Palace of Silver (The Nissera Chronicles #3) - Hannah West Page 0,127
after the ceremony and return to collect Perennia’s remains before I go home. Do you have Glisette’s elicrin stone? I’m sure she’ll want it back after…” He gestured at the wild winter weather.
“I don’t know what happened to it,” I lied.
We fell silent, impatiently waiting for the procession to end.
As soon as we arrived back at the palace, Devorian stormed away to collect his luggage. I ran to my quarters to yank open my vanity drawer and rummage for the purple chalcedony. An elicrin stone that had been unwillingly surrendered—and whose owner still lived and breathed—would revolt and burn to the touch.
A vile curse tore out of my lips as the stone seared my skin. I threw it back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Angry red blisters rose on my fingertips.
Glisette was alive.
Severo had defied me. He had spared Glisette, and probably Navara too. He wouldn’t release my sister only to let his princess perish.
What had he given me, if not Navara’s lungs and liver?
He had probably fled, taken his family into hiding, thinking he had outsmarted me. I didn’t even know where he lived. I had manipulated him with idle threats.
But they wouldn’t be idle now. Within minutes, my men would be hunting down the spineless huntsman and the two girls he had failed to kill. I had already told the deputy commander to send out a few royal guards to look for the princess, feigning concern for her. Now my men would hunt in earnest, scouring every town, and every forester would be on the lookout for the three of them.
I would not rest until my commands were carried out.
I would not rest until my soldiers dragged the princess back so I could slaughter her myself.
THIRTY-SEVEN
GLISETTE
BACK in the armory, I found myself wishing I had insisted on accompanying Navara to inspire the people. But she was right; my snowstorm had surely stoked the anti-elicromancer sentiments that Ambrosine’s tyranny had set aflame. Even if we banished Nexantius and defeated Ambrosine, the people of Perispos would never trust elicromancers again.
Solving problems our kind had created didn’t exactly make us heroes.
Where was Valory? Mercer? Tilmorn? I would happily take even Melkior if it meant having another elicromancer ally. Who had the Fallen of Apathy claimed in Nissera?
I sat on a crate, tapping my heels with impatience and worry, absentmindedly picking at the cloth tied around my bloody hand.
Part of me wanted to pursue Sev and Kadri down that tunnel. At least it would give me something to do besides stew in my many failures. Maybe the apocryphal scroll wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was me—my heart, my soul, my tendency toward harshness and derision, which I had to beat back constantly like a swarm of flies.
Desperate for a distraction, I snatched the commander’s sketches and notes. I took my time digesting every detail. It seemed that the ambush would take place where the northern border of the Borivali Forest intersected a road leading south from Halithenica. Thanks to the false information, Ambrosine would think our army was on the move from much farther south and would march her army to intercept us in a valley that offered her high ground and favorable conditions. They would think they were surprising us, but we would be waiting for them before they even reached the forest.
After I had read and memorized the commander’s notes, I stood up, stretched, and wandered through the aisles of weapons. I withdrew a sword from its pegs and tested it. It was standard-issue but well balanced. The scabbard slid off with a satisfying shing, and I raised the blade, pointing it at an imaginary opponent.
One of the guards shouted outside. My blood beat a deafening rhythm in my ears. Had a forester stumbled upon us? Or worse, had Ambrosine discovered our location?
Seizing the hilt in both hands, I ran, my boots pounding up the stairs.
When I reached the surface, I saw the two guards pointing their swords at three men—all blond, all wearing elicrin stones.
Devorian raised his hands to show he meant no harm. Mercer flanked him on the left, a tracking map in his hand, and Tilmorn followed close behind.
My sword dropped to the grass. I staggered into Devorian’s arms. Even the cool, hard pressure of his magenta elicrin stone against my cheekbone brought me comfort.
The guards must have stood down. It felt like Devorian and I were the only people left on earth, tethered to it by our shared grief and love.