Crowned in Crimson Cinders

Chapter 45: A Fruitful Mission (Darians POV)

The door to Amora's room yielded with an almost unnerving ease, a soft creak echoing in the hushed hallway. It was too simple, too convenient. A disturbing thought wormed its way into my mind. Did she know we were coming? No, it was impossible. She couldn't have anticipated our plan.

My hopes for a dramatic reveal were dashed the moment I stepped inside. The room was disappointingly normal. I didn't know what I'd expected—a hidden arsenal, perhaps, or a cadre of assassins awaiting orders. Instead, there was nothing to suggest Amora was the sadistic killer we suspected, and that annoyed me.

Brock slipped in first, a silent shadow. I scanned the dark hall for any sign of a witness before following, pulling the door shut behind me with a soft click. The small candles we carried offered little more than a dim glow, but it was enough. Brock veered right, so I headed left, my search beginning with a large desk. Common sense dictated that if she was communicating with outsiders, this would be the first place to conceal any incriminating letters.

I systematically opened each drawer. Blank parchment filled most of them, along with a surprising number of drawings inside a small notebook. People, mostly. I'd never imagined Amora possessed an artistic streak. Even the most evil among us, it seemed, could find solace in something as mundane as drawing. Every drawer was empty of anything useful. Satisfied I'd left no trace of my search, I moved on.

Next, I encountered a soft, cushioned chair. I lifted the cushion, only to find a tangle of springs. Another dead end, another wave of disappointment. I ran my hands along the walls, checked beneath the plush carpet, and peered into more empty drawers. I looked under the rugs, in her personal bathroom, and even under her bed, but I came up with nothing. I even tried lifting some floorboards that seemed to be loose in case she made a secret compartment there, but none of them seemed to hold any secrets. My conviction in this mission wavered.

I wondered if Brock had found anything. Probably not. If he had, he'd have crowed about it by now. Unlike me, he seemed less concerned with stealth. I could practically hear his muffled thuds from across the room, even on carpet. I suppose the security of his powers were enough to diminish his sense of stealth in some instances. Or perhaps he was just confident that she wouldn't be around any time soon.

Brock was, in my estimation, an anomaly among his siblings. Though he fought alongside them on the battlefield, his approach to combat set him distinctly apart. He favored raw strength and brute force over the cunning and strategy that defined his brothers, Tristain and Clifton. I vividly recall Tristain and Clifton fighting in unison, their combined might devastating entire platoons of my soldiers with their calculated maneuvers. Sebastian, on the other hand, exuded the calm confidence of a born leader, commanding unwavering loyalty from his men.

With his unique ability to wield Earth magic, seemed content to be a leader only when explicitly called upon. He didn't possess Sebastian's natural inclination to bask in the role, nor did he share Tristain's penchant for elaborate strategies. His strength lay in direct confrontation, a stark contrast to the intricate minds that guided his brothers.

Finally, I reached a tall dresser, strikingly similar to the one in Aleah's room. It took me a moment to realize it was the exact same model. When I pulled open the doors, a wave of colors burst towards me. Even in the gloom, the vibrant hues of her dresses stood out. Thin drawers lined the sides from top to bottom, likely holding her more casual clothes – pants and shirts, if she ever deigned to wear such things. I remembered Aleah's delight at wearing pants during our dungeon mission.

I shuffled through the dresses, losing count of them, wondering how she managed to fit so many inside. This was the same dresser Aleah had. And behind everything, there was a secret door, seamlessly integrated into the back, leading to a hidden tunnel.

I pushed the dresses aside and examined the back panel. A faint, thin line traced a doorframe, extending from the bottom almost two feet from the top. I traced it with my finger. I'd have to remember this. It might prove useful someday.

My attention shifted to the smaller drawers along the sides. The bottom ones held pants, all empty. The top drawers were for shirts, though I've never seen her wear any. I was on the tenth drawer, my hope dwindling, about to close it when something caught my eye, a sliver of paper peeking out from a folded shirt. I pulled the shirt out. The paper was tucked inside.

"Hey, Brock?" I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. I heard his footsteps thudding on the wooden floors. Moments later, he was at my side, peering at the shirt in my hand.

"Look," I murmured, carefully extracting the folded paper. I knelt, setting the candle and shirt on the floor. Brock mirrored my movements. Slowly, I unfolded the paper, holding it close to the flickering light. Once it was fully open, I began to read it aloud.

"My Lady,

The groundwork is laid. The structure's vulnerabilities have been exploited, precisely as you planned. Half of the primary supports are compromised, their removal executed with an invisibility that will defy detection. Suspicion will not stir before the fire catches. The collapse will be swift. Should the flames fulfill their purpose, the church should see it's end in minutes. Of course, we expect your abilities to be a contributing factor to our success.

Your humble servant, S. S."

"Who's S.S.?" Brock asked the moment I finished.

"I don't think the person who wrote the letter is who we should be thinking about right now," I countered, meeting his gaze. "I think we should be worrying about the person who received it. Think about it, Brock, and I know that might be hard for you, seeing as thinking isn't something you do often." Brock swatted my arm, but I felt a smile tug at my lips. How could I possibly be making jokes at a time like this?

"Just spit it out," Brock grumbled, irritation in his voice.

"Whoever received this letter clearly planned the attack on the bridge. They anticipated it. And who's the one person who conveniently left right before the fire?"

I couldn't make out the exact expression on Brock's face in the dim light, but I felt the shift in the air around him, as if everything had suddenly clicked into place.

"We have to get this back to everyone else," he said, breaking the silence.

I nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see me, and snatched up the candle and the note. I closed the drawer and hoped I hadn't forgotten anything else.

I didn't know where we were going, whether it was back to Aleah's room or Brock's. I simply followed. My mind raced, replaying every suspicious interaction with Amora. Her odd behavior during the prisoner interrogations in the throne room, her consistent cruelty towards Aleah, and, of course, her convenient departure from the church moments before the fire.

If this note wasn't enough evidence, I didn't know what was. It directly implicated her, connecting her to whoever was working for her. Part of me yearned to track her down right now, to force the truth from her. But that would have to wait.

I'd get my chance, one way or another. And when I did, the entire world would tremble before me and my queen. I would ask Aleah to be with me forever, and together, we would be unstoppable.