Page 4 of The Stolen Throne
Cain and I both go silent, waiting for any other guards to pick up on the alarm, but the garden remains peaceful.
“I should have handled that,” Cain grumbles after a bit.
The glint of moonlight on his knife blade tells me he was ready. I’m not apologizing, though.
Scaling the side of the palace itself, we make our way up to the balcony. Instead of going left toward Meren and Tabra’s old rooms, we go the opposite direction, wrapping around to an even wider terrace. Every room in this wing opens onto the private balconies.
At least the queen’s name day celebration means the people in the palace are distracted—and probably gathered in the ballroom, which is in another building. Except that includes Meren. The thought of having to wait for her is already an itch under my skin.
“Let us out!”
The scream comes from within, exploding the metaphorical box I had locked the Shadows inside.
Fuck.
I put a shaking hand behind me and form a fist, the Wanderer signal to stop, while I wrestle for control. Damn it. I had the Shadows buried so deep that they shouldn’t have seen anything or known where we are.
But they do. They know the king is near. Our maker is near.
Their screams are like ragged blades shredding my insides as they try to claw their way out. If I look down, I know I’ll see their faces bulging out of my skin, even under my clothing. Seven hells. Eidolon doesn’t need to find me—the Shadows want to find him. Especially now, while I’m weakened. I went up against Eidolon once, when I was physically whole…and I lost.
There’s no way I can face him and live. Not tonight.
We need to get Meren out of the palace before Eidolon realizes I’m here. That’s the only way this works without us getting dead.
Cain taps my shoulder.
“Don’t.” The word comes out as a snarl that even I don’t recognize.
The sharp blade of a knife slides against the skin of my throat. “Just give the word,” Cain’s voice says in my ear. Not a threat. A mercy killing.
He means it, too.
I hold up a hand, and neither of us moves. I need to be in control before we take another step.
I slip a hand into my breast pocket and run a finger over the perfect, smooth glass of the flower, the one Meren made and gave me one night in a moonlit wood when we pretended we were the only two people in the world.
I’m so close. Damned if I’m going to let the Shadows win tonight.
I take a long, slow breath, stuff the grinding fear that I’m already too late to save her in the box with the Shadows, and pull the metaphorical lid back over it, containing the evil. “I’ve got it.”
Mostly.
The knife doesn’t move. “You sure?”
Meren probably wouldn’t like it if I pushed her best friend off this ledge. “Yes.”
The knife leaves my throat, but I don’t miss the way Cain releases a breath of his own. I’m pretty sure I scared the life out of him. These past months, he’s seen what happens when I lose it. More times than I like to acknowledge.
We continue on until we reach the biggest balcony with alabaster columns leading into the room beyond, rather than the usual black marble, reminding me of stripes on a banded alder vulture from home. The curtains are thrown wide open as if in direct defiance, daring anyone to try something with this queen.
This has to be Meren’s room.
It smells of her—fresh and subtle and clean.
Inside, beyond the columns, is a massive bed covered by a gauzy netting, empty. So is the rest of the ridiculously opulent room, one large enough that a small house could fit inside it. It feels hollow in here. Cold. Unfeeling. Not like Meren. She must hate it. Feel so alone.
That’s assuming she hasn’t succumbed to Eidolon the way her sister did.
