Page 14 of Once the Skies Fade

I couldn’t handle all the empty well-wishes.

I couldn’t bear another hug, another sad smile, another moment here.

Seeing Connor and Lieke together made his absence even more potent and painful.

No, I needed to leave.

Turning to Isa, I carefully gripped her elbow, shooting her a desperate look. As if she could read my mind, she dipped her chin slightly and turned to lead me away from the graveyard. I didn’t look back as we walked briskly across the palace grounds toward my carriage—toward my escape. Someone followed though, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop for them.

Isa whispered to me as she pointed ahead to the carriage, “You go and get in the carriage. I will handle this.”

Nodding quickly, my heart caving under the weight of my grief, I slipped my hand away from her arm and picked up my pace. Behind me, Isa addressed our hosts, but I didn’t listen toher words. Instead, I focused on the muted thump of my boots on the thick grass, counting my steps as I struggled to control my breathing.

In…two…three…four.

My husband is dead.

Hold…two…three…four.

Someone killed him, stole him from me.

And out…two…three…

But who? Who could have killed him? And why?

My carriage waited in the drive in front of the palace, but no horses stood harnessed and ready. I could get in. I could sit and wait, but when my hand touched the handle, I pulled back as if it had burned me.

No. Lieke wouldn’t let me leave without a goodbye, but I had to go. I needed out, to get away.

Risking one more glance to Isa, who hurriedly ushered Lieke back toward the palace as she spoke hushed words I couldn’t hear, I darted down the driveway with fists clutching the fabric of my dress. I couldn’t bring Brennan back. I couldn’t fix my pain or undo my grief.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t do anything.

I could find answers. I could make whoever had killed him pay.

All I needed was a stars-damned mount and a head start.

I just hoped Isa would forgive me for taking her horse.

Chapter 7

Calla

The door to the old cabin opened before I’d even dismounted, and an angelic voice drifted out from the dark opening.

“Come in, Your Majesty. I’ve been expecting you.”

A chill slipped up my back, but I approached without hesitation. There was no point asking how the old woman knew who I was or that I was coming to see her, especially if she truly had the powers I hoped she did. I stepped over the threshold, somehow keeping my breathing steady when I found myself standing, not in a cold and dark hovel, but a warm and bright great room better suited for a noble’s manor than a creepy cottage.

I briefly noted the room’s furnishings—a cluttered worktable, several chairs, and candles everywhere—but quickly focused my attention on the frail frame of the old mage stooping in front of the hearth to retrieve a steaming kettle.

“Please, sit,” she said through thin, wrinkled lips, lifting a spindly finger to one of the chairs at the table.

“I don’t have much time.”

“Sit,” she commanded, her dark eyes catching mine as the chair closest to me slid back from the table, inviting me to settle upon it.

Perching on the edge of the seat, I repeated my words. “I don’t have much time, Minerva.”

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