Page 44 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Corrin

T he palace ballroom is a swirl of color as nobles spin around in their finery. The music swells, and sparkling wine flows, and I can’t help but think of all of the children currently starving on Trova’s streets.

I’m no revolutionary, but my stomach turns when I stand and watch this country’s richest people toast to a woman who lets the Temple burn and sacrifice its poorest in the name of the gods.

Tonight, we change things. I don’t how good a queen Morgana Angevire will be, but she’s got to be better than this. If nothing else, I know she won’t tolerate the Temple’s cruelty.

“Florin for your thoughts, Your Grace?” I look up to see Lord Qualis smiling at me over his drink, amused by my distraction.

“Ah,” I grin. “I was just wondering how long it would be until the regent blesses us with her presence. I have to confess I’ve been excited to meet her this entire trip.”

Qualis pulls a face for just a second, then rearranges his expression into something more amiable.

“Ah yes, our esteemed leader. She’ll not deign to kowtow with us lesser nobles until the last moment, I suspect. ”

“She’s a busy woman,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, giving him room to show his own biases.

“…Indeed,” Qualis replies. His thinly veiled disapproval of Oclanna is why I’m starting to like the man, despite his pompousness.

Whether he’s excited to lay eyes on the prospective queen or not doesn’t really matter. Because we’ve been assured that tonight, the day before the coronation, Oclanna will finally join us all for the ball being thrown in her honor.

It’s cutting it close, but that’s just given Damia time to work it all out.

Her geostri powers will provide the distraction to get the others in.

Then I’ll use my shadows to hide them in the corridors near the regent’s wing, ready to strike before Oclanna sets foot in the ballroom.

Barb has done some useful snooping of her own, and Damia now knows for certain the route the regent will take on her way to the celebration.

I meet Damia’s gaze now, trying not to get distracted by how spectacular she looks in a sapphire blue gown with a slit almost up to her hip. Gods, I’ll miss those legs when they’re back to being sheathed in black pants…

There I go again. Focus, Corrin.

I school my features into a look of concern as she approaches me and Lord Qualis from across the ballroom, hiding an approving smile as she angles herself toward a nearby footman. It’s best guests and staff hear this next little bit of our production.

“Is everything alright, my darling?” I ask, reaching out a hand to take her gloved fingers in mine.

“No,” she says, holding her other hand to her head. “I’m not feeling too well. I think it’s the heat.”

“Ah yes, Elmere certainly isn’t Qimorna, but it must seem quite warm compared to Artifract,” Qualis says kindly.

“I need to retire for the evening,” Damia sighs forlornly. “I’ll be no fun like this.”

“But you’ll miss seeing Her Highness, my love, and you’ve been so excited,” I say .

“I know,” she replies miserably. “But I can’t possibly meet her in this state. And if I don’t rest, I might not be well enough for the coronation tomorrow.”

Lord Qualis makes a sympathetic hum. “Then you must go rest, Your Grace. It would be such a pity for you to miss the main event.”

“Thank you, Lord Qualis. You’re very kind. Yes, I think I shall go do that now. Don’t worry about me, darling. You stay and enjoy the ball.”

“If you’re sure, my love.”

Unable to resist, I kiss her hand before she goes. Rather than annoyance, I think I see a little light dancing in Damia’s eyes as I meet them. But then, she’s in her element now. She’s about to go hunting. No doubt that’s the source of her excitement rather than any flirtatious touch from me.

As she slinks away, I guide Qualis toward a larger group of nobles by the drinks table. They coo over a fountain that’s been cleverly enchanted by some aquari to make the wine flowing through it arc and twist in the air before landing neatly into guests’ outstretched glasses.

I subtly move myself toward the front, pretending to be as awed by this indulgence, commenting on it to everyone around me. It’s important I’m seen by as many people as possible, so no one suspects anything’s afoot with the Hornifolds until it’s too late.

I chitchat with the lords and ladies, many of whom are drunk enough now that their tongues are loose.

Most of the conversation is inane court gossip about people who couldn’t matter less to me, but I keep my ears open for anything that might be important—not least because I need a distraction from the prospect of Damia sneaking around on the grounds alone.

“And then she finished off her letter by saying that she ran into a couple of anointers on her way back from Rilheim.”

“How odd. Lord Duncy just told me they’ve had clerics in Ulmire too.”

I turn in the direction of the conversation, my eyes falling on an older lord and lady loitering by the dessert trolley. I scoot closer, seizing the chance to join their conversation.

“Pardon me, but did you say Ulmire?” I ask. The old lady squints at me, trying to place my face, and I quickly introduce myself .

“I have a cousin in Ulmire,” I continue. “Though we don’t speak to him. Black sheep of the family, you see.” I wink. “However, if there’s going to be a purge?—”

“Oh no, no purges. No raids either,” the old woman says. “Lord Duncy was quite clear on that. They were entirely quiet, these clerics. They just came and went.”

The old man frowns. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“Well, who knows what’s going on with the Temple these days,” the old lady sighs. “Case in point, you’d think the Grand Bearer would give some warning about attending the coronation instead of turning up last minute.”

My blood chills, and I try to keep the alarm off my face as I reply.

“Did you say Cal—I mean, the Grand Bearer—is coming to the coronation tomorrow? I thought he’d decided he was staying in Qimorna?

That’s what everyone seems to have been told.

” Even the palace’s anointer was under that impression when I spoke to him a few days ago.

“Oh, that was the case, yes,” the old woman says, pleased to be the bearer of big news. “But it seems he changed his mind last minute. Why? I don’t know. It’s not like he came to her sister’s coronation. But he’s already here, visiting Lady Oclanna right now.”

“You’re sure?” I ask.

The old lady looks vaguely insulted. “I’m too old to fall for false gossip, Lord Hornifold. You can believe my sources are sound.”

“Wow,” I say, trying to soothe the insult by making a show of being impressed. “The Grand Bearer and the queen together. Well, this will be a story to tell the grandchildren.”

I stay for their small talk for a few minutes more.

I don’t want to arouse suspicion by leaving abruptly, but every moment I’m standing there my heart pounds faster.

Caledon’s here—the man everyone’s been telling me can kill you with just a touch.

And no one of his position would travel alone.

If he’s here, that means there are clerics too. Cleavers .

We can’t try to strike at Oclanna tonight. We wouldn’t have a chance of getting out alive. Right now, Damia’s helping Stratton, Warren, and Hyllus scale the palace walls, not knowing they’re about to land in a nest of Temple heavies.

At last, I make my excuse to the nobles and duck away from the ballroom. I hurry down the corridors, moving as fast as I can without looking like I’m rushing to any passing guest or servant.

Gods, how did I get myself into this mess? Trapped in the palace surrounded by guards and clerics, hobnobbing with nobles like I can make a blind bit of difference to this harebrained cause. I should’ve just gone back to Hallowbane.

But Damia…

That’s why I’m panicking. Because she’s gone and I’m stuck imagining her on the end of a cleaver’s blade. I’ve got to find her, warn her—and then we’re getting out of this damn place as fast as humanly possible. This won’t go the same way as Marina. I won’t let it.

The corridors aren’t as brightly lit here, and I use my shadows as cover while I move faster, slipping through pockets of darkness toward the same exit to the grounds we used the other day.

In the moment when I turn the corner, the door is flung open, and there are shouts coming from outside.

Flashes of magic explode in the darkness, and I can make out the dim shape of figures locked in battle.

Damia and the others, it has to be—and even in this dull light, the maroon of the cleavers’ uniforms are unmistakable.

Caledon’s extra security has caught them. They didn’t even get past the orchard.

I shroud myself in my shadows and sprint toward them.

It’s four against twelve, but they don’t see me coming. I steal up behind the cleavers in a wall of shadow, pulling out the knife hidden beneath my tunic. I manage to gut one in seconds, and then as his comrade turns to see why he’s fallen, I bury my knife in her throat.

“On your left!” one of the cleavers barks, forcing me to fall back as the nearest pair direct a barrage of hostile magic into the dark patch of air I occupied moments before .

Hyllus is holding one cleaver down on the ground, pinning him for Warren as my friend cuts the cleric’s throat.

Stratton’s clutching some kind of projectile in his hand as he battles against a cleaver attacking him with jets of fire.

The ground to my right is moving, and when I look closer, I see it’s writhing with snakes, hissing and darting out, sinking their fangs into the cleavers’ legs.

Damia must’ve called on the distraction she orchestrated for the others and left the serpents to their devices.

Meanwhile, she’s moving like a whirlwind.

I sneak up on another cleric, taking him down as I watch her duck and weave, swinging her blade like it’s an extension of her arm.

She told me once her sensic magic doesn’t work well on cleavers, but she hardly needs it, her fighting a beautiful dance I can only tear my eyes away from to dodge a stray spell.

A flame flares into existence over by the snakes as an incendi cleaver lowers her hand to torch them.

“Oh no you don’t,” I mutter, burying her in shadow. She shouts, surprised by the sudden darkness, probably wondering why her incendi flames aren’t illuminating anything past her nose.

“Corrin!” Damia shouts. “Barb’s over there!”

“I’m on it,” I say, charging the incendi as she emerges from my shadows and burying a knife in her back.

She falls forward, her fire extinguishing, and the snakes quickly swarm to cover her.

I turn, searching for Damia again. There are only three cleavers left now, and Warren, Stratton, and Hyllus are each fighting an opponent. I risk running to Damia.

“We need to get out of here,” I say. “Caledon’s here.”

“Yes, I gathered that from the presence of these lovely specimens,” she says, kicking a corpse at her feet. “But we can’t go until we’ve completed the mission.”

“You’re insane,” I say. “No one expects?—”

“ I expect it,” she says and opens her mouth to say something else, but I don’t hear it.

Warren’s shout of warning gets my full attention, and I act on blind instinct, grabbing her arms and pulling her toward me. A knife spins through the air, the metal singing past her shoulder, but if I hadn’t moved her, I have no doubt it would’ve landed in her neck.

There’s a garbled cry as the fae men quickly end the cleaver who threw it.

“Now do you believe we need to go?” I gasp, still gripping her tight against me.

“But Oclanna—” she protests.

“It’s a suicide mission, Damia. Caledon’s with her right now. You’ll never be able to get close enough to do any damage, and you will get captured. If you go in there, you’ll be handing your life away to him.”

She pulls away, turning to better face me. Her chest is heaving with exertion, and she looks wildly around us, taking in the dead cleavers and the lights still glinting up at the palace.

“We can’t give up,” she says.

“It’s over , Damia,” I say.

“He’s right,” Stratton pants. “More will be on their way.”

Still, she hesitates, and I want to shake her. What madness is keeping her from letting this go?

“For gods’ sakes, accept that it’s time to leave and live to fight another day,” I say.

“The gods have nothing to do with it,” she spits, and then turns to scoop up a small serpent from the grass—Barb. “But alright, let’s go,” she says.

We exit the same way they came in, at the sagging portion of wall. Warren pulls out the ladder and rope they stashed under the hedge when they came over and sets them up.

“Ladies first,” Warren says.

Damia opens her mouth to argue, but Stratton gets there first. “Shut up, Damia, and do as the man says.”

I hear it then, the backup on its way—many pairs of booted feet sprinting in our direction .

“I can hide us with shadows, but they’ll notice the magic if they search this area long enough,” I say. “So be quick.”

Damia’s over the wall in a few seconds, but it takes Hyllus, the largest and bulkiest of the fae, longer to navigate the rungs and rope. I send Warren up next, leaving me and Stratton.

“Go,” I say. “I’ll lift the shadows once we’re at the top and drop them on the cleavers.”

“Thanks,” Stratton grins, and he starts up the rungs with me close behind him. When we’re halfway up, there’s a shout from behind us. Someone’s detected my magic.

“They’re over here!” a voice barks through the gloom.

Stratton picks up the pace. He’s nearly at the top of the wall when he makes the mistake of glancing over his shoulder.

A spell flies through darkness, hitting him with explosive force.