Mermaid Tear (The Fated #2)

47 | History

Silence coated the air between Kyril and Mara as Iliana tracked them across the palace.

Her thoughts twisted and spun, intertwining with complex emotions she couldn't begin to decipher. It left her an impossible combination of numb and overwhelmed.

What was Iliana hoping to see while following them? Mara doing well without her? Suffering? Kyril changed?

The same?

What would ease the dark twisting mass in her gut?

What would make breathing easier?

The sharp anger in Kyril's shoulders seemed to ease away the further they drew from the ballroom. It shifted to a pleased, somewhat smug energy, and by the time the couple paused in front of a doorway, there was the faintest smile on his lips.

Iliana shivered. That expression had never resulted in anything pleasant.

Kyril pulled the door open, but didn't step inside. Mara slipped past him without a word. Iliana followed her, discovering what appeared to be a sitting room. She could spy doors on either side of it, suggesting it connected their separate quarters. The rooms were expensive--which only deepened her discomfort.

What exactly was Kyril doing in Eol? Were these normal quarters to give to a foreign duke?

"I'll be back shortly. Have tea readied by then," he ordered.

"As you wish."

Mara's eyes never shifted from the floor. Kyril seemed to study her for a moment, before his lip curled in distaste.

"And change into something more appropriate."

Her expression tightened, but Mara didn't argue. Instead, she gave a shallow nod, which seemed to satisfy Kyril. He strode away without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Mara's energy disappeared. She stumbled across the room, before catching her hand against the back of a chair. Iliana swore and stepped forward, before remembering there was nothing she could do. She could only watch as Mara crouched and tucked her free arm over her head.

The slow, ragged breaths she drew in stole any lingering anger from Iliana's mind. It left only fear and frustration behind.

What was going on? Was Mara sick?

Why hadn't a healer been called? Kyril had always been obsessed with public opinion. Leaving his wife's illness untreated would only create foul rumors.

A knock on the door forced Mara to her feet. She brushed off her skirts, drew in another breath, before pushing a smile onto her lips. "Come in."

To Iliana's further shock, the person who slipped through the door was unsettlingly familiar.

What was Dalphie doing with Mara? How was she with Mara?

Iliana felt ill. Was it coincidence that someone she had met while the gods played with her fate had found her sister months later? It seemed unlikely.

Mara's faux energy fell away with Dalphie's arrival. She returned to leaning on the chair as the siren crossed the room, a tea tray in her hands. As Mara struggled to breathe, Dalphie laid the tray onto the coffee table.

"I must leave before he returns," the siren said. She reached into a pocket hidden in her skirts, before producing a leather pouch. "The tea."

Mara stared at the pouch for so long that Iliana was certain she wouldn't take it. But, eventually, she released the chair and with a slow, steadying breath, she accepted the pouch.