The War of Six Crowns: The Vanished Knight

Another Lie, Another Truth

"Take her away," Darrion mumbled in English to Kaela, who immediately jumped up and took Callan by the arm.

Callan followed her, too numb to react.

She had family. A real family.

All this time, spent thinking she was alone. The ache in her throat had nothing to do with the punishment it went through yesterday. A hollowness settled in her chest and she turned her head back to see the old man who had to be her grandfather.

Kaela practically dragged Callan to the tent, pressing a hand to her back.

"Sorry about this," Kaela muttered. "I have no idea where the elves came from."

Callan shook her head, unable to think of anything to say. Once they were in the tent, she started pacing its length and fought to control her emotions. She longed to meet her grandfather. To know him. But it would never work. The entity would wake up as soon as she began to care.

Darrion stormed in, jarring her. His chest rose and fell unevenly. He held the flap open and quirked his head toward the exit. Kaela put her hand on her left shoulder and bowed before leaving. Not a word spoken.

The tent could probably hold forty people standing straight, but when the flap dropped closed, it seemed to close in on Callan.

Darrion approached her, eyes filled with dark omens.

"Do you want to explain what happened just now?" His countenance was still, too calm. He'd lost some of his previous grace and he looked tense with barely contained anger.

Callan stepped back, scrambling to work out why he directed it at her.

He folded his arms, waiting for her explanation. Yesterday was pretty harrowing, but it faded in comparison to facing him alone.

Callan drew deep breaths to settle her rising fear. He took a step toward her.

"I don't know," she said in an attempt to stop his advance.

The corners of his mouth pulled straight. His fingers flexed. "How can you not know? Who sent you?"

"What are you talking about? Sent me where?"

A muscle on the side of Darrion's face twitched. "To the castle."

"What? Claire sent me. After Nerine—"

A swipe of his hand cut her words off. He stalked forward and grabbed her arms. Her breath hitched.

"Enough. The truth, Callan." He towered over her, eyes narrowed to slits. "People who haven't been seen in certain places for generations suddenly appear exactly where we don't expect them. They're all looking for you. Why?"

Callan's every nerve screamed for escape, but running now would be the worst thing to do. "I...don't...know."

"Callan," he growled, putting a big warning into a small word.

"I don't know! I didn't ask for any of this. All I wanted was—"

"I don't care what you want," Darrion snapped.

"I didn't ask you to."

She winced and stared at her feet. Why did her temper choose to run away with her now? She bit her tongue as punishment for its stupidity. Provoking someone who didn't bat an eye at the thought of killing civilians...

Darrion took a step back, giving Callan a little breathing space.

"Consider this fair warning, Fury," he said, emphasizing her new nickname. "I don't play nice. If I find out you lied, you won't have long to regret it."