Thread of Darkness

Ch. 1: something fragile

She must have been kidnapped, Ryne thought.

He took the spiral steps quickly, ignoring the way that pain rippled upwards with every step. Sunshine filtered through the slats in the stone wall, illuminating dust motes and white scratches on the wall. Somewhere outside, a bird sang.

Ryne paused at the bottom of the steps. Popped his head into the kitchens.

People scurried through the cramped space, ducking under low-hanging copper pots and sacks of herbs. The head cook was standing on a stool and waving a spatula like an orchestra conductor. His face was red from shouting. Someone was on the floor, scrubbing at what looked like a roasted guineafowl.

No sign of Camille.

Ryne frowned. Odd. Camille was never late to things — especially when it was this important. She hadn't forgotten what today was, had she?

A young woman carrying a large pot of beef stew let out a squeak, fumbling the pot. Her eyes were wide. "Your Majesty?"

Ryne offered her a tight smile. "Sorry to interrupt." He waved a hand in the general direction of the frozen staff members. "As you were."

He turned towards the library next. Not the large one overlooking the gardens — that had been Ryne's first destination — but a smaller one in the West Wing; it was filled with cramped, squashy furniture and a fireplace. A wave of relief filled Ryne as he spotted a head over the top of a chair, and he hurried across the room.

Paused.

The small figure in the chair looked up.

"What is it?" Penny asked.

His younger sister was sitting cross-legged in a wingback chair. Her shoes — expensive, caked in mud — were kicked across the room, and a plate of iced biscuits rested on her lap. She reached up to brush her red hair out of her eyes, smudging icing sugar.

"Ryne?" Penny prompted. "Is it mother?"

She knew something was wrong. Of course she did; Penny had the unique gift of sensing people's emotions, and his must have had the subtlety of a cannon going off.Ryne leaned against a bookshelf, running a hand over his eyes. He took care to hide his emotions, usually, but today...

Well.

Today was different.

But it was just as well, Ryne thought, dropping his hand; Penny became suspicious if he was happy for too long. Emotions didn't work like that. It was important to switch things up, for the sake of realism.

"No," Ryne said. "Mother's fine."

Presumably.

He hadn't seen Brigid since breakfast when she'd been lecturing some poor housemaid on how the silverware should be laid. Typical of his mother, really.

"Have you seen Camille?" Ryne asked.

Penny marked her page. "She's not with you?"

"No."

"But isn't it...?" Penny glanced outside. "Do I have the day wrong?"

There was an edge of self-doubt in her voice, and Ryne's chest twisted. He hated that. Hated that even now — four months after losing her memory — his sister was still unsure of herself, still fearful that she might have things muddled or confused.

"No," Ryne said. "Today's the day."

"Lucia's sake." Penny rose. "Do you need help finding her?"

"No," Ryne said. "Forget it. I can handle it."