The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(29)

Jander looks at me quizzically. “Just a shock,” I tell him. But that’s not true; it’s the weeping willow at Baer all over again. The feeling of lightning runs up my spine and down my arms. It’s overwhelming, and a bit scary, but curiosity floods me before fear can take hold.

I hunch down and run my finger along the emerald stem of a bright red rose, admiring the tile’s craftsmanship. I get another shock and press my finger against the flower and hold it there. Maybe a vision will give me information, help me find Caledon.

The dining hall, except the dining hall from long ago, wavers into focus. The tiles are brand-new, glossy and perfect, not a scratch or chip anywhere. A blurry figure sits at the head of a grand table set with white cloth and gold dishes. The figure . . . is it human? I take a deep breath in and the image gets clearer. Human, yes. With waist-length silver hair, wearing a long-sleeved, full-length white tunic and an emerald gem around his neck. Violet eyes bore into me with a fiery intensity.

I pull my hand up and the vision disappears. Jander is still mopping the far end of the hall, and everything is dingy and plain again. My mind races. There was something strangely familiar about that figure. Was I imagining that they looked straight into my eyes? When I saw King Esban at Baer, no one there seemed aware of me watching.

I need to know. I’m not sure if I can make the vision return, but I have to try.

So I press both my hands against the floor and close my eyes, willing myself, with every bit of my heart and mind, to return to Deersia’s past again. I want to see. I want to see . . .

It works. In a flash, the entire floor stretches out around me, glistening and new, sparkling in the light coming through the brand-new panes of glass. I’m awed by the beauty of it—a floor, of all things. Though, really, it’s a work of art.

There’s an eerie silence. Almost a void of sound. Then footsteps approach, thunking, echoey. A gust of air blows my hair and I look up—a silver-haired mage with violet eyes gazes down at me. Omin of Oylahn. The founder of Avantine.

I hear a voice in my head. Omin is speaking to me.

Follow your path.

That’s all I hear before I’m yanked backward to the dirty floor of the dining hall.

Jander is standing there, looking concerned. “I’m okay,” I say. “Really, I’m okay.” He mimics throwing up. “No, no,” I say. “I’m just tired. I was daydreaming.” He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

Follow your path, Omin said. Does that mean I am on the right one? Is this where I’m meant to be? It was the same message I received from my mother—the one that sent me here.

It takes all morning and many fresh buckets of water pumped from the kitchen well outside, but we finish the room without incident. I can’t stop thinking about what I saw. Who I saw.

But I can think more about it later. I need to find Caledon.

When we’re done, I stand back and admire our work. It’s not quite as stunning as it was in the vision, and we couldn’t get to every nook and cranny with all the tables in the way, but compared to how it looked at breakfast, it’s a dramatic transformation.



* * *





JANDER AND I ARE sent to the kitchen to assist the cook. A guard pops his head in while we’re working. “Renold? I was wondering if it’d be possible for me to start my rounds a little earlier tonight. I was hoping to join the card game in a few . . .”

The cook frowns.

“I can take the food to the prisoners,” I say. “Then we don’t have to rush to have the food ready, and he can go to the card game.”

Maybe I might even be able to find Caledon.

The cook chews the offer over for a second or two. “Well, I suppose I can’t see why not,” he says. He tucks the errant hairs back under his cap.

The guard claps his large, rough hand against the doorway. “Excellent,” he says, beaming. “The route is easy. I have the east wing and the turret. Takes no time at all. None at all.”

Not long after, I’m pushing a tall, shelved cart piled with trays through the damp halls. It’s a far walk from the kitchens, so I was worried about the food getting cold, but I’ve learned that the prison staff gets the freshest food and the prisoners get week-old pea soup that’s been simmering for days on end and yesterday’s leftover biscuits. I feel guilty giving it to anyone.

I’ve also learned that it’s nearly impossible to see who is in each cell. Trying to get a good look inside not only makes me appear suspicious, it slows me down way too much. I’m supposed to deliver food to a row of cells, return to the kitchen to refill the cart, then deliver to another row, and so on. If I gape at every single prisoner, it will take me all night. I’m only to slide a tray under the door and keep moving.

Still, I do what I can to catch a glimpse. Most prisoners are immediately ruled out—too old, too big, too bald, and in one particularly remarkable case, far too hairy. But a couple of them look like they could possibly be Caledon, around the right age or size. I’ll have to come back later somehow to check them again. Maybe I can do the morning deliveries too. I’ll have to find a way to fill in for the other side of the castle, but I’d locate Caledon within the next few days if I do that.

Then I have a terrible thought: I haven’t seen the Montrician spy since we arrived. For all I know, Caledon has already been killed.