Chapter 92 THE ENEMY
Athalia’s heart twisted.
But his gaze slid away too quickly.
Of course he didn’t know her. She wasn’t Athalia anymore.
She was Lina — a pretty stranger on a nobleman’s arm.
“Do you want to meet him?” Corin asked, misreading her stare.
“No,” she said too fast, then softened it with a smile. “I mean… another time.”
She turned her head, scanning the room—
—and felt it again.
The same pulse she’d sensed upon entering the hall.
Magic. Not from the palace wards. Older. Precise.
Watching.
Her skin prickled.
Across the hall, half-hidden in shadow beside a column, stood a woman in plain gray robes. Her hair was tightly bound, her posture unremarkable.
But her eyes were silver.
They locked with Athalia’s across the distance.
Her breath stopped.
Selene didn’t move. She simply watched, as if she already knew the woman she was looking at.
Corin followed Athalia’s gaze. “Oh. One of the palace healers, I think. Quiet sort.”
Athalia forced her grip to loosen on her cup. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m sure she is.”
Selene’s lips curved — barely.
Then she turned and slipped through the half-open doors into the deeper corridors of the palace
Athalia set down her cup. “I need air.”
Corin blinked. “Now? We just got here.”
“I won’t be long.”
She moved before he could protest, slipping through the crowd toward the doors Selene had passed through.
Each step felt like walking back into fire.
At the threshold, she hesitated only once.
Then she followed.
The corridor beyond swallowed sound.
Her slippers whispered over polished stone, the echo of her steps too loud in her ears. Torches burned low despite the daylight outside. The air smelled faintly of lavender — and something sharper beneath it. Cleaning oils. Old magic.
Selene walked ahead at an unhurried pace, gray robes brushing her ankles. She didn’t look back, but she didn’t vanish either. She turned corners just slowly enough to remain in sight.
As if leading.
Servants passed now and then, heads bowed, arms full of linens or trays. None gave Athalia more than a passing glance. The illusion held, softening her presence into something forgettable.
At the third turn, the corridor narrowed. The windows were smaller here, set high into the walls. Dust gathered where fewer feet traveled.
Selene stopped at a plain wooden door and opened it without knocking.
Athalia followed.
The room was small. Shelves of jars and folded cloths lined the walls. A narrow bed stood against one side, a basin and small table nearby. The air smelled of dried mint and crushed bark.
A healer’s quarters.
Selene turned.
Up close, the years showed in fine lines at the corners of her eyes, in the pallor of someone who worked long hours in dim light. But her gaze was as sharp as Athalia remembered — cool, assessing, impossible to fool.
“I don’t believe I know you, miss.”
“I lost my way,” Athalia said. “I was looking for the washroom.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Selene replied quietly.
“You’re right. My mistake.”
Athalia turned toward the door.
“You walk… familiar,” Selene said. “May I see your face?”
Athalia froze.
Before turning, she murmured the spell.
The illusion rippled over her like heat haze. Her posture shifted. The glow deepened.
Selene inhaled sharply. “I wondered how long it would take you to show yourself, miss.”
Athalia turned back. “I’m Lina.”
Selene’s gaze didn’t waver. “You look beautiful. Are you from the city?”
“I’m… around.”
Silence stretched, heavy with years unspoken.
“Nice to meet you,” Selene said at last.
“So am I,” Athalia replied.
She moved toward the door — then stopped.
“Do you know if the rumor is true?” she asked quietly. “That the queen who was sent to the tower had a child?”
It wasn’t a question.
Selene’s eyes flicked to her, the door, then back to her. “Lower your voice. No one speaks of the late queen.”
“Answer me, please.”
“Yes, yes” Selene said.
The word fell without drama.
Athalia felt it like a blow. Her nails bit into her palms.
“Then why was the child never seen?”
“Because she was dying,” Selene said. “And the child needed to stay close to his mother.”
“But pardon my manners, rumors say she lost the child,” Athalia snapped. “Or that he was imprisoned.”
“Rumors multiply, but it doesn't mean they are true” Selene replied, voice still low but edged now. “However, I believe she was poisoned.”
Athalia went still.
“The former consort, Celine,” Selene continued. “And I don’t believe she acted alone.”
The room tilted.
Memories crashed in — exhaustion that never faded, spells misfiring, the ache she’d blamed on childbirth.
“She should have told me,” Athalia whispered.
Selene studied her. “You speak as though you knew her.”
“No, no. I’m only… concerned.”
“Well I just hid her,” Selene said. “Especially once the pregnancy drew attention. The tower wasn’t a prison. It was a shield.”
“A shield from what?”
Selene gave a sharp, humorless breath. “Things best left buried.”
Silence pressed in.
“Her child,” Athalia said, voice unsteady for the first time. “Was the poison meant for him too?”
Selene looked away. “The child was never harmed. But he was never found either. It was as if they both vanished.”
Athalia’s vision blurred.
“I think you should leave,” Selene said gently. “Before you ask questions that can’t be safely answered.”
Athalia searched her face for deception.
She found only exhaustion.
“I’ll go,” she said.
She glanced down at her hands. Faint runes shimmered beneath her skin when she flexed her fingers.
Selene frowned. “Are you all right? I can feel the strain from here.”
“Is there a healer,” Athalia asked, “or a wizard?”
“I am a wizard but I know one that can heal this faster, his name is Oren,” Selene said softly.
Athalia’s head snapped up. “You know him?”
“I trained with him. Long ago. Before court politics felt like a slower death. How do you know him?”
"Just heard rumors."
Selene nodded.
“Is he alive and well?”
Selene closed her eyes briefly. “What? Why would you say so.”
A heavy knock sounded at the door.
Both women froze.
“Selene?” a man called. “The king’s physician is asking for you.”
“One moment,” Selene answered calmly.
She turned back to Athalia. “You can’t stay.”
“I didn’t come to hide.”
“Then why did you come?”
Images flashed — an empty cradle, cold tower walls, Oren coughing into bloodstained cloth.
“To find connections.”
Selene studied her for a long moment. “Then you must leave. Come back another time.”
Selene crossed to a shelf and took down a folded cloth. Inside lay a small mirror framed in tarnished silver.
She held it out making some inscriptions. “Look before you leave. It will direct you to Oren.”
Athalia took it while Selene left.
It was a revealers mirror.
At first, she saw only her own tired face.
Then the surface rippled. It showed where Oren was.
Then she cleaned it.
But as she faced the mirror, the image shifted to a high tower chamber lit in blue-white light. Runes crawled across the walls like living veins. At the center stood a cradle carved from dark wood.
Then someone dropped something. It was her son.