Page 72 of The Horned King

Even when I terrify her, she soaks in the knowledge like she needs every drop to survive. If only she were so willing to be that way when it comes to herself and her own country. But I suppose looking outward is far easier than looking within.

For nearly three hours, I've been only half-listening to Shan as he's told me of his time traveling with my best guards and investigators. They've scoured every inch of this fucking country, no sign of Syrens or even the damage they've left behind.

Since Elva arrived, the attacks have ceased altogether. While the peace should bring me comfort, it doesn't. Their silence is only proof that it has everything to do with her. They're somewhere, preparing for their war, waiting to hear the news that their martyr has finally fallen.

I have eyes on Elva every minute of the day, be it hiding in the shadows of her closet or a well-placed skull between books. She's being watched constantly, vigilantly, even now as she sits quietly reading in the library.

"We even traversed several miles into Fastid and Rhyma, and there was no sign of any encampments close to our borders. Perhaps they've fallen back now that the negotiations appear to be going well," he suggests.

I groan, digging my fingers into my eyes to relieve the ache behind them. "You know as well as I do they wouldn't simply stop attacking. They're preparing for something. Somewhere."

"Perhaps. Or maybe they do just want peace like they claim." He fiddles nervously with his pen and map. "There haven't been any more attempts on Elva's life, after all."

My jaw clenches. "Why would you think the two things are related?"

"Oh." He swallows. "I, I don't know. It just seems suspicious that the attacks on the border and the ones here have both stopped so suddenly. Certainly they're connected somehow."

There's a niggling in the back of my head, a quiet voice telling me he's lying. He knows more than he's willing to share with me. If he's been communicating with Rhyma this whole time, I might be a bit proud.

I'm going to kill him, but before that, I'll admire him for having a spine for once. I can't prove that he's responsible for anything, but it's the only explanation.

Nonchalantly, I comment to him, "I wonder if there's a chance your missives between you and Elva could have been compromised."

"Oh, no, that's impossible," he assures me. "Rhyma's Head of Communication checks all incoming and outgoing messages for tampering.

"I see." The pieces start coming together, and I wonder how I could have been so blind to Shan's treachery. But as I was just thinking about Elva, looking outward seemed more manageable and more plausible. "Do you have these missives? The ones from Elva? I'd like to see if there's something within them that might give me a clue. Perhaps she's been plotting against us from the start."

Stuttering again, he tells me, "I'm sure I could find them. You know I can be quite unorganized. Let me go look."

Not responding, I watch him go, sending two of my guards to follow behind him. He looks at me strangely, so I assure him, "We might have a traitor staying in our home, Shan. Better to be overly cautious."

He nods, walking quickly out of the room with the guards right in step with him. His nervous nature is nothing new, but there's something not right about how paranoid he's being. I'm almost positive he's hiding something, but I want proof first.

Not because I would feel guilty about killing him if he's innocent, of course. But because if he's not, I want the information he's harboring before I tear his soul and body into shreds.

Half of my mind follows him into his room, the stacks of papers and maps overtaking the entire place aside from his bed. He's speaking to himself so low that I can't tell what he's saying, but he has a habit of doing that, so I don't think much of it.

The other half remains trained on Elva, reading silently and soaking up everything she can find. She's reading about the fair folk in the forest up north today, comparing her own notes with the texts we have here. As she's done most of the time thus far, she's sitting in the window, the sun shining through the multicolored glass, rainbows of light dancing across her face.

Shan digs through his mess of a room and office, digging through stacks of paper. I'm becoming impatient, though he's only just begun. He's shown loyalty for years, so I can afford to give him a few more minutes to prove his innocence.

I'll bide my time watching Elva.

She sits entirely still, aside from her fingers twirling through her curls between flipping the pages of the tome. Her brows are slightly furrowed, concentrating so wholly on the words before her that the rest of the world falls away. Her shoes are long since abandoned, her feet tucked under her in the little chair she's moved up against the window.

A coffee mug sits, also abandoned, on the shelf underneath the window. Never have I seen someone so consumed by the need to learn as she is. I wonder if she wants to continue learning through just books or if she could be persuaded to learn through travel.

She hasn't even seen the beauty of the ocean in all its glory, only small glimpses. She's never seen the desert, only existed in her country, cut off from the rest of the world. Even my library can't give her all the wisdom she must crave.

All of this is pointless to think about because she'll be gone soon. Back home with nothing but the memories of her time here. A stifling, unsettling feeling settles in my chest, thinking of how she'll spend the rest of her days on the other side of a border I can't cross.

I'll just have to send her messages. Send books with my runner once a month.

Even as I think it, I know it won't be enough. Anywhere but in the room beside me will be too far for me. Even that feels like she's an ocean away, late at night when I crave her biting words and unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

Something near Shan catches my eye.

Just a tiny sliver of something sticking out from between the sheets of his bed. One of my guards walks silently over, lifting the bedding and pulling the papers from them.

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