The castle was unusually quiet as Rhosyn walked the hallways. It bent sound in a haunting way—not enough bodies. The castle stood like a tomb of memories where people used to frequent. She rounded another deserted corridor and neared Leoric's office.
Her knock went unanswered and the handle twisted in her hand too easily, opening into a bare room.
Darkness hugged the office, clawing at the bookcases and swallowing the room whole. It gave the place a haunting feeling—though Rhosyn didn't believe in ghosts.
Sir Caerwyn lit the sconces one by one. Each new light cutting away shadows that hosted memories she'd tried not to remember.
Promise me you'll stay here, Rhosyn—Leoric's voice, a phantom at her ear.
Somehow, remembering hurt more.
After the meeting concluded yesterday, she didn't let go of him. She lived in the crook of his body, curled into him and yet she couldn't retain a single word said.
Everything felt so distant.
They'd talked of mustering locations and defensive positions—Ravenstair. Tor announced that Ravelocke was annexed and her estate occupied. She was an enemy of the crown and they attacked her where she was weakest.
She'd hoped Elin was fine. She'd left for Vale-on-Tide several days ago to welcome a new baby into the family. That was five days ago now—she'd be there by now. Master Oswin would be detained too.
That was when she realised why Leoric hadn't told her. And in all honesty, she didn't blame him.
Rhosyn held him that night—and he let her. Small, familiar strokes drawing circles at her waist and she treasured each one. Like little kisses composed by his finger. His warmth, her blanket and his heartbeats, her song.
She didn't let herself think what would happen if he didn't return... Couldn't.
A crack snapped in the fireplace and she was pulled back to the office, devoid of life. Cold despite the fire. Exposed despite the guard.
Cedar and leather clung to the desk. Gifting her a little of him and she thanked the room silently.
The desk was littered with all the letters she'd yet to decode. A piece of paper listing all the messages she'd managed to decipher and the Queen's declaration. Rhosyn was trying to keep her mind busy.
It wasn't working.
With each heartbeat, she could feel the distance grow between her and Leoric. Her muscles ached to pursue. Pain burrowed in her chest and her soul longed for its other half.
She fisted her blue pebble, staring at the words scrawled across her list, begging to see anything different. To have a puzzle piece slip into place and link the messages... But nothing.
They all felt foreign to each other. Just a few short messages with insignificant meanings.
Lady Devios married Duke Guldron.
Queen's pregnant.
Coastal raids, Northpoint.
Rowenna, Alestan's fourth victim, died—childbirth.
Bastard killings start.
If this was Uncle Halvar's secrets laid out on paper, then Rhosyn didn't understand the man truly. There must be a message she was missing. The final piece to pull them all together and spell out a dead man's last words.
Or maybe, she just wasn't smart enough. It had taken her nearly seven years to work out that he'd hidden the key and code with her all along.
Rhosyn swiped her hand across the desk, anger gripping in the back of her throat with a frustrated roar as papers flew everywhere.
"My Lady," Caerwyn took a step forward, concerned.
It was no use. Sitting still only agitated her more and her mind wouldn't quieten. Yet it never went in the direction she begged it to go—always hanging on her worry for Leoric.
Huffing out a sigh, she stood.
Rhosyn itched to move, but had no destination to go. Pacing sounded appealing though Uncle Halvar always cautioned against it. A fool's march, he'd often call it, wearing more on oneself, than on the issue at hand.
Instead, she found herself kneeling on the floor, gathering the papers up again. She was letting emotion rule her—a common practice of hers. Lashing out at the situation, allowing it to conquer her.
Reaching for another page, her finger ran up the edge and she recoiled in pain. Paper-cut. Of course the parchment would start fighting her now. As if she didn't have enough enemies.
"My Lady, are you alright?" Caerwyn asked and she waved his worry away.
Replacing the pile atop the desk and taking the precious Queen's declaration back to the bookcase, slipping it back safely into a large tome.
They'd not spread the word of the document yet. Didn't have the time to. Timing was everything and they felt like they'd spent all of it already. It was now time for action and Rhosyn clutched at her stomach quivering in anxiety.
When Leoric spoke of war, the first days they met. She never thought she'd be this close to it. More than ever, she wished he'd just come home. Though she knew that'd only lead to all of their deaths as traitors.
Her finger ran along the spine of the book. A tear slipping free and rolling down her face. She felt sick with worry. Crushed with concern.
The room folded around her as sconces burnt low. The fire popped. Shadows slid sideways across the shelves—wrong enough that, for a heartbeat, she almost believed in ghosts.
Then a knock rapped on the door and Caerwyn's hand went straight to his hilt.
There was a skeleton staff in the castle. Most able men went to fight with Leoric and the others. Even women joined to help cook, do laundry, and gather supplies. Some purely joined because their husband was one of the soldiers and they didn't want to be separated.
Her eyes flickered to the hidden passage, before returning to the door. Rhosyn didn't realise she was holding her breath until she opened her mouth to call out.
"Enter," she said, clear and strong, despite herself.
A young man—more like a boy—stepped inside. Mud splattered across his pale face and light leather clothing. He looked frazzled. As if he'd rushed to get somewhere and still thought himself too late. He glanced around the room as if to find someone else and reluctantly turned back to Rhosyn.
"An urgent message, Your Grace, from Baron Edrik Fellward," the young man stepped forward, holding a sealed message out.
Most of his tension was hidden under layers of both dried and damp mud. But Rhosyn could see how worry sat in his shoulders.
She bridged the space between them and retrieved the letter. Addressed to Leoric, that was who the boy was searching for—of course. She flipped it over to break the seal when a new body moved into the room.
"What are you doing here, Your Grace?"
The tone, a sound Rhosyn couldn't forget. Deep and husky, almost like gravel stuck in her throat. She looked up to find Branelynn standing in the doorway. Her eyes a clear sky that sucked Rhosyn in and a look that expressed it knew the next few moves on the board.
She was an ominous presence. One that Rhosyn couldn't settle around.
"What do you mean?" Rhosyn asked, finger dithering on the seal of the letter as the young man hovered nearby.
Clearly even he didn't want to interrupt the woman, though Rhosyn could see the urgency in his visit by the way he rocked on his heels.
"You're fated to be elsewhere," Branelynn's gravely tone scraped the words in her foreign accent.
Words spoken once before whispered in her mind, a dark cloud is forming on your border. Then her eyes piercing into Rhosyn's own, sacrifice—there will be blood spilt.
Like Uncle Halvar's words, Rhosyn still didn't understand them. There was an ominous foreboding in them and Leoric believed in their weight.
"A village burns, a word on the wind and a battle behind our kin," Branelynn said, the words almost poetic as her tongue wrapped around them.
Rhosyn noticed the anxiety built in the young messenger boy, as he shifted on the spot uncomfortable. Her stomach went to her throat as she stared down at the letter in her hands.
Trembling fingers, she broke the seal and opened the parchment. A hastily written message crawled across the sheet: Stonewatch Village pillaged. Enemy at our backs—impressive number.
Rhosyn went cold.
Stonewatch sat on the southern road—behind Leoric's march. He travelled south to muster before heading off for the meet-up point near Ravenstair. He won't have a sizable force—not alone. If he didn't know that the enemy was coming from behind, he'd have no defenses up. He could die.
And if he died, everything would fall.
Her heart drummed a beat and she was marching.
"My Lady, where are you going?" Caerwyn called after her, his boots chasing her down the hall.
"My husband needs me," she called back, never missing a step as he caught up. "Take me to him."
He saw the resolve in her eyes. She'd never given him orders—not normally. But this was a request.
Caerwyn faltered—duty warring across his face—then he nodded once, sharp as a salute. "Of course."
For the first time all day, Rhosyn felt the knot inside her uncoil. She was moving, heading, in the right direction and her body sang in relief. She was returning to Leoric—back to her home.