Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 20.1 - Idyne

He pulls the wooden cap off and sniffs. Come on, drink it. "It smells like apples and iron."

My lips tighten.

"And I'm sure it's delicious." He offers a small smile. "Thanks."

I nod. I badly want to encourage him to taste it, but I don't push my luck.

He says, "What was the news?" My expression falls, and worry etches his face. "Is something wrong with Laithan?" He gestures toward the desk.

My mind hurries to catch up. Laithan must be a soldier that's normally down here. They would have moved him to the wall. "No, no, no." My hand waves. "No, but—" I pause, doing my best to seem as if this is heavy news that matters to me. "The Queen has died."

His eyes widen, and for the first time, his posture slacks. He leans against the door behind him. After a moment, he says softly, "So all three of them are gone."

I nod gravely. With an absent-minded look in his eyes, he lifts the bottle to his lips and drinks.

It takes all my effort not to break out in a grin. Keeping my voice steady and somber, I say, "The Princesse is being coronated right now."

He nods, lowering the bottle. "Good. Good." He takes a deep breath, pushing off the door.

I straighten, and as if trying to lighten the mood some, say, "Is it good?" I gesture at the bottle. He still has to drink the rest for it to do any good.

"Um, yeah. Must admit I was a little thrown by the smell, but—" He nods slowly. "Yeah. It's good." He takes another swig.

I talk about other news of the castle, hoping that as we continue, he'll keep drinking the potion. I try to keep my giddiness from showing as he does. Soon enough, the bottle is empty, and he sets it aside, thanking me again. I brush it off and keep talking. Now just for it to kick in.

The spell doesn't keep me waiting long. His eyes start fluttering only a minute later, and I can see him physically fighting the sleep. I don't say anything about it, though, just keep talking as if everything is fine.

He's in the middle of replying to me when he cuts himself off. "Did—did you do..." He blinks rapidly, leaning against the door. "You did some—something..." His eyelids fall, and he begins to slump to the ground. I step forward and grab him under the arms, slowing his descent.

I need to hurry.

I dig through the numerous pockets in his cloak and am rewarded with a small ring of two keys. I hope to shades that they're all I need.

Straightening, I pick one and jam it into the door, but it doesn't fit. I drop it and shove the other in. It twists. Perfect. When I try to push the door open, though, it's too heavy to budge. I whisper a curse.

The voices laugh, singing, "He's going to catch you."

I growl, scrambling for ideas. There was the spell those Retran miners taught me, but this door is wood, not stone, and if I use it on the stone beside the door, I might be stepping straight into a cell.

I shoot a glance around the room for something I can wedge the door open with. A chair leg is too thick, a letter opener too bendable...

I rifle through a drawer. Inkwell, quill, paper...

My magic leaps in my soul, and I draw out the quill and close my eyes. It's only a feather that's undergone treatment. I set it back down, spinning to the door, and press my hands against it.

The magic has a way for me to go through, I know it. I focus, leaning my forehead against the door.

In my mind's eye, the outline of a doorway forms within the door, and I picture the substance of it falling away, disappearing. The magic grows within me, whispering that it can, whispering that it will.