Mist Rising by Eve Langlais
Chapter Forty-Five
The next fewdays passed in a strange, surreal blur. Despite Maric’s claim that she couldn’t wander around, she noticed the guard was gone from her door the next day. Not only that, but she had free rein to saunter the Citadel, going in and out of previously closed and guarded rooms. She even made it inside the Blessed wing without being challenged—not that Belle would deign to speak with her.
Making sense of Maric’s change of mind led her to realize that the sex had gotten her a free pass. Did that make her a whore or smart? Probably the latter because not only did she have freedom but she also got a few orgasms to go with it.
Seemed like a winning combination to her. Might as well take advantage while she could. She went everywhere, paying special attention in the Blessed wing, full of empty bedrooms. Only Belle’s was occupied.
Where had they all gone? Was this the result of the Blessed never making it to the Citadel? Or had they moved on into other positions? The castle staff didn’t seem particularly dense. They did appear elderly, though.
Certainly, too old to use the nurseries she’d found. Eight of them in total. According to staff, it had been a while since they’d had any babies. Apparently, fraternization occurred between the soldiers and the women. Having taken notice of the current age of all the women she’d seen, it explained the empty cribs.
Blame the sparse festivals, the staff exclaimed. Over the past few years, the offerings had diminished. Why this past year alone, a mere handful of the purple-eyed and their families made the trek to the King’s City. None of them arrived. Lost in the woods. Drowned in a lake. Gone in the night.
It’s a bad omen,they whispered.
A bad omen of what?
When Agathe asked, they sealed their lips.
Just as they wouldn’t answer when Agathe asked how they’d lost their purple eyes. Did none of them care that they’d given away a part of themselves?
Belle was the only Blessed left. If they had to rely on her to fight the mist, they were screwed.
There had to be another way.
What did the mist want?
To spread its foggy fingers.
How to fight it?
People standing with fans that they flapped to keep it away? That probably wouldn’t work long term because the monsters would eat those people.
How could they push back the threat?
Forget pushing. End it.
End what?
That was the question that plagued Agathe. It had her pacing in front of the statue in the conservatory more often than she understood. She had been drawn to it since that day when she’d lost time. She rubbed it. Shoved it. Checked the seam at the base. Why did she think it hid something?
Her behavior didn’t go unnoticed. Maric joined her one afternoon, sneaking up on her, meaning she squealed when he said, “What are you doing?”
A good question since he caught her with palms flat, pressing against a stone chest. She cleared her throat and said, “Hoping to find a clue as to who this person was. She reminds me a bit of our Goddess.”
“Interesting fact, this was the first King’s wife.”
The tidbit was enough to rouse her curiosity. “So, there’s been more than one King?”
“Multitudes, but only the one wife.”
“What was her name?” she asked.
“Nimaway.”
She blinked. “That’s very similar to my Goddess.”
“I’d noticed. One might wonder if they were one and the same.”
“Blasphemy. Our Goddess isn’t mortal.”
“Never said she was. And is it so bad she might have been married to the King? After all, the legends claim she left her husband to start an Order that went on to be known as the Soraers of the Shield.”
“Why did she leave him? Was he a bad King?”
He shrugged. “I never met him, so I wouldn’t know. However, he was the King that saved us from the mist the last time it rose.”
“You didn’t answer the question. Surely, the stories mention whether he was good or not.”
“They do. However, we should always keep in mind that those who catalogue history control the narrative and will have inherent biases when repeating it.”
“That’s a bit profound.”
“I’m a deep man.” He tucked his hands behind his back. “I didn’t seek you out for philosophy.”
“Didn’t figure you had.” Her wink was anything but shy. After all, he’d come knocking at her door several times since he freed her from her cell.
“I actually wanted to tell you I have to leave for a few days.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
“I can’t say. Promise you won’t do anything that gets you tossed into a cell.”
Her grin was crooked as she said, “You know I can’t do that.”
He sighed.
She kissed him and said lightly, “Will you give me conjugal visits if they lock me up again?”
Rather than laugh, he crushed her close to him and kissed her, igniting her passion. It led to them on the floor of the conservatory, coming together in a clash of hot breath and barely unclad bodies. Flesh against flesh.
Pleasure peaked in a body-tensing moment that left them huffing. She lay atop him, her cheek on his chest, listening to the rapid thud of his heart.
It was nice.
Until he ruined it.
“I have to go.”
“Yeah, me, too,” she lied as she rolled off him and gathered herself. Pants back on. Hair finger-combed and tugged back. She did all kinds of fidgety things rather than look at him.
Something about being with him felt good and right. Familiar already. She couldn’t let that feeling interfere.
Once he finished dressing, she expected him to run off on his secret mission, but he instead gathered her into a tight hug.
When he kissed her, his words fluttered against her lips. “There are things I want to tell you.”
“Then tell me.”
“I don’t have time. But I promise I will tell you everything, both the good and the bad, on my return.”
Threat or sweet promise?
