Hated by her lineage, Iliya Dalaminai dwells in self isolation, awaiting the day her cousin marries so she might escape the Throne.
Feared by the Gods, Sorein Chakrine's crown is mainly a relic put on display at royal ceremonies to ward off evil.
Wh...
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The Priestess had scrubbed her skin raw and she hadn't even minded. Anything to get the rotting stink of blood down the drain. Her eyes stared into space as whirls of red disappeared, washing far away from her.
Iliya never asked the young woman to help, but the last hour of silence gave her time to collect her thoughts. She would need to be prepared to speak with Qudja and later Ezre. She needed to know more about the journal now perched on her nightstand.
Dressed in oversized sweatpants and a low hanging tunic, she combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to detangle the long, rippling waves.
She'd even started considering a haircut when she stepped out from the bathing room and found Qudja waiting.
Her friend was eyeing one of the dust sprites with timid fascination, lifting one finger to touch the buzzing wings. The sprite chirped in surprise and fluttered away, leaving Qudja disgruntled.
"Are they pests?" she asked.
Iliya shook her head. "Not particularly, though some might think so."
Qudja smiled, tracing her gaze to a group of them wisping over the bare space on a bookshelf. Straightening, she swiped a hand down her loose skirt.
"You wanted to see me?"
Now that she thought of it, Iliya hadn't laid eyes on Qudja since the attack. The idea unsettled her, leaving her to question where the Chieftain's daughter had been off to.
Hesitation flooded her chest as she walked over to the journal and picked it up. "Do you know where this came from?"
Her friend's eyes danced with unfamiliar emotion. "What is it?"
"A journal. It was left for me two nights ago."
Qudja's gaze flicked back and forth, weighing her words carefully. "I've seen it before."
"How?"
She didn't answer.
"Who is D. R.?" Iliya asked.
Qudja's lips pursed. "It's not that simple, Iliya."
"Of course it is," she argued, stepping around the bed and closing the distance between them. "You know who this is, you must know what's written inside."
Her hazel stare honed in on the book. "Does this mean you've seen Nioreir?"
Iliya's teeth ground into one another as she nodded. "We were attacked while retrieving books from the vault, I deserve to know who sent me there."
"Your condition is sensitive. This might have seemed like a goose chase, but he couldn't risk Destry or Ezre–"
"Qudja? Who?"
"Damien Ravellier, the King of Toskapel," Qudja answered skeptically. "As you might know, he only holds the title because he wished to protect his country from the Fae... Before their conquest failed, he saw the corruption for what it was and left Solraidas. He knows better than anyone how detrimental their purist ways are."
