Fate of the Mage (Skyelorn Chronicles #3)

Secrets in Ink

"What did I tell you about knocking?" Taileen asked. It struck her how tired her voice sounded, and she straightened her back against the cold throne. She still felt wrong sitting upon it, like a child playing an adults' game. Some of the more loose-minded Karvothians believed that natural materials held the remains of spiritual energy from the past, such as memories or souls, and she prayed to Volturnius that the wood pressed against her spine didn't contain anything belonging to father.

Though King Harlan was indisputably gone, Taileen still felt his lingering presence. Sometimes she felt him in the oddest places: standing just so in ajar doorways, when she caught a whiff of burnt pine, when she tucked into an evening meal of corn purée and boiled trout. Even then, King Harlan wasn't the most painful presence that haunted her.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty." The servant bent all the way to the floor, her nose nearly touching the ground. Taileen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was still very new to the whole unwavering veneration thing. "I forgot."

"What is it?"

"I have some news from Pathos." Taileen pressed two fingers to her temple. Nothing good ever came from Pathos. At least, not since Taileen took the throne. She waved a hand in the air, a silent invitation to continue. The messenger was a tall, thin woman that appeared to be older than she probably was. She swallowed thickly and brushed away a strand of dull gray hair. "There's been another death, Your Majesty. A young girl was found ... mutilated ... behind a hostel."

"Was she ..?" Taileen was afraid to ask.

"Yes. She was Touched."

Taileen closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. She didn't need to hear any more. "Thank you for telling me. You may go."

The messenger nodded and hobbled across the throne room floor. Taileen's tears started to fall long before the doors shut behind the servant. She thought she would have been used to it by now, the feeling like a dagger digging into her ribs, but it never got better. Ever since she took over as Karvoth's ruler, the capitol—as well as the entire province—was being terrorized by rogue guards who insisted on murdering Touched people in the name of the dead King. It was preposterous—Taileen was still a member of the Winship line, after all—but she should have expected that something like this would happen.

Taileen stood suddenly and left the throne room, walking the invisible path that had started to guide her steps every time she was distraught. She kept her eyes set firmly ahead, attempting to project some kind of confidence; not that there were many servants and guards left in the castle to impress.

The people of Karvoth were far from ready for a female ruler, let alone a Touched one. Hatred of the Touched was rooted so deeply in the fabric of Karvoth that sometimes she wondered if it was possible at all to unearth it fully. But she had to try.

She finally opened the door to her mother's old storage room and slipped inside, careful to make sure that this time no one was following her. While the room, to any other eye, might have been cause for a sense of foreboding, Taileen felt more comfortable here than anywhere else. Every article of furniture or decoration reminded her of a happier time in her life, when she was young and her family felt normal. Now, it struck her that she was the only surviving member of the Winship line. She wasn't quite sure how to feel.

She picked her way towards the back of the room, taking care not to tear her dress, and came to stand beside the table holding Paolin's body. She couldn't bear to touch him, or even look at him, but she still wanted him with her in the castle.

His final request had been for her to bring his body to his father and tell him the truth about who Paolin was, what he could do. And Taileen would, in time. She'd keep that promise.