Page 56 of Realm of Wind and Vines
If Orion ever finds out that Isera isn’t actually royalty and that their entire bargain is based on a lie, we’re going to be in deep shit.
Thankfully, though, Isera is apparently an incredibly smooth liar.
Once we reach the Golden Palace, we split up into smaller groups to prepare the ambush for Gremar Fireclaw. And to prepare the four contingency plans that Draven devised as well, in case everything goes to hell.
I lead Galen into a small storage room that I discovered back when I was scouting out the Golden Palace during the Atonement Trials all those months ago. Once he has deposited Imar inside the room, I look down at Imar’s unconscious body. With the potion we forced him to drink, courtesy of Haldia, he’s probably going to sleep all the way until the day after tomorrow.
Closing the door to the storage room behind us, we exchange a nod and then start back towards the room where the others are getting ready. But once we draw close to it, I hesitate.
After telling Galen that I need to handle something else first, my feet start drifting in the direction of the main entrance again.
Since Gremar first needs to receive the message that Imar sent, and then also needs to fly all the way here, it will be hours before he actually shows up. Which means that I have time to sneak back to the city, if I want to.
Trailing to a halt in a corridor, I glance towards the hallway that will take me to the main entrance before I shift my gaze to the one that will take me back to my friends.
We’re right here. In the Seelie Court. And I have time. I can go and visit my parents, if I want. I could go and check with my magic and finally get my answer.
Panic lurches inside me at just the thought of it.
What if I’m wrong? What if there is no manufactured flame of hatred in their chests? What if they really do simply resent me?
Glancing down the gold-glimmering corridor, I bite my lip as indecision rips at my chest.
Then I shake my head. No. I can’t risk it. Not right now. When Orion admitted that he had been bluffing about the portal, I almost drowned in that black ocean that is just one second away from crashing down over me at any given time. If I go there nowand find out that my parents do in fact hate me, I won’t be able to handle it. It will be the final drop that makes that tiny light of hope inside my chest go out. I need to focus on the mission at hand. I can find out the truth about my parents later. When I’m in a better place mentally.
Giving myself a nod to confirm my decision, I start back towards the room where the others are.
The hallways inside the Golden Palace are dark. Since all the faelights in the corridors have been ripped out and replaced by torches on the walls, the only illumination right now comes from the moonlight that streams in through the windows. So when I see faelight spilling out from a small gap in a door up ahead, I frown in suspicion.
Moving quietly, I sneak the final distance to the room and glance in through the gap in the door.
My heart skips a beat.
Draven.
He is sitting on a chair that seems to have been dragged away from the desk in the corner. His head is turned slightly away from me, and he has buried his face in his hands. Light from a lone faelight gem falls across his body where he sits, drawing in deep breaths.
Then he looks up.
And my heart almost stops.
Dragging in another deep breath, he tilts his head back and rakes both hands through his hair. There is an expression of utter tiredness on his face. I have never seen him look this exhausted before. It makes him look both like a weary thousand-year-old man who has seen too much and an overwhelmed twenty-year-old boy who just wants to go home at the same time.
Pain stabs right through my chest at the sight of it, and I stifle a sharp intake of breath.
But not fast enough.
Draven whips his head towards me.
In a heartbeat, that exhausted expression disappears from his features as his usual mask of control and authority slams back down over his face.
Because that’s what it is, I realize with another painful pang. A mask. This composure and power that he always exudes is a mask so that we won’t see what he is really feeling. But now, when he thought he was alone, he let his mask slip for a few seconds so that he could catch his breath.
And I saw it.
And he knows that I saw it.
Anger pulses across his face as he shoots up from the chair and stalks towards me.
