’t get it from our supply?”

“General Marlowe is still investigating that, but in the meantime, we’re taking precautions.” Ami’s voice lowered, sounding almost gentle. “All you need to do right now is worry about getting the antidotes ready.”

Jocelyn mumbled a quiet, “Fine.” Heavy footsteps echoed through the now-quiet room, growing louder, closer—my cue to get back to my room.