*****
As dawn breaks, Cerylia’s nearly dozed off again, but the sound of pounding hooves jolts her back to consciousness. She rises from the haystack and goes to the end of the stable. From a distance, she can see her beautiful bay horse come into view. Its chestnut coat catches the light of the rising sun as its obsidian mane rustles in the breeze.
Cerylia smiles as the majestic creature trots closer, but that smile quickly fades. Atop the horse is a familiar figure in a jade cloak, pools of silver hair spilling out from underneath the hood. She’s immediately reminded of the first time she’d met Opal—when she’d arrived in Sardoria claiming to be a member of the Caldari and Cerylia had almost turned her away . . . before she’d known the girl was an Inverter.
Ever so slowly, an idea begins to form.
Opal gently pulls on the reins to bring Briar to a halt. She gives him a loving pat, then pivots her right foot out of the stirrup before bringing her leg over the back of the horse, dismounting with ease.
“Early morning ride?”
Opal doesn’t meet the queen’s eyes as she strokes her fingers through Briar’s mane. “Forgive me, Your Greatness. I didn’t think you’d fancy a ride at this hour, let alone be awake.” She gathers the reins and extends them to Cerylia. “I’m headed back inside.”
The queen ignores the gesture. “He rides well, doesn’t he?”
Opal glances at the castle before finally making eye contact. “Indeed. He’s a lovely creature.” She brings her gaze back to Briar. “I’ve ridden some of the other horses, but none of them seem to listen the way he does.”
“It appears we have similar observations,” Cerylia says as she reaches into a nearby pail to produce some hay. Briar’s ears twitch as she extends her hand. He lowers his head to take the hay from her palm. “I’ve always favored him. Dane and I used to squabble over who would get to take him out in the mornings.” An overwhelming sadness burrows in her chest. “I’d usually let him win. It was his horse anyway.”
Opal remains silent. She walks over to where Cerylia is standing, then takes the queen’s palm in her left hand. With her right, she digs into her pocket and pulls out two sugar cubes. “He seems to like these.” A small smile tugs at her lips as she places the cubes in the queen’s hands.
Cerylia closes her fingers around them.
Silence ensues.
“I suppose I should get going. I promised Felix I’d help him with something—”
“How is he doing?” Cerylia interrupts. She bites the inside of her cheek, hoping not to sound too desperate. Not only does she have no idea what’s going on with the Caldari under her own roof—she also fears that she’s lost their respect, and that any sort of alliance they’d once had no longer exists.
“After Arden left without a trace? Not well, I’m afraid.”
“Can you see her in your inversions?”
Opal shakes her head. “No.”
“So we haven’t any idea where she is?”
“I wish we did.” She turns to leave.
“And what about you?” Cerylia asks, not wanting the conversation to end. “How are you doing, Opal?”
When she turns back around, there’s nothing but concern etched in her expression. “I’m fine, Your Greatness. I’m doing just fine.”
Cerylia opens her mouth to respond, but Opal turns again before she can get the words out. She watches in vain as the girl retreats to the castle, to the place that had once been the Caldaris’ safe haven. As of late, it doesn’t feel like anything of the sort.
BRAXTON HORNSBY
BRAXTON CAN FEEL the intensity of Xerin’s gaze as if it were searing a hole in the back of his head.
“Almost ready?”
Braxton turns to face him. “Just about.” He tosses the final few items in his knapsack before throwing it over his shoulder. “I thought you would have shaped by now.”
Xerin regards him with curious eyes. “Into what, exactly?”
“Well, seeing as we’re going to Drakken Isle, I figured you’d shape into a dragon and . . . ” His voice trails off as Xerin clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“Shaping into a dragon and flying over Trendalath wouldn’t be wise. Not now, what with the king looking for us”—he pauses, looking him up and down—“all of us.”
“What would you suggest then?”
“Riding horseback, of course.” He pulls a map from his back pocket and splays it across the table. “We’ll ride together through the Roviel Woods, to the edge of the Vaekith Mountains. We’ll pass through Volkharn and once we get to the shore, I’ll shape into a dragon and take you to Drakken Isle.” He stops, seeming to consider the validity of his own plan. “The mountains should provide enough coverage.”
Braxton follows his finger as he traces the path once more. “Think it’s discreet enough?”
He nods. “Should be. It’ll take us a few days though.”
“We best get moving then,” Braxton says, heading for the door.
“Have you told anyone that you’re planning to leave?”
His hand falters on the door handle. Feeling foolish, he turns around to face Xerin. “The window?”
“Unless you want Cerylia, Delwynn, and the rest of the Caldari on your ass,” he retorts, “yes, the window is probably your best bet.” Xerin answers his next question before he can get the words out. “Don’t worry, you won’t plummet to your death.” He goes to the armoire and pulls out a long knotted rope with a detachable harness that Braxton hadn’t even realized was there.
“How—?”
Xerin puts his hand up as if to silence him, then starts assembling the harness onto the rope. “Do you remember when I brought you here to speak with Cerylia about providing a safe haven for the Caldari?”
At the mention of it, Braxton can’t help but flash back to the first time he’d met the queen—alone. Xerin had taken him here, told him what to do, and then had vanished into the bushes . . . or so he’d thought. “You broke into the castle before she agreed to house us?”
A shadow flickers across Xerin’s blood-red eyes. “I wanted to make sure we were well-equipped with an escape route, in case we ever needed one.”
“How did you know what rooms we’d be staying in?”
“I didn’t.” He clasps the final buckle and throws the contraption over to Braxton.
“Are you saying there’s a harness hidden in every single room of this castle?”
A ghost of a smile touches Xerin’s lips. “Just about.”
Braxton shakes his head as he locks the door and secures the rope around the leg of his dresser. He pulls it taut, knowing that it won’t go anywhere with that monstrosity holding it down. He eases into the harness before throwing the rope out the window. “See you down there.”