Heirs of the Gods

Ch 73: Black sheep

Ella often wondered if nature had a way of speaking its mind.

The night before, amid a raging snowstorm, three rapt knocks had signalled The Bird's arrival. The balcony doors had opened and in came a flurry of snow and the mysterious robed spy. In a low, monotone voice, barely audible against the wind rattling the windows, the death knell had been rung. King Ironspear was finally dead.

Blankly, Ella had half-listened as the Bird relayed other tidbits overheard. A secret lover. A possible divorce. A key. Something fundamental the King had died without revealing. Something the Queen desperately needed.

It had been crucial information, but Ella had only nodded blankly and answered pertinently, more by reflex than by choice. Long after the Bird had flown away, Ella had stood there, as snow piled on her floor and iced her bones, numb to the cold despite her thin nightgown.

The King was dead, and there was no longer anything standing in Mair's way. There was no longer anyone to stop her from unleashing the worst of evils upon them all. All it had taken was one single moment to signal the beginning of the end.

That night, no one slept a wink in Gerrathea. Not when they knew they had precious hours before the inevitable tragedy struck.

By morning, the palace was a flurry of people coming and going. Port activity closed for the day, preparing for the worst. Villagers called to remain close by and avoid travel. Soldiers were placed at the borders, awaiting further orders.

The palace had the tension of a hive before the rain, boiling with anticipation, ready to lunge at the slightest change.

Gerrathea held information no one was aware of. As Ella had learned, the King had passed on, but not even the staff knew. The Queen had kept it strictly a secret. Ella imagined it would be weaponised as well. Nothing was useless to the Queen.

This gave them very little time to act. To inform the rest of Faerie of the King's death would have been ideal, but it would have begged the question of how they came upon such interesting information. A question no one was keen on answering.

Still, Ella could not stop thinking of Gidden. Gidden and his crestfallen expression. Gidden and his request of trust. Gidden, who Ella couldn't--wouldn't--hurt any further. She couldn't hold this information, not if it meant more pain, more death.

Allow me to do it, she'd begged Callan. I will take responsibility if they question the source of the information. Allow me to relay this revelation. Gidden would know what to do, she knew. No matter how upset he was, he wouldn't betray them. He could be trusted.

It was this unwavering trust Ella expressed that made Callan sigh and nod, with that weary, yet proud expression of his.

I will own up to the consequences, he'd said. It is my duty, not yours. Saving as many lives as possible was worth the retaliation from the Council.

Ella crunched across the snow-capped lands, rubbing her gloved hands together, wondering what Gidden would say.

She had to apologise to him first, she knew. Their last conversation had ended on a rather sour note, to say the least. But whether he forgave her or not was a different matter. She was going to relay the information, and he could toss her out of the palace if he so wanted.

She tugged her scarf around herself even tighter, covering the tip of her freezing red nose. A gust of frosty wind made her dip her chin, as she crunched along the snowy path.

A raging snowstorm had been brewing all night, even worse than the one they'd had the day before. It was predicted to last a few days and cover the whole of the land enough to lock everyone in.