Eira did her best to keep up, but her feet were clumsy by comparison. More than once she tripped, falling hard to narrowly avoid taking down an expensive vase or suit of armor with her. The exits of the passages were awkward at best.
But Deneya didn’t slow. Not once did she look back to make sure Eira was keeping up. Nor did she ever verbally instruct the next turn. It felt like its own trial to Eira. As if every step whispered, Keep up. Prove to me that you can.
They finally came to a stop outside an unfamiliar door.
“The study you mentioned, I believe it’s right down the hall,” Deneya whispered and pointed.
“I have no interest in going back there.” The darkness thickened down the passage, obscuring her vision beyond shafts of moonlight with a sinister edge.
“I thought not.” Deneya produced a key from her pocket, unlocked the door, and ushered them both inside.
Eira did a turn about the room. She wanted it to seem more nefarious. She wanted there to be maps and writings of Ferro’s plot strewn about. She wanted to see daggers and implements of torture littered around stacks of dark literature.
But everything was so very…benign.
The dresser, bed, chair, and desk were all what she would expect of Solaris nobility—stately, gilded, crafted from cherry with an impeccable hand. The linens were freshly pressed and tucked around the bed. Ferro was fastidious with everything else; it only served he would be about his chambers, too. There was a quilt that was stitched with symbols resembling Lightspinning, a closed chest at the foot of the bed, and a locked lap desk set out on the dresser. They were the room’s only personal touches.
“I already did a preliminary sweep, but he tidied up well.” Deneya folded her arms and leaned against the door. “I didn’t find anything suspicious. But perhaps you’ll hear something my eyes missed.”
Eira glanced over her shoulder and nodded. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself. No matter if she found something useful or not, she had no doubt she was about to hear Ferro’s voice. She packed the ice around her heart and swore that she’d never let it feel again. She’d never let her heart dictate whom she trusted. From this moment on, it wasn’t in control, it wouldn’t guide her.
On her exhale, she imagined her magic filling the room. Tiny crystals of ice sparkled in the moonlight, each an anchor for her power. The room sparkled with her malice—a shining sea of hate—and Eira steeped every item with her magic.
She turned first to the bed, inviting it to speak with her.
Turn down… I can do it… Thank you kindly… Snippets of conversations drifted through her mind. Every one was a harmless discussion with what sounded like palace staff. She hadn’t expected the bed to yield much and that was part of why she’d started there.
But even though the conversations didn’t yield much, they still hurt to listen to. Ferro’s voice was an arrow to her temples. It sparked searing pain that nearly made her ill. The warm sounds she’d heard in the study contrasted against the man charging for her in the night—the man who’d tried to kill her.
When she had her composure, she turned to the chest. It also had little information to give her and Eira pulled up the latch, opening it. The fact that Deneya had yet to move from the door or say anything to stop her was all the permission Eira needed to rummage through Ferro’s effects.
A tunic was particularly chatty, the echo of some woman bidding him farewell during what Eira assumed was a going away party back on Meru. She listened for anything that could give her a clue, but there was nothing. The conversation danced around concrete topics. Every discussion he had seemed to be a carefully edited script.
Eira went to the lap writing desk last. She pulled it off the dresser and placed it on the bed. The tiny fractals of ice in the room moved around her as though they were drifting in invisible currents.
Lifting the top to reveal the main compartment, Eira found exactly what one would expect—three quills, two ink bottles, and a stack of blank parchment. Right when she was about to close it, the faintest whisper drifted toward her.
Yes, everything is going according to plan, Ferro said in hushed tones. There was a long pause, and then he continued. No, they suspect nothing. Though Deneya might be a problem. Another pause. Yes, the Court of Shadows is no doubt onto us. But we will stay one step ahead. They are no longer in control of Risen.
Eira touched the various objects in the writing desk. When her fingers met the middle of the three unassuming quills, Ferro’s words were louder and clearer.
Once the treaty is dismantled, we can step into the void created by the ensuing chaos. The people will be starved for leadership they can trust. It will be your glorious return. Then, we will purge the heretics and any associations with them. We will—yes…yes, Father, I know.
A bitter laugh escaped her.
“What is it?” Deneya asked.
“Everything he said to me was a lie.” Eira picked up the quill, twirling it in her fingers and, for the moment, silencing the words. “He said he was an orphan, like me.”
“He was.” Deneya shifted off the door. “At least…according to the best information I could find. What did you hear?”
“I’m not sure, but I believe this is one of your communication tokens.” Eira held out the quill. “What is it? Narro hath?”
“Indeed.” Deneya approached, the fragments of ice shifting around her. “Why do you believe this to be a token?”
“I’ve only read about them in books, but I hear a lot of conversation from this item—as if Ferro was speaking to it. But I can’t hear any other voices. If
