Page 61 of Once the Skies Fade

But why had Matthias called mekiller?

It could have been an innocuous nickname, innocent and playful.

Or…

Ever since he’d arrived, the troubling questions had plagued me, and his nickname only made them louder, more incessant. Did the Durands believe the rumors? Did they actually think mecapable of killing Brennan? Did they send their general here to avenge him?

Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling and watched the darkness slowly fade into dawn’s pastel hues. My limbs, my gut, my chest, every part of me tensed, desperate to move, unable to relax, as if a million tiny snakes wriggled under my skin. At my palms, though, my magic swirled—the only part of me that felt at ease. Lifting my hands above me, I beckoned my shadows out. They trailed down my arms, soothing the anxious tension as they wrapped around them.

Assuming Isa had gotten to the healers last night as planned—and assuming they could help—I’d soon be able to control my shadows. While I knew it was for the best, the thought of taking any kind of tonic had me nervous. How would it work? Would I still be me? Would I be able to use my shadows when needed, as Isa claimed?

The moment the knock sounded at the door, I reeled my shadows back in and sat up. Isa strode in, not waiting for an invitation. Shoulders back, chin high, she looked every bit the intimidating commander she was. Her stern expression softened when she saw me, but her body remained tense.

“Good, you’re up!” She stopped at the foot of my bed and crossed her arms.

Rising from the bed, I plodded over to the wardrobe and pulled out the first dress my fingers touched.

As I dressed, I asked, “Did everything go okay this morning?”

She drew in a slow breath and swung her gaze toward the window, where bright sunshine streamed inside.

“As well as we could hope for. Did you not hear anything from up here?”

My bedroom was located near the front of the castle on the northeast corner; from my balcony I could see the driveway if I leaned far enough over the edge.

“I vaguely recall hearing you announce the start, but other than that, nothing. Why?”

Isa rubbed a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her lips down into a grimace. “You could say the forest is doing its job. Rather efficiently, too.”

“I’d worry if it wasn’t, honestly,” I said, slipping my arms into the sleeves and motioning for Isa to help fasten the buttons at my back. “How many lost already?”

“At least two, but that’s only an estimate.”

“An estimate based on what?” I asked. Isa fastened the last button and cleared her throat, but said nothing. I slowly turned to face her and found her avoiding my gaze. “Spit it out, Isa.”

Her brown eyes flashed to mine. “Their screams.”

“Was that really that hard to say?” I asked, shaking my head as I sat down on the bench beside the wardrobe. I bent over to put my boots on. “Have you forgotten I grew up with these woods and the screams they elicit?”

“To be fair, we haven’t had anyone enter the forest in many years,” she said.

“Haven’t had anyone caught entering, you mean.” Isa stilled, and the muscles in her jaw twitched, as if she were literally chewing on my words. I smacked her arm with the back of my hand to pull her out of her head, asking, “Any luck with the healers?”

She blinked rapidly as she buried her hand in her pocket. “Right, yes. They gave me this.”

I expected a vial or bottle like the many that lined Minerva’s shelves, but instead she held out a small canvas bag, tied with a black ribbon. Taking it in my hand, I was surprised to find it light, as if it were completely empty.

“What is it?” I asked, moving to untie the ribbon. Inside lay a mix of dried flowers and plants with such a pungent fragrance I coughed as I closed it up again.

“An herbal concoction, much like a tea. Said to steep it in boiling water for several minutes and drink one cup in the morning and another before bed.”

My nose wrinkled at the thought of drinking something that smelled that ghastly—like stale dirt and dying flowers dipped in sugar. “How did they prepare this so quickly?”

“They used to make it for your mother, apparently. She suffered bouts of agitation much like yours. Healers said it’s a malady that can run in bloodlines, unfortunately. Your mother never told you?”

I shook my head as I tried to recall memories of my mother, hunting through them for any evidence that she had suffered as I did. How long had she needed this remedy? What had triggered her episodes? Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and my arms ached to hold—and be held by—my mother. These attacks had never happened to me until their deaths, and even then they’d been mild, quelled by Brennan’s peace and love.

My inability to control my emotions and my shadows was a shame I’d carried for weeks now, but somehow knowing my mother had suffered similarly and also needed help made me feel a little less broken, less alone.

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