Chapter 24: Questions

The morning light felt like a physical intrusion, a cruel contrast to the cold, jagged terror pooling in my gut. I retreated into the deepest corner of the suite, far from the windows where the guards might see me, and smoothed the crumpled parchment against the top of the mahogany vanity. My hands were shaking so violently that the words seemed to dance and skip across the page.

I read it once. Then twice. Then a third time, my eyes snagging on the final paragraph like a sleeve on a thorn.

“This means you'll never see your parents again. Do we understand one another?”

I stared at the ink until it burned into my retinas. Never see them again. A hollow, echoing silence filled my head. I leaned my weight heavily against Bran, who had taken his post on the back of my chair. His talons shifted, gripping the velvet upholstery as I let out a breath that felt like a suppressed scream.

"Bran," I whispered, my voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. "What does he mean?"

The raven let out a low, inquisitive click, tilting his head to watch me.

"He says I'll never see them again if I fail," I continued, my mind racing through a labyrinth of memories that had been locked away for over a decade. "But... I haven't seen them since I was a little girl. Since that night at the cave."

The memory was a blur of grey mist and the smell of damp earth. I remembered the cold stone of the Silvermere caves, the way the salt spray from the nearby coast had tasted on my lips, and the frantic, tearful goodbyes of two people whose faces I could barely reconstruct in my mind anymore. They had left me there with a kiss and a promise, handing me over to the scouts of Silvermere 'for my own safety.' I had grown up a ward of the state, a ghost in the King’s service, fueled by the vague assurance that they were "away," working to secure my future.

But Ultarion’s letter didn't sound like they were away. It sounded like they were reachable. It sounded like they were under his thumb.

"Does he have them, Bran?" I gripped the edge of the vanity so hard the wood groaned. "Has he been holding them captive in the capital all these years? Use them as collateral to turn me into his perfect little weapon?"

The thought was a poison. If they were alive, if they were within reach, then every drop of blood I spilled for the crown was a payment for their lives. But if they were dead, or if Ultarion was simply dangling a ghost in front of me to keep me running...

"I don't even know what they look like anymore," I confessed, the words spilling out in a frantic, bitter rush. I turned to Bran, my eyes wide and stinging with unshed tears. "I remember my mother’s hair was dark, like mine, and my father had a laugh that sounded like a cello... or maybe that’s just a story I told myself to stay warm during those winters in the cave. I was a child, Bran! They left me in the dark, and now the King is using that darkness to choke me."

I began to pace the room, the silk of the gown—Zion’s gown—swishing mockingly around my ankles. Everything felt like a lie. The silk, the roses, the mission, my very name.

"If they're alive, why didn't they come back for me?" I shouted, then immediately covered my mouth, glancing toward the door. I dropped my voice to a jagged whisper. "Why let me grow up in the mud and the shadows? And if he’s holding them, where are they? Are they in a dungeon? Are they being treated like guests, or are they already gone, and he’s just waiting for me to find out?"

The confusion was a physical weight, making it hard to draw air into my lungs. I felt a sudden, fierce resentment toward Silvermere. I was their best lead, their most capable spy, and yet I was being treated like a dog on a short leash, threatened with the loss of a family I barely knew.

"And then there's Zion," I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. "He's the enemy. He's the one I'm supposed to rob. But he's the only person in this gods-forsaken fortress who hasn't threatened to hang me this week."

Bran let out a sharp, cautionary croak, as if reminding me where my loyalties were supposed to lie.

"I know, I know," I snapped, though I immediately felt guilty. I reached out and stroked the raven’s chest feathers, leaning on his presence to keep from spiraling into a panic attack. "I have to find the maps. I have to find the riches. I have to do exactly what Ultarion says, or I’ll never know the truth. I’ll never know if they’re waiting for me, or if I’m just fighting for a pile of bones."

I looked at the letter one last time before crossing to the hearth. I watched the flames lick at the edges of Ultarion’s threats, turning the King’s disappointment into ash.

"I'm going to find out the truth, Bran," I whispered, the cold stone of my heart hardening into something lethal. "Not for the King. For me. And if that bastard is lying to me about them... I’ll make him regret the day he ever pulled me out of that cave."