Page 79 of Tides of Shadows

“But you, Nerissa…” His voice softened with concern. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous.”

“And where would I go?” I lifted my brow. “Nowhere is safe. We must find the fourth heir. But I doubt the Gathering will succeed. Most Lords cannot see beyond their own borders.” I stepped closer. “If that person hides, or doesn’t know who they are, no map or archive will reveal them.”

“It is no wonder,” he said quietly. “Who would wish to be a part of this?” His gaze drifted, as though counting ghosts. “My parents. Your brother. Lord Cavareth.”

He shook his head.

“Even so, your father’s words…” His voice faltered. “I always felt none of this was a mere chance. But now, at least, I may hope that I was not the cause of it all, only its consequence.”

There was this one note in his voice, that I hadn’t felt before. Relief.

Chapter

23

After three days, I could no longer bear it. I had to see Aidenar. The worry gnawed at me from within, growing stronger with each passing hour. The corridors leading to his chambers were all pale, just like the rest of the palace. Beautiful, yet soulless. I had never been here before. Each step echoed sharply, as though the palace itself warned me I had no right to come closer.

When I turned past another column, I saw a gathering of people. Cassandra Cavareth stood among the guards, her gown glinting in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. The moment her eyes found me, they narrowed, cold as tempered steel.

“Lady Veymaris,” she said, her voice slicing the air. “What brings you here?”

I faltered for a moment but refused to show hesitation.

“I came to see how the Young Regent feels,” I said. “I’m very worried about this attack.”

A shadow of a smile touched her lips, but there was no warmth in it.

“Oh, of that I have no doubt.” Her gaze swept over me from head to toe. “But you must not think anyone may simply wander into the Regent’s chambers unannounced.”

Before I could answer, Peter, one of the palace guards I had seen before, stepped forward.

“Lady Cavareth,” he said firmly, “it was Lady Veymaris who saved Lord Aidenar’s life. Had she not slowed the bleeding, the healers would never have arrived in time.”

I knew he risked much by speaking for me. Cassandra turned her eyes on him, the look alone could have frozen stone. After a pause, she sighed softly and adjusted the ring upon her hand.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “But I have just come from my son’s chamber. He sleeps. He needs rest and quiet. When his strength returns, he shall appear at court.”

She turned and departed with her attendants, as though descending from a stage she owned. I was left standing in the hall, my pulse quickening with quiet fury beneath my skin. I turned to leave, but a voice called softly behind me.

“Lady Veymaris.” Peter hurried after me. “Lord Cavareth asked for you the moment he woke.”

I stopped at once. “He... he is awake?”

Peter nodded. “Aye. Still weak, but alive. And I am certain he wishes to see you. Please, this way.”

I followed him. The corridors grew narrower, more hidden with each turn. We passed the guards at the main door before Peter leaned closer and whispered,

“I shall show you his secret passage. The Lord used it often when he used to slip out into the city at night. He thought none knew of it... but, well, some of us notice more than he thinks.”

He smiled faintly as we descended winding stairs, then rose again through galleries and a small library. At last, we reached a narrow stairway that ended in a small wooden door. Beyond it lay a dark passage, leading to another set of doors, small, yet heavy.

“I shall enter with you, my Lady, for safety’s sake,” Peter murmured. “Afterwards I will send someone to wait by the library, to escort you back to the Inner Court. It is not safe for you here either.”

He pushed the door open.

Light struck my eyes like a blade. The room was vast, filled with brightness. White walls, graceful furnishings, bookshelves, a marble table, and several carved statues. Everything stood elegant, immaculate, yet cold. In the center, upon a broad bed draped in white canopy, lay him. Aidenar Cavareth.

He was bare-chested, a bandage wrapped around his abdomen, pale as marble. He looked like a sleeping god.