Shadow Touched

11. GREY

Grey,

I have found her. I have the black eye to prove it. She is as insolent as ever. After much cajoling, some threatening, some bargaining and finally, to her great pleasure a bit of pleading, she has agreed to return for the Jubilee. She has, however, a few demands, which you'll find enclosed.

Yours, in deference,

F.~

~*~

I read Finch's note over again. Then, I tear into the additional letter he included. The letter from Naima. My eyes fly across the page, devouring her script. It's the first correspondence I've had from her in five years. I went from seeing her every day, from sneaking into her room every night to nothing. My heart has spent every day, all one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five of them, aching for her. Now, it sings with triumph.

Her penmanship is filled with loops and flourishes. She dots her Is and crosses her Ts with the same vigour she brings to everything else. I swear I can smell a slight hint of the floral perfume she wears—the smell of gardenias.

My head is reeling. In eight days, Naima will walk through the castle doors. There is so much to do, so much to get ready. Yes, my father only agreed to her return because I'd agreed to marry. I intend to uphold my end of the bargain. In fact, I look forward to it because I plan to wed a Lady whose family is held in great esteem throughout Athecca—throughout the Six Realms. A Lady whose father is a national hero. A young woman who inspires as much awe as she does malice—the ideal makeup for any queen. When I sit on the throne, it will be with Naima by my side.

Unable to contain my excitement, I rush from my rooms. I make my way into the castle proper, heading towards the War Room to speak with my father. He's been held up there with Welland and other high-ranking officers since the news of Solditch's return.

Me? I've been in and out. After receiving a full debrief of the situation.

Solditch himself had not been seen. The lone scout we've managed to keep alive reported the strangest occurrence. While watching the Keep, a nearly imperceptible wave emanated from the building's centre, sending a blast of warmth through the ice-cold air. The wave seemed to melt a powerful glamour the court mages never detected. It's not surprising. The magics of the Gloaming are unlike any Allure used across the Six Realms. It makes sense that Solditch would use them to fortify the Keep.

The ripple dropped the glamour, bringing the Keep's true nature into stark reality.

Smoke billows from its chimneys, filling the air with dark tendrils that mix with the charcoal clouds that hover above. Wagons overflow with supplies.

And the noise—the sound of thousands of feet marching as one. The clash and clang of swords on swords. The sounds, the scout said, were thunderous, pulsating like the beat of a war drum.

As he crawled forward to get a better view, the wards dropped back down, sucking the warmth it released back to the Keep like an inverted vortex. Slamming down its protections and closing in on itself, leaving the scout in deafening silence.

Lord Solditch mobilizes. But who are these soldiers? Most Atheccans—save for those loyal to the Mad Lord—fled Aspus after the death of General Roman. How does the Keep conceal an entire army?

We spent all day yesterday and well into the night in the War Room debating—arguing really—Solditch's intentions. Welland believes we are overreacting. My father believes we need to exert caution but remain on alert. I think we are in grave peril, and I know when Finch returns, he'll agree with me.