Page 65 of Captive

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, I speak. “She’snotwell.”

“I know.” Hector guides me to the bed, where I sit with a sigh against the soft mattress.

“Who is she?” I ask, wanting to know about the woman.

“Wrenley is Kheldar’s wife.”

“What do you think is wrong with her?”

Hector shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know.”

I slide my gaze over the room, amazed at the beauty before me. It’s the most luxurious chamber I have ever been in.

“Do you like it?” Hector asks, his question pensive, as if he fears me saying I hate it.

“Karra? Or this palace?”

“Both.” He glances around the bedchamber.

“There are no palaces in Kyanite land,” I say instead of answering his question.

The Seer’s face overwhelms my vision, blinding me with everything she said. Mostly, I think of the precise moment she claimed Mother wasn’t the woman who brought me into this world.

It’s not true.

It cannot be true.

Mother would have told me. She never made me believe I was anything less than hers. She loved me better than anyone.

“I need to speak to Kheldar,” Hector says. “Will you be all right?”

My cloak slips down one shoulder as I shrug.

Compassion echoes in Hector’s tone as he speaks. “Are you upset?”

How could I not be?

I cannot tell Hector the truth, though. He wouldn’t understand.

“Sol.” Hector lowers a hand to my shoulder.

Maybe he meant it to be comforting, but I’m beyond comforting. I shift away from him, lying flat on the mattress.

“All right.” Hurt laces his words as he continues. “I’ll leave you alone.”

Hector turns and leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

I ball my fingers into a fist and scrub it across my cheek. The Seer was lying. She had to be. She just wanted to rock my boat, tip it over in a vast sea.

She’s on Hector’s side. She has always been on his side.

I’m the stowaway, floundering in a world where I don’t belong. She knows it. They all know it.

Needing a distraction, I stagger to my feet and straighten the bedchamber that is already spotless. I organize bottles on the shelves. Tuck the bedcovers on the mattress. Wipe down a basin that doesn’t have any spots.

None of it is enough to distract me.

My gaze slips to Hector’s satchel. I bite my lower lip and move to where it sits. With a tug, I yank it open, and a loose parchment slips out. My breath hitches at the familiar handwriting.Malachi’s.

---