Page 174 of The Call of Crimson
It’s late, but my mind refuses to calm. Sleep has evaded me for the past three hours as I stare at the ceiling while Ayden snores softly beside me.
The restlessness in my limbs draws me from bed, being careful not to disturb him as I slip on a robe and leave his chambers.
I silently curse myself for walking the halls barefoot as the chill from the marble floor numbs my toes. I relish the feeling of my bare feet against the ground, but despise the bite of the cold.
When I reach the council room, the door is already ajar. Guards patrol the hallways, leaving me with little concern for safety, but I form a shadow dagger in my palm just in case.
The door creaks, alerting anyone in the area to my presence, as I push it open. Soft light flickers from Faerie lights scattered throughout the dark room. They illuminate the room, casting a warm glow over the last person I expect to see.
Darian.
Slipping inside the room, I let the door click shut behind me as his blue eyes raise to meet mine.
He’s dressed similarly to me, a thick robe hanging open to reveal sleep pants and a bare chest. His disheveled hair further confirms my suspicion that I was not the only one unable to sleep.
“You too?” he grunts.
I lean against the table beside him, taking in the map he’s studying. “I’ve been staring at the ceiling for three hours, wondering what I’m missing.”
The map is the same from earlier, the markings still not showing any obvious pattern.
“Whatwe’remissing,” Darian corrects, exhaling a sigh. “It was wrong of me to suggest you were stupid for not finding the pattern that I myself could not identify.”
“Careful, General,” I tease. “That sounds an awful lot like an apology.”
He scoffs. “I said I was wrong, not that I was sorry.”
And there it is. Asshole.
My fingers trace over the map, measuring the distance between attack locations and the towns surrounding them.
“Have they ever taken anything in their attacks?”
“Other than my soldiers’ lives?” Darian deadpans. “No. They don’t loot, pillage, or rape.”
Cocking a brow, I ask, “Does that not strike you as odd?”
“Of course, it’s strange, but nothing about this enemy is typical. The Fae have never played by the same rules.”
“An enemy that attacks with deadly intent, possesses a poison that could end the lives of every opponent, that they utilize only a fraction of the time, but they take nothing? None of this adds up.”
He grunts. “I’m well aware.”
The number of facts that just don’t make sense becomes overwhelming the more I think about it. It’s like I have pieces to a puzzle, but they’re all for different puzzles.
“What if we’re looking at too much?” I ask, worrying my bottom lip.
“How so?”
“Forget the lack of plundering, they’re not looking for our resources or weapons. Let’s just focus on the attacks with the poison. Do you have a blank map?”
Darian retrieves a fresh map, laying it atop the other. “What are you thinking?”
“Perhaps the pattern isn’t in the locations of the attacks. Can you mark where just the attacks with poison occurred in order of occurrence?”
He nods, slowly placing marks on the map, adding the dates beside each one. The earliest attacks start along the border between Prudia and Rimor. About halfway through, they shift towards the top of the map, towards the capital.
Darian continues marking as I read each date.
