Once before, I visited another Llyrian estate. The AcrineHold, a sterile stone fort at the base of the Cimmerian Mountains. The two dwellings have precious little in common when it comes to structure or design, yet they do share one attribute: a strange lack of staff. No guards are posted at exterior doors, no soft-footed pages carry parchment scrolls down corridors. Even the kitchen is empty of the usual chatter of cooks and clatter of ladles in pots.
Admittedly, my experience with royal households is limited…but certainly a king’s home would have a whole fleet of footmen and scullery maids? Before Fyremas reduced the castle to ruins, Vanora’s court deployed an invisible army that moved through the keep, prepared to fulfill her every whim at a moment’s notice.
If Soren has a similar legion, they do not reveal themselves. The only sound that disturbs the quiet is the patter of my boots on the polished marble as I walk across the vacant kitchen. Like many of the rooms, it is open to the air at one end with a vast columned archway that allows a crisp breeze to blow in, carrying currents of jasmine and sea salt.
As I wander out onto the terrace, my eyes sweep the inner courtyard, following the slate paths that lead down into the lush gardens encircling a spring-fed pool. At the center sits the bathhouse, connected by a curved stone bridge. I study it from afar, allowing the pulse of pure power it emits to wash over my skin. The mark at my chest prickles in response.
The portal there is highly concentrated. I assume that’s why I was pulled here, instead of to Pendefyre.
“If you’re hoping to catch me in the nude again, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.”
I spin around at the sound of Soren’s liquid lilt. He’s appeared behind me without any warning at all. As though he’s materialized out of thin air.
“I wish you’d stop doing that.”
“Bathing?”
“Sneaking up on me.”
“Your inability to sense me has less to do with the skills I possess and more to do with those you lack.” His eyes dance with humor as he watches my lips flatten into a frown. “Did you get any rest?”
“More than I’ve had in a month.”
His humor vanishes. “You’ve been wearing yourself down to the bone. Not eating, not sleeping. I fear if I let you return to Caeldera, you’ll desiccate entirely.”
“If youletme? It’s not your decision.”
“My, my, you’re cranky in the morning.”
“I am not cranky.”
“That statement might be more convincing if it weren’t coming at me through clenched teeth.”
I forcibly relax my jaw and smooth the glower from my face. “I’m sorry. I am merely eager to get back to Dyved. I’ve been away too long already, and sent no word about my abrupt disappearance—”
“I sent word.”
My eyes widen. “You…What?”
“To Pendefyre,” he explains, unperturbed by my shocked reaction. “I sent a raven to Caeldera late last night, informing him of your rather…serendipitous…arrival during my bath. I’m sure, once the firestorm of temper subsides, he’ll be relieved.”
“Firestorm?What else did you say to him, exactly?” Gods, I can only imagine. The man takes every given opportunity to goad Penn…
“Don’t fret. I left out the more salacious details.” Soren appears to be fighting a grin. “Wouldn’t want to incite any international incidents, would we?”
My eyes press closed for a long moment as I attempt to summon a sense of calm. “I appreciate you sending word that I have not been lost forever in the leylines. That said, it changes nothing. I still need to return as soon as possible. So if you would take me through the portal, as you agreed—”
“Tell me…” He cuts me off, folding his arms across his broad chest. His shirt is rolled to the elbows and crafted of a pure white linen that accentuates the deep golden tan of his skin. “What is it you are so eager to get back to?”
“It’s—Well—I—”
His dark brows arch as I struggle.
“There are people there who count on me.”
“Pendefyre?”
I try not to flinch, but I cannot quite conceal my reaction. A sharp pain vaults through me.