Page 6 of A Court So Dark
“Your Majesty,” she inclined her head, her features twisted. Whatever piece of news she carried, she didn’t want to deliver it.
“Out with it,” I barked impatiently, hating the way I made her flinch.
“It’s your mother. She… she is dead.”
“What?” I demanded, unable to believe my own ears.
Larina’s eyes wavered. Kryn absentmindedly sheathed his weapon.
“I am so sorry, Your Majesty.” The pixie blinked rapidly, fighting to prevent the tears that pooled in her eyes from falling.
A terrible numbness spread over me. My mother, dead? The idea seemed as ludicrous as Father’s death seemed every time I thought about it.
“What happened?” I asked, doing my best to ignore the thrashing emotions inside my chest.
“She was found dead in her workroom. She… she was murdered.”
“Who?” I asked, but even as the question left my lips, I knew the answer.
“I… I don’t know,” Larina said. “I just found out.”
Kryn and I exchanged a knowing glance.
“When did this happen?” I asked.
Larina wrung her hands. “Her… body was only just discovered.”
My eyes cut to Daniella, then to my brother. “Kryn, stay here. Larina, find my uncle. Tell him I want his best guards to come here and protect Daniella.”
She zipped out of the room.
I turned to Kryn again. “When the guards get here, come find me.”
CHAPTER 3
DANIELLA
Darknesssmellssweet.
That was my first thought, and my only thought, for a long time. It was maddening to perceive only that sickly smell. There was nothing else. No sights. No sounds. No brushing caress against my skin.
Only a flat, indistinguishable sweetness.
I didn’t know how long I was submerged in that cloying nightmare, but at some point, the sweetness seemed to take shape and acquire a name.
Flowers.
That was what I was smelling: flowers. Soon, even that knowledge grew more specific, and I could tell the flowers were roses.
Another realization hit me. I wanted that scent. In fact, my entire being was reaching for it. At first, the scent lingered, then gradually grew weaker, until only an undertone of decay remained. When that happened, I grew restless, what little awareness I possessed reaching outward, wanting more.
But always, the sweetness returned, and I was grateful for it. I begged it to stay with me, but it never did. It always seemed to die, just to return again. Then its visits became shorter and shorter. The sweetness turning to rot far too quickly.
Hours or days passed, but eventually, the sweetness acquired a taste. It was slightly bitter in its aftermath, the way I imagined eating a handful of petals would feel. Yet, I welcomed this new sensation—one I’d nearly forgotten.
Sometime later, there were also sounds. They were distant and unintelligible, but I derived comfort from them. One in particular, I craved. It came and stayed with me for only a moment, then it was gone, and I felt its loss acutely.
Once more, sweetness renewed the scent of rot.
