Page 191 of Frost and Death
She flinches a little at my higher pitch, but I soften it in reassurance. “Sorry, I just—I need some time alone, please.”
She slackens her shoulders and bows. “Call for me should you need anything,” she says, turning away.
I incline my head, watching her close the door to leave me alone. I don’t move, focusing intently on Dorit’s footsteps walking down the hall, allowing no one to listen in on my room.
Once it is quiet, I hurry and pull clothes on from my wardrobe. I rummage through each item of clothing, opting for a day dress instead of my now preferred cotton tunics and leather trousers.
If Betina or Niko saw me in this… Sweet Makers.
I need no distractions from them if I am going to get help.
I tremble as I move, suppressing it when I grab the mirror, circling its frame three times to channel a connection. It blurs momentarily, my old chambers in Axidoria coming into view with no one on the other end.
I slide against my mattress in defeat, sinking down on the rug beneath me. Gazing into my rooms, books are stacked and papers are scattered across both nightstands near my old bed. I have the urge to speak, but my throat runs dry.
“Betina?” I ask, jolting when something crashes in the background. “Hello? Are you okay?”
A feminine voice grumbles. The shuffling of papers mutes her words, making it hard to hear.
“Betina?” I call out, pleading to see her.
“I’m here,” she shouts through the slamming of books stacking against each other.
I angle my head, trying for a possible glimpse of my friend, but I’m too impatient. “Betina, please, I need to see you.”
She stumbles into view, looking exhausted. Her undereye is darkened, and her natural aura feels missing.
My heart splits at her hardened scowl, but when it softens, my hope remains.
“Tove,” she whimpers, the crack in her voice tightening the guilt in my chest.
“I’msosorry,” I say.
Tears form when she gasps a smile. I pant my own relief, the two of us breaking into a sad laugh. But mine dies knowing everything I’ve put her through.
“Hey, hey, hey, now,” Betina consoles.
It does nothing to help the wave of stress crashing against me. I catch myself as I regard my closest friend, grateful she is there but confused as to why she is not already traveling.
“Is Niko with you? Why aren’t you on the way? You—you sent your invite acceptance?”
Her head tilts as she gazes upon me with sympathy. “No, Niko isn’t here. And I couldn’t go. Not after—”
“Not after what?”
She watches me warily. “Not after what I found.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises as foreboding sinks deep into my bones. I clear my throat.
“What did you find?”
She pivots, walking toward a stack of books. She grabs one and faces me.
“Remember how you wanted me to investigate?”
“Yes,” I tell her, eager at the possibility of her finding answers about my father and mother.
“Well, when I went to ask our priests about past criminal archives, I spent a while researching, trying to find any assassination attempts or any traces of evidence your mother may have gotten wind of. But I came up short, finding nothing correlating to your father. I only found logs of what criminals were arrested and prosecuted for.”
