Page 22 of Haunted

And overwhelmed.

Siarl raises his goblet to toast my appointment. The room follows his lead. Before the glass touches his lips, Siarl freezes.

When his mouth hangs open and his words don’t come, I jump to my feet.

At the same time, the blood drains from Siarl’s face, which is stricken with horror.

His goblet clatters to the table. Its wine-red contents splatter across the linen and drip to the floor. The empress flies to her feet, her half-emrys reflexes quite apparent when she catches Siarl as he half collapses onto the table and in her arms.

My feet are leaded.

The empress rolls Siarl onto his back. He’s splayed awkwardly, with his body draped over the table and his feet floppy and dangling to the floor.

The empress supports Siarl’s shoulders, and she looks over hers, beyond me, to Nesta. “Nesta, help him.” It’s a command, but not without compassion.

As I stare into Siarl’s ashen features and unblinking eyes, the soulless, gaunt expression tells me one thing.

He’s already dead.

I flinch when Nesta rushes behind me. I don’t stay to hear her conclusion. If I don’t leave immediately, I’ll throttle the empress.

I know she’s to blame for Siarl’s death even though she seems as shocked as everyone else and she lends a compassionate touch.

As I step off the dais, the empress calls me. “Caedryn, wait.”

I throw an invisible shield of light around my body, cutting off all sound. I cannot cope with this. I cannot acknowledge my loss. The pain will break me.

I rush down the hall toward my chambers, my familiar home where all my belongings are, where my life is—was. Where it would be, without Siarl.

What happened? Did something linger from his illness that Nesta missed? Maybe she only healed him enough to alleviate his symptoms. This is all my fault. I should have learned how to be a healer. I could have done more for his health. I should have been here taking care of him instead of scheming in the dank wasteland of Caer.

I failed my lord.

Siarl trusted me. He trusted his region to me.

A pressure builds in my chest and shatters the shield I’ve hastily thrown up. Noise returns and chases me from the banquet hall. Darkness churns inside me. My negative feelings sweep it along, until it courses down my arms and into my fingertips.

Siarl was my support. Whenever I failed in life, he was there to build me up.

And he is gone.

My fingers throb. I run faster. I need a release. My control is shredded.

Just breathe, Caedryn, Neifion says.

I will not acknowledge my unfortunate gain because I do not see taking over Creiddylad as one.

I’m dizzy by the time I reach my chambers. I blow my doors apart with a flick of my wrists. They splinter in every direction, shredding the nearby tapestries and bed skirt. The release is not enough. The room spins.

Neifion… I gasp.

I stagger and fall against the wall but pull myself up, only to collapse against the edge of my bed and drop to my knees. I grab the coverlet in my hands, wishing to rip it to pieces.

Deep breaths, my brother.

He’s gone. I cannot speak more. Neifion knows my pain without words. His spirit wraps me in comfort that does not console.

My stomach clenches as I pull my power in. I cannot lose any more control. I press my hand into the muscles, willing the unease and the pressure in my body to subside.

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