Chapter 5: Threads in the Darko
Aurenya's POV
The days after the palace banquet passed like whispers behind closed doors. Servants spoke in hushed tones. Guards stood a little straighter. Even the birds in the garden seemed to chirp with more urgency, as if they, too, sensed the stir of something unseen.
I couldn't shake the weight in my chest. It wasn't just the vision from the banquet night—Zevran bleeding, crumpled in some cold, polished hall. That had already embedded itself into the pit of my spine like a needle I couldn't pull free. But something else had begun to grow in the background: a gnawing unease, subtle as a shadow at midday.
And it was centered around my aunt.
Aunt Liora hadn't changed, not on the surface. She still carried herself like a blade—sharp, gleaming, dangerous to touch. Her voice still cut through silences with precision, and her gaze still pinned me to place like a dissecting knife. But lately, I had noticed something strange in her movements. A stiffness in her smile. A certain distraction behind her words, like her thoughts were always half a room away.
I didn't want to believe something was wrong. Not with her. Liora had raised me, clothed me, schooled me in the art of survival in a palace that smelled sweeter than it was. She was severe, yes—but not cruel. Not to me.
Still… instinct gnawed at me like a persistent drip of water. Memory, too. In my past life, I had ignored things I shouldn't have. Paid for that with more than blood. Maybe this time, if I watched closely enough, I could stop it before it all fell apart again.
It was midmorning when it happened.
I had left my book in the small reading room at the end of the west wing. A new history of the Pre-Banishment Court—dry as bone, but it mentioned an ancestor with the same birthmark I bore beneath my collarbone. The coincidence had made my hands itch.
As I passed Aunt Liora's chambers, I paused. The door stood slightly ajar, and voices floated out.
Except… only one voice. Hers.
Murmuring.
I leaned closer.
Not words I could make out—just the rhythm of her voice, like she was reciting something, over and over. A chant? No… it had the cadence of a letter.
She was reading aloud.
I knew I shouldn't, but curiosity pulled at me like a hook through my ribs. I knocked lightly, half-heartedly.
No answer.
I stepped inside.
She was standing by the window, a piece of parchment in her hands. It looked old, edges frayed and yellowed. The moment she saw me, her entire body flinched—just slightly, but enough.
"Aurenya," she said sharply, too sharply. The letter disappeared into her sleeve in one swift motion. "Do you ever knock?"
I blinked. "I did."
"You should wait for permission."
There was a tremor in her tone. Not anger—no, not just that. Something else. Discomfort? Panic?
"I left a book—"
"You're not a child. You don't need to be barging in and out of rooms like one."
"I said I'm sorry."
"Then be more careful next time."
Her hand, the one she'd used to hide the letter, hovered protectively over her hip. It wasn't subtle.
I narrowed my gaze. "Is everything alright?"
"I'm perfectly fine."
She turned away, but not before I caught a glimpse of her eyes in the reflection of the glass—clouded, unfocused, anxious. Liora never looked like that.
She walked to her desk, lifted a teacup as if to busy her hands. Her grip on the porcelain was just a little too tight.
"I thought you were meeting with the steward this morning," I said, voice light.
She didn't respond for a beat too long.
"He rescheduled."
Odd. She hated wasted time.
I lingered, unsure whether to push. I didn't want to accuse her of anything. I didn't even know what I'd accuse her of.
But the silence between us had taken on weight. She knew I'd seen the letter. I knew she hadn't meant me to.
Finally, she looked back at me and said, very carefully, "There are some matters I must attend to—ones that don't concern you. Not everything in this estate is your business, Aurenya."
I felt the sting of the rebuke, but more than that—I felt the cold tendrils of fear curling through my gut.
Not for me.
For her.
---
It stayed with me all day.
The way she'd reacted. Not irritated—frightened. The flicker in her eyes, the way she clutched the parchment like it could vanish if she held it tightly enough.
What could make Aunt Liora, my aunt who did not flinch before councilmen or kings, tremble?
Was someone threatening her?
And if so… why hadn't she told me?
---
Two days later, I sent Elara to the kitchens with a coded note tucked into her apron pocket. One of the stablehands had a cousin who knew a man—Tyren, a whisper-runner with quick eyes and a faster mouth. If there were things happening in the city, he'd know. If someone was meeting in secret, he could find them.
I didn't want to do it. But I had no choice.
When Tyren finally agreed to meet me—just after dusk, in the empty greenhouse behind the east wing—I was ready.
He was wiry, sharp, all elbows and grins that didn't quite touch his eyes.
"You don't look like the type to hire my sort," he said, crouching among the dried lavender stalks.
"Desperation changes people," I replied.
He chuckled. "Who's the target?"
"My aunt."
His brow arched. "That's bold."
"She's not a criminal," I said quickly. "At least, I don't think so. But she's hiding something. I need to know what."
Tyren nodded slowly. "Discretion costs more when family's involved."
"I'll pay."
He paused. "If I dig, I might find things you don't want to know."
"I already don't want to know them," I said. "But I need to anyway."
---
Four days later, he returned.
He didn't speak right away—just handed me a scrap of parchment, hastily scrawled. His fingers were smudged with ink and dirt.
"She left the estate two nights ago," he murmured, eyes flicking toward the palace like he expected someone to be listening. "No escort. Disguised. She rode hard through the southern path, past the vineyards, toward the edge of the forest."
"The Shadow Woods?" I whispered.
He nodded. "Met someone there. Man. Cloaked. Couldn't see his face. They spoke—ten, fifteen minutes. She was… tense. Angry, maybe. He handed her a bundle. She left. Burned it before reaching the gates."
I stared at him.
"She what?"
"Stopped at a clearing. Lit a fire. Burned the whole thing. Whatever it was, she didn't want anyone to see it."
My mind reeled. "And you're sure it was her?"
"I followed her all the way back to her chambers. Watched her sneak in through the kitchen entrance like a thief."
My throat tightened.
"What is she doing?" I breathed. "What is she caught in?"
Tyren stood, dusting off his hands. "That, my lady, is what you'll have to find out next."
As he disappeared back into the shadows, I was left clutching that parchment like it might offer answers if I stared hard enough.
But it didn't.
Only questions.
And for the first time in a long while, I wasn't sure if I feared my aunt…
…or feared for her.