Page 16 of King of Flames and Shadows

It’s a labyrinth of knowledge and secrets, a place that seems to echo with voices of the past. Yet, there’s an emptiness here, too, a sense of abandonment. As if all these books, all these words, have been left to wither and decay in silence. Nobody uses this place. Certainly, I think, the king has abandoned it. Perhaps it was the passion of his forebearers, his parents. Perhaps he considers their efforts to have been foolish.

I round a corner, pausing as I catch sight of something. A soft glow of light flickers from the far end of a corridor.

Candlelight.

Perhaps there are scholars here, after all. If that’s the case, I’ll be caught.

But, then, perhaps if I was just to look …

I approach cautiously, keeping close to the shelves, but curiosity propels me forward.

The source of the light reveals itself as I turn the corner: a lone figure seated in a plush armchair, his back to me. He’s reading, settled at a table, framed against an ornate bay window that stretches ten feet high toward the ceiling. Beyond the intricate glass, the city of Millrath is aglow with tiny spots of golden light. Forges, torches, inns, fires. All laid out like a thousand stars.

The stranger has a thick tome balanced on his lap. He doesn’t seem to notice me at first. I wonder whether I can sneak away. Then, as if sensing my gaze with an eerie prescience, he looks up.

The man smiles when our eyes meet. He’s young, perhaps around my age, with the fair complexion and light hair typical of those from the North. His eyes are a light, unsettling shade of blue, bright with a glimmer of curiosity.

Immediately, there’s a charisma about him. He’s disarming. But I also feel, somehow, as if I am being stared right through as our eyes meet, like he’s splitting my skin.

“A wanderer in the night,” he greets, inclining his head as if our encounter is ordinary. “And here I thought I was the only one who couldn’t sleep in this dreary place.”

I blink, surprised by the easy warmth of his tone.

“I—didn’t mean to intrude,” I stammer, feeling suddenly foolish. “I was just … exploring.”

“You’re braver than most he takes prisoner.” He tilts his head inquiringly. “You’re the new ‘bride?’ The staff aren’t supposed to let slip, but they talk.”

I hesitate, still considering running, but something about his demeanor draws me in. Perhaps it is that he, too, is a human. I can tell by his slight build, the narrowness of his features, the tenor of his voice. He shares my accent, the voice of my home region, though there’s something slightly off about it, almost rehearsed. Perhaps he’s from a wealthy family. I can tell already we’re from the same chilly lands far from here.

It would be stupid to trust him, but I’m desperate for a friend, so I approach, studying him as I sit. He’s well-dressed, his clothing tailored and neat, yet there’s a slight disarray to him, a looseness in his posture, a gleam in his eye that speaks of restlessness.

“Linus,” he says, inclining his head. “Linus Caddell. Of Fort Caddell.”

Ah. That explains his inexplicable presence here. Suddenly, it all makes sense.

No human would ever be allowed to wander these hallowed halls freely. I certainly never will be, I’m sure of it. Buthe is a young lord—perhaps the first heir—of House Caddell, the only noble house in all of Kaldoria headed by humans. He is one in a million. Most others of our species live and die with nothing. Everyone I’ve ever known has.

Both of us have, by some impossible trick of fate, been plucked from the misery of our species’ fate in this land and allowed to be here, at this moment. And our positions are equally precarious.

Immediately, I know it, as if I’ve been struck by lightning. We are not friends; we’re not allies.

Desperate creatures have no loyalty. We both know this.

“Calliope,” I reply cautiously. “Of Essenborn.”

He tilts his head, studying me with an almost unnerving intensity. “Essenborn. It’s rubble now. They found no survivors.”

“I know,” I tell him as blandly as I can manage, even as my chest throbs with grief. “I was there.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” he says lightly, though there’s something unreadable in his gaze. Solidarity? No. Not quite. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. And I’m sorry for the position you’ve been placed in. I’m no courtier—I’m here on diplomatic work. Your presence away from your chambers is a secret safe with me.”

There’s a subtle edge to his words, a hint of bitterness buried beneath the politeness. Of course he is no courtier. Does he take me for a fool?

I shift in my seat, watching him closely. “You live in Millrath?”

He laughs softly. “I’m a diplomat."

I narrow my eyes, a prickle of suspicion rising. “You know as well as I do that peace talks are useless. Why are you really here?”

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