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And what if the claiming and whatever magical, mystical thing the process involved didn’t work? Would he just imagine I was Cornelius? Would I imagine he was Demos?
“What if it doesn’t work?” I asked, panicking.
Her brows bunched in confusion. “If what doesn’t work?”
“The claiming, the bond.” My voice was rising in pitch, I was so upset.
“Why wouldn’t it ‘work’? I don’t understand.” Suddenly she sat back, and a strange distant look came over her face, transforming her features, relaxing her facial muscles as if she were sleeping with her eyes open.
When she came back to herself, she stood. “I need to speak with the queen.”
I stood as well, dread tingling its way down my spine. “What is it? What did you… see?”
She remained tight-lipped and only shook her head. She walked to the door and told the guards to escort me back to the drawing room.
“I will visit you in the morning, early. There’s more to go over.” She smiled then and took my hand. “All is fine, Sierra. I will see you at dawn.”
“But…”
“In the morning.” She kissed my cheek and released my hand, her eyes studying me. A feather light movement at her mouth betrayed her ease. I wanted to know what she had ‘seen.’ But I knew she wouldn’t tell me.
Gods, I thought as my guards and I left the east wing. It was one thing after another. What would be next?
Chapter 41
Fadon
Fadon wasn’t anywhere near tired when he entered his room. He had just visited his Second, staying long enough to see how his friend was doing. It looked like Jon would be able to attend the ceremony tomorrow. He was able to walk on his own now, albeit short distances, and was saving his strength for the arduous task of getting down the west wing’s stairs without aid tomorrow, which he wasn’t looking forward to.
Jon’s spirits had been high, though, Fadon thought now as he sat in his chair at his desk. A ton of scrolls and messages sat staring at him. He still had yet to make a final roster of new men he’d added to the ranks, both promoting some and enrolling others.
There was a knock on his door, and Fadon called out for them to enter.
“Captain, lookout was able to make out that caravan.”
“And?”
“Darvis only told me to get you, sir.”
The caravan, the one that had been spotted before dinner. Fadon hoped it was only stragglers from the Aires, but more than likely it was his mother’s relatives coming in late.
“Thank you, Getis.”
Fadon left his room and walked outside. When he approached the gate house, he saw Ander, Lucius, and his idiot adviser, Cornelius, returning from the stables. Fadon still wasn’t comfortable having the House Dega leader and his men here. But so far, they had only been a tolerable annoyance, and had at least kept Lysander busy and sober. His brother had been friends with the adviser for many years, although Fadon had never met the man until yesterday, here at the gate.
Lucius acknowledged him with a nod, and Fadon nodded back as they went their separate ways.
Snow had begun falling, their little wet flakes melting on the cobblestone. Fadon glared up at the sky, cursing the white stuff.
He opened the door to the gatehouse, walked up the narrow staircase to the top room, and took position at the gallery, which looked over the south side of Great Mountain.
Fadon motioned for the scope, and Darvis handed it to him. The night was dark but the only road that led to Goth Mor Helle was lit by tall poles with torches every twenty-five feet, a half a mile out from the south wall. So far, the falling snow was only a light dusting, but whoever was out there needed to arrive before the snow became too dense to see.
Through the glass, he saw a group of riders in white and gray robes, about ten men, on horseback. At the front of the caravan a robed rider held a staff as long as a jousting lance, its top displaying the emblem of a perched owl.
Fadon grit his jaw and handed the scope back to the night guard.
For fuck’s sake, Fadon said to himself. What are they doing here?
