Page 69 of The War of Wings
A young man, if I had to guess by the surcoat that was similar to the one Laion wore. But where his face should’ve been was nothing but the sandstone wall the picture hung upon. It looked as if the man’s face had been cut out hastily, the edges tattered and frayed.
I moved on to the next tapestry only for my eyes to land upon the same thing. The King and Queen, the two young women who I assumed were their daughters, and a third figure, this one appearing to have been burned away. The edges of the threads that remained were blackened, the rest of the family peering out from the fabric with matching looks of regality.
Down the wall I went, my eyes roving over the art pieces in search of the faceless man. In every piece, his face was absent, chiseled out of every carving, burned or torn out of every tapestry, cut from every painting.
“What the fuck?” I whispered to myself.
This had to be the Lost Heir. But why had he been removed?
“Find something?” Cal asked out of nowhere, and I jumped in place, the small flame on my finger winking out.
“Fucking Saints, Cal,” I breathed, a hand over my chest.
“Apologies,” he answered with a mischievous smile. “What is it?”
I called upon the flame in my fingertip again, holding it out. “Look.”
“A somewhat hidden art gallery?” he asked, raising a brow.
“No.Look.” I held the flame closer, watching Cal’s expression morph into confusion, his eyes narrowing as he moved through the art pieces the same way I had.
“The Lost Heir?” he asked quietly, his eyes still glued to one of the portraits.
“I’m assuming so. But why would they want him removed from their family portraits?” I asked. “If he was so beloved by his people, wouldn’t they want to remember him?” I scratched my head with my free hand, wincing when my fingers ran over the sore spot. “Is this some sort of Nesanian tradition?”
“It could be.”
The conversation I’d overheard between Laion and Irli was on the tip of my tongue. But something stopped me from sharing.
I nodded, inhaling the scent of dust once again, bringing my mind back to the books in my arms. “Let’s get reading.”
We made our way out of the darkened library, the light of the atrium beckoning us forward like a beacon. A librarian was pacing when we exited, her eyes widening when she saw us emerge from the stacks.
“Queen Petra,” the petite, mousy woman said, lowering herself into a curtsy. “Queen Irli has requested you meet her in the east garden for a walk.”
A walk? I almost rolled my fucking eyes. “Thank you,” I managed to say with some semblance of kindness before the librarian scurried away.
“That’s nice,” Cal offered, though I knew he could tell I was irritated.
“Evil is on its way to us, and I’m going to take a fucking walk.”
Chapter 27
Petra
Sweat beaded at my hairline and trickled down my temples. Queen Irli, however, was dry and unbothered beneath the Nesanian sun, even in the heavy crimson gown that billowed to the gravel path. She had an otherworldly grace about her, almost as if she were floating over the ground without a single worry while I was drowning in sweat and terror and uncertainty. I was hot. I was irritated. I was crawling out of my skin with the need todosomething.
“You’ll drive yourself mad, you know,” Queen Irli said with a smile, not looking over at me as we strolled side by side in the gardens.
My mind snapped back to the present. “Pardon?”
“Thinking there’s more you can do when all you can really do is wait.”
“I’m happy with the progress we’re making,” I answered, but I could tell by the curve to her lips she caught the lie.
“I recognize a look of internal turmoil when I see one.” Her voice was cheerful, but something lurked behind the bright exterior. “There are many times in life you must simply sit and wait. But I urge you to enjoy the wait.”
“My apologies, your Majesty, but I’m having a rather hard time enjoying much of anything right now. I know he’s coming but I don’t know when. I know I’m responsible for finding a way to defeat him, yet no plan has taken shape.”
