Page 99 of In The Dark
After a couple minutes, Ren leaves without another word, just the soft click of my door closing behind him being the only thing to break the silence.
I stand for a few breaths, biting my lip as exhaustion settles in from the last few days. Then a sigh leaves me, knowing that I don’t want to crawl into my own bed but Rydian’s as he told me to come back to the loft after we dropped Theo off.
The tug that pulls me to him feels involuntary, like a thread between my eyes, though I know he’s probably already asleep.
With a couple of slow breaths, I close my eyes and envision the loft, taking a step once I feel the Veil—now that I can do it myself. The weightlessness of the Veil consumes me, and within seconds, I’m standing in the middle of the loft as if I never left.
Rydian is sprawled across the bed, tangled in the quilts. His auburn hair is tousled, brushing across his brows, lips slightly parted as his head rests against a muscled arm. Even in sleep, he’s striking to look at.
He hasn’t been able to recover properly from using so much of his power after his appearance in Nymara and has had very little sleep since then, so I let him rest. With a quick glance around, I realize that Ivy and Orin are nowhere to be found—either back in Aurelia or with Bess somewhere. I’m alone.
But instead of my feet pulling me toward the bed, I find myself striding into the kitchenette for tea and walking up the stairs, careful not to wake him. The weight of my curiosity presses in as I think about the magic humming in my veins—what I experienced in Nymara with Ren.
Setting my mug down, I head to the shelf where I previously noticed a row of books and titles that spoke of tradition, legacy, and ancient customs. Rydian brought them from Aurelia sincenothing like that exists here. Reaching the shelf, my fingers brush the spines, pausing on one specifically.
The Threads of the Fates - Lineage and Customs.
After pulling it out, I settle myself at the table. As I turn the pages, I notice records and rituals created to keep balance, including that of both realms. How the bloodlines were created and how to continue the bloodline, even if you’re not born as one of the originals the fates made, passed down by the royal essence.Interesting.
I find myself rereading a few passages detailing the customs shared between realms—unspoken rules, ceremonies, and the unions of power and tradition.
I exhale, leaning back as a flicker of realization hits me. I softly close the book, my thoughts swirling. Another book catches my eye, but even as I read, my mind continues to land on my missing memories and what I lost—what I want back.
Hours go by, quickly turning to evening as it settles in from the skylight above the mezzanine. I’m stacking my notes when I peek over the railing to find Rydian still asleep, assuming he’ll be sleeping until the next morning.
My idle hands and impulsivity have me recalling the original map that I still haven’t returned to Elion’s archives yet, and if Rydian’s asleep… well, now is the perfect time to return it.
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve spent what free time I’ve had learning the patterns of the guards standing outside the archives. After careful consideration of sneaking back in, I’m quite pleased with myself knowing that this time is much easier than the first time we did it.
Unfortunately for the guards’ sakes, they’re quite awful at their jobs—remaining completely unaware to who trails in after they leave before the Veil flickers out. All they’d have to do iswatch the doors when they open to find me standing there as soon as I step in, yet they don’t.
Luckily for me, the extra stealth training Ren had me doing has begun to pay off, as not a single speck of dust is disturbed once my feet touch the floor. Even though adrenaline courses through my veins, a smug grin plays at my lips as I release a relieved exhale.
Getting back out is the tricky part.
It’s dim in the archives, save for the flicker of sconces along the stone. Long, dark bookshelves line the back wall behind his desk. The air feels thicker here, like there hasn’t been a draft of air since it was built. Which isn’t all that surprising since there’s not a single window in the chamber, assuming it’s to keep others out. Extra security.
I’ve begun to realize just how paranoid King Elion is. The thought has me holding in an amused snort at the irony of me infiltrating his archives in the middle of the night. He brought this on himself if you ask me.
My boots quietly thud against the floor as I stride toward his desk, careful not to disrupt the stifling, musky air. I only have fifteen minutes, so I delicately place the map back in its previous position beneath the slew of papers on his desk, hoping Elion hasn’t noticed.
I’m assuming not, considering there hasn’t been a single word about it—no rumors among the castle. No new gossip, not even orders in the brotherhood. A good sign.
Yet as always, my curiosity gets the best of me when my eyes land on those documents of his council members. Each stack has its own information for each member, scattered among the realm—from Arcan to Nymara to Eldryn, then Alvonia. I’ve never been one for political gossip. Yet for some reason, I find myself itching to learn what Elion’s currently digging up. The elite are the ones responsible for placing all those requests in the brotherhood anyway… but then a thought crosses my mind.
Are they placing those requests, or is that what we were always told?My instinct tells me it’s the latter.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Elion lied all those years, if only to take out his greatest enemy under the guise of blaming it on his council members. It’s something he would do.
For the next few minutes, I only stand, carefully reading through the documents as I wait for the doors to reopen, so as to not infiltrate his chair with my scent. Though the smell of me should be gone by morning, so I’m not worried about it.
Whispers suddenly float in from beneath the doors, leaving me to snap my head up and quickly fix the papers along the desk—back to perfection as if they were never touched. A rush of adrenaline rushes up my chest, my heart racing, as they’ll be open at any moment.
Just as I’m about to dart for the doors, my eyes suddenly snag on his desk drawer again, and I recall what I saw within his belongings among a slew of other tossed aside items. Something that caught my eye the last time, like it was calling to me.
My pulse continues to climb when I internally groan and pull the drawer open, unable to stop myself. The boots of the guards thud against the stone as they get closer.
Fuck, they’re opening.
