Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Forty One: Succession

The storms hit Shadow's Reach like the fury of a slighted god. Nova knew when they hit, even though she had been in the dungeons with Harkenn at the time. The whole castle seemed to shake with the mountain gale that blew hard from the north, and though the stone fortress was too solid to really move, the impact was loud enough that it shuddered down every corridor.

Ethred looked up at the distant ceiling of his cell and said calmly, "Ah. I was wondering what time it was out there."

He smiled, a thin, pitiful thing. Faellian returned a darkening scowl. His victory with Eril's letter – which had hinted that the rot went deep in the Orthanian house – had been short-lived. Ethred was not moved to give anything else away, and seemed genuinely baffled by the key Nova had found. When he expressed a complete lack of knowledge about the object, Nova was forced through gritted teeth to tell the lord that the man wasn't lying. In other, calmer times, she might have lied just to add more to Ethred's list of crimes, but always in the back of her mind were the nights she spent in Grace's room and the forbidden moments they had together. If she gave Harkenn any cause to doubt her, he'd watch her much more closely. And if that didn't result in them getting caught, then it would at least bring an abrupt end to it all.

It didn't help her mood that she had had no luck with her searches, either. The key was the only thing she had found, and with Faellian not trusting enough to tell her what was stored in the chamber it opened, she was at a loss of where else to look. Harkenn had simply had the locks changed on the strange secret door, stationed two guards outside it, and said no more on the subject. She was beginning to think wistfully of her boring life in the armchair at the back of his study. At least then, when she had given answers to his questions, they had not been likely to earn her half the breakable items on his desk being thrown at the wall perilously close to her head.

She partially blamed Yddris's absence. The Unspoken had not left the lord's side so completely for many years. She had a feeling Harkenn was finally appreciating just how much the Unspoken was worth, and she did not envy Thorne that future mantle.

Soft footsteps heralded Nika's approach. Nova turned with relief, Harkenn with ill-concealed irritation. The Unspoken had done an admirable job of standing in, as far as Nova had seen, but Harkenn's main criticism – that he wasn't Yddris – was proving insurmountable.

"You asked for me, my lord?" Nika said. His soft voice still carried well over the low rumble of the storm. His cloak was beaded with damp.

"In my study, yes," Harkenn said shortly. "And not until the dinner bell."

"With all due respect, my lord," Nika said, "the dinner bell went twenty minutes ago."

Harkenn's scowl deepened. "Very well." He turned to Ethred as if to snap something, but visibly restrained himself from doing so. "I'm coming."

He stalked away, leaving Nova to trail behind him. When she caught a glimpse of Ethred's face as she left, it chilled her.

"I'd keep the shutters closed if I were you, Anarabelle," he said softly. She forced her feet to keep moving, even as her heart stilled in her chest. He knew. He knew somehow, about the Angel who had spied on her and Grace several nights ago. Grace had taken to sleeping in the kitchen since, and Nova was glad of it. The kitchen had no windows and plenty of knives. She had seen no hint of a wing feather since, save for brief glimpses of Jeorge coming and going; of course, on the rare occasion she actually did want to speak to him he avoided her like plague.

She settled in her chair at the back of the room with an inaudible sigh. More bureaucracy, no doubt. The endless rolling account of one mishap or misfortune after another was starting to gain a predictable rhythm, and from inside the castle walls they paled in comparison to the threat of her family spying on her. She had never found out what the last spy wanted, and now there was another, with her no better off.