Chapter 42 Chapter 42
Chapter 42 Chapter 42
The morning was gray and damp, dew clinging to the railing outside the kitchen window. In the hush before sunrise, Ziska hurried through her assignments, eager to impress Nyxios with a flawless report.
She stopped outside the human’s quarters, arms full of linens. First she knocked, then waited, expecting the sleepy mumble that usually greeted her. Only silence answered. She waited another few seconds and tapped again, a bit louder.
Nothing.
Unsettled, Ziska eased the door open. The room was empty, the sheets rumpled and cold. On the desk, a single book lay splayed open. No sign of the human herself, not in the wardrobe, not behind the screen that shielded her bath.
Ziska’s anxiety sharpened. She moved quickly, her scales brushing against the doorframe as she peered into each adjoining chamber. No footprints, nothing knocked over. The brush sat untouched on the sideboard.
She abandoned the bedsheets in her arms and made for the kitchens. The staff was there making scones and a pot of porridge. Patrina had not come this way. Ziska’s questions grew more frantic as she darted through the house, calling the human’s name in every hall. Other servants joined her. Soon the entire staff was searching checking the cellar, gardens, even the attic.
No one had seen Patrina since the previous evening.
Ziska pressed a hand to her chest, fighting a surge of dread. She needed to find Nyxios immediately.
The air at the docks was thick with the odor of tar and river mud. Nyxios stood at the prow of his damaged ship, surveying the repairs with frustration. The docks were always alive by dawn, the skilled crew had the same daily routine, but today there was a sour edge.
He crouched, examining the wound in the hull. The edges were too clean—a blade, not simple rot or accidental breakage. Anger seethed beneath his calm exterior. Sabotage, certainly, and likely orchestrated by his rivals.
A commotion at the end of the dock caught his attention. Ziska barreled toward him, her bangles chiming in frantic staccato. Sweat shone on her brow, and her breathing came in short, panicked bursts.
“Master Nyxios,” Her voice broke, then steadied. “She’s gone. Patrina is gone!”
For a moment, the world narrowed to just their two voices and the empty air between them.
Nyxios shot to his feet, closing the distance in a single stride. “What do you mean, gone?” His voice was low, almost dangerous.
Ziska’s hands shook. “Her bed wasn’t slept in. No sign of her anywhere. The servants, guards, everyone’s searching. I checked every place I could think of, but nothing!”
He registered the truth instantly. Without another word, Nyxios yanked up his sleeve to reveal the silver bracelet paired to Patrina’s collar. He poured mana into it, feeling for the familiar tug.
Nothing. No pulse, no color change, not even the faintest sense of direction.
His stomach dropped. That should have been impossible.
A memory flashed: Quasros, years ago, warning him that only three things could break a Keltos collar: the willful rejection of the wearer, the death of its owner, his blood, or the precise sabotage of its magic by an equal or greater house.
Rage ignited behind his eyes, but he had no time for it. Patrina was lost, and every second might count.
He turned on his heel, shouting orders to the ship’s crew. “All of you, now! Abandon repairs. Search every street, every bridge, every tunnel from here to the edge of Limdrion. Check with the City Watch, the marsh runners, even contacts from other Houses. Bring me news, or bring me the elves responsible.”
He paused only once, to grip Ziska’s shoulder and thank her under his breath. “You did well,” he murmured, his voice clipped but sincere.
Ziska nodded, heart pounding, then joined the exodus from the docks.
The ship, and whatever scheme had crippled it, now meant nothing to Nyxios. Only Patrina mattered. He stalked down the wharf, a shadow among laboring elves, his mind already weighing every possible suspect, every rival’s motive. There would be no rest, not for anyone, until she was found.