Chapter 247: Beneath Stone and Scheme, Where Children Make Dangerous Plans
Chapter 247: Beneath Stone and Scheme, Where Children Make Dangerous Plans
Far from the palace, far from ink-stained parchments and a queen debating authority she had not asked for, another kind of decision was being made.
It was quieter here.
The Golemhold Territory did not hum with currents like Thalassar, nor did it glow with warm lantern light like Kitsunegawa. It endured. It stood. It pressed its presence into everything it touched.
There were blunt, ancient things — dark stone pressed together over millennia into formations that looked less built than decided. The rock here was heavy with purpose. Even the caves that riddled the territory’s interior had a particular quality to them, as though the stone itself was paying attention.
The cave they had chosen was not the largest in the territory.
It was, however, the one that was hardest to find if you didn’t already know where it was — which was precisely why they used it.
The entrance was narrow enough that an adult would have to turn sideways to pass through, which suited them perfectly. Inside, the cave opened into a wider chamber, the walls rough and dark and slightly damp where underground water seeped through hairline cracks in the stone. Clusters of pale glowing minerals dotted the ceiling in uneven patches, casting the space in a cool, faint light that was just enough to see by without being enough to be seen from outside.
The floor was flat in the center, worn down by time and the occasional small flood and dry enough to sit on comfortably. Someone, at some point, had dragged several wide flat stones into a rough circle in the middle of the chamber. Whether that had been someone from decades ago, none of them had ever asked.
They sat on those stones now.
Five of them.
Zayrion had his glasses on and his hands clasped loosely in his lap, his two tails curled behind him, red-tipped and still. He looked like the most composed person in the cave, which was either reassuring or suspicious depending on how well you knew him.
Velira sat with her stuffed bunny on her knee, her purple wings folded neatly behind her, her small horns catching the faint mineral light. She was examining her nails, feigning disinterest in what was going on around her.
Thalira was perched on the edge of her stone. She had been sitting still for longer than she was designed to and was managing it through sheer force of will. Her light blue hair caught the glow of the ceiling minerals, shimmering faintly. Beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, sat Retheris, his expression focused and his fingers tapping a slow, patient rhythm against the stone beneath him.
And then there was Brixton.
He sat slightly apart from the others. No, he was not excluded.
He looked out of place in a way that had nothing to do with anyone else and everything to do with himself.
He looked exactly like his father.
One glance at him and anyone who knew Draeven Thornekar would see it immediately — the same broad set of the jaw, the same heaviness in his brow, the same way his shoulders carried themselves like they were prepared to hold something significant. He was built the same way his father was built, just scaled down, still growing into a frame that was already promising to be considerable. His scowl was less permanent than Draeven’s — it came and went depending on his thoughts rather than sitting on his face as a fixed feature — but it was the same scowl.
The only thing that differed was his hair.
Where Draeven’s was reddish-brown and jagged, Brixton’s was a deep, warm brown, softer in tone and slightly longer, falling over his forehead, which he periodically pushed back with one hand before it fell forward again.
He had a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Hold on," he said.
Everyone looked at him.
"Just — hold on a minute." He held up a hand. "Can we think about this again?"
Thalira gave him a look.
"Do you want to see the Queen?" she asked him.
Brixton blinked. "I do."
"Then what," she said, "is the issue?"
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"We could get in trouble," he said.
The cave was quiet for a moment.
Thalira turned her head and looked at Velira.
Velira looked up from her nails.
"That," Thalira said, gesturing at Velira, "is why she is here."
Velira tilted her head and then nodded, confirming this. "If the adults find out and they get angry," she said, her voice smooth, "I’ll handle it."
Brixton looked at her.
Then back at Thalira.
"And the getting into the palace part?" he asked.
Retheris pointed at Zayrion.
Zayrion adjusted his glasses with one finger.
He said nothing.
He didn’t need to.
His reputation said it for him.
Zayrion could do this; there was no doubt about that. He was notorious for his tricks, specifically when he was being someone else.
Retheris leaned forward slightly.
"The plan is simple," he said. "We get into the palace in disguise, we see the Queen, and we leave. We are not hurting anyone. We are not breaking anything." He paused, then glanced briefly at his sister. "Probably."
Thalira did not acknowledge the "probably."
"We just want to see her," Retheris continued. "That’s all."
Brixton was quiet.
He looked down at the flat stone beneath him and pressed the toe of his boot against a small crack in its surface.
The truth was, he had been curious about the Queen since before the introductory ball. He had heard things — small things, fragments of conversations between demons who didn’t know he was listening.
His father had been alone for a long time.
Brixton didn’t remember his mother. He had never had the chance to — she had died before he had the chance to know her, before he could put a face to the word. He knew the shape of her absence. He knew it in the way his father’s quarters had always been quiet in the evenings, in the way Draeven sometimes sat in the main hall long after dinner was cleared away and stared at nothing.
Brixton had thought about it slowly, over a long time, from many different angles.
And recently, a new angle had presented itself.
The Queen.
Maybe — and he knew this was a long possibility, maybe the longest possible possibility — maybe if he met her, he could talk to her. Explain. Ask her if she could perhaps help. If she knew someone. If she could put in a word somewhere.
His father needed someone. And Brixton was determined to get his father a match.
He looked up.
The others were still watching him. Velira had now given Thalira her bunny, and they both played with it.
Brixton exhaled.
Then he pushed his hair back from his forehead.
Zayrion adjusted his glasses one more time, the mineral light catching the lenses faintly.
"Are you in," he said, his voice quiet and even, "or out?"