Page 58 of The Nymph King

The dim chamber shattered, and the weight of her own suite crashed over her—solid and undeniable. The crackle of her hearth fire replaced the layered echoes of Niflheim, and a sudden silence filled her ears.

She didn’t move, her hand still braced against the table. Had it been real? Could she trust Kiran?

Divination never handed over easy certainty. It only offered pieces. Kiran had hidden nothing, which made the answer impossible. He could be entirely truthful and still be the very threat that burned everything down. A choice she’d have to make in the dark.

Frustration burned her insides. The urge to cast it again—to dig for a simpler truth—tugged at her. It was a tempting but dangerous promise. If she let the spell decide for her, she wasn’t deciding at all.

Her eyes fell to the parchment.

She no longer needed it. The instructions had been simple enough once she understood them, and she had repeated the sequence until every step was fixed in her memory. If she chose to cast the spell again, she could reconstruct it without the page.

Leaving the original intact risked someone else casting it. A spell capable of exposing the relationships someone trusted most was dangerous in anyone’s hands, especially in a palace full of people already calculating alliances around her. She had no intention of letting a servant find it, a courtier steal it, or another divination witch decide to turn the same question against her.

The knowledge could stay with Imani, but the parchment could not.

Before she could change her mind, Imani picked up the parchment and flicked it into the fire.

The paper caught fire instantly, its edges folding in on themselves as the ink turned to ash. Regret flashed through her mind, but she pushed it aside. Knowledge mattered, but it had to be wielded, not blindly relied on.

A loud knock boomed through the room. Her focus snapped to the door. She opened it to find an attendant standing in practiced neutrality. He inclined his head with precise formality.

“The High Sentinel requests your presence,” he said.

His tone left no room for interpretation. She knew it was a command, not a request, because the timing was too perfect.

As she prepared to meet him, Imani shoved down her insecurities. She didn’t have the answers yet, not even close. But Ellisar was about to ask the questions, and she needed to be ready.

CHAPTER 17

There was no delay. The attendant neither announced her nor hesitated at the entrance; instead, he just opened it and moved aside. Imani breezed in, the heavy oak door closing softly behind her with a definitive finality that detached her from the corridor.

Imani scanned the council room before walking further, noticing a few details she’d missed during their first meeting. Tall, unbroken stone walls, engraved with ancient symbols of authority and heritage, caught the dim light from hanging lanterns. A long table ran down the middle, its surface mostly bare except for the map spread across it, making it the room’s focal point. Esa had taken position along the table’s left side, close enough to reach the map without standing beside either of them, leaving Imani to approach from the opposite end with the whole strategy spread between her and Ellisar.

Esa’s presence made sense. As Imani’s First Witch, she was more than an advisor; she was the person expected to stand at Imani’s right hand if she reclaimed Essenheim.

Ellisar had already questioned her that morning about what came after Tanyl—whether Imani had named an Heir Apparent, how she intended to handle succession, and what would happen to the kingdom if her claim ended with her. Esa had answered what she could and refused to decide the rest for Imani.

Apparently, Ellisar had not asked those questions idly.

The Mesial Realm stretched wide beneath her gaze, etched with layered detail that precisely marked every border, river, and stronghold. Essenheim stood at its center, reinforced with darker lines and additional markings that indicated supply routes, fortified passes, and defensive positions already in place. Niflheim’s territory extended into colder, harsher terrain, its edges marked with points of reinforcement where Ellisar must have anticipated spreading conflict. Lochheim’s coastlines curved along the map’s edge, annotated with naval positions and controlled entry points, while Draswood loomed along another border.

Smaller notations crowded the margins, as if anticipating movements. Arrows marked potential incursions. Circles identified weak points in the Fabric where strain might break through again. Reinforcement paths were already drawn, some complete, others only partially mapped, all converging on the same conclusion.

He had been preparing this whole time, even without knowing who she was to Essenheim. Her hand went to the crown, rubbing one of the soft petals between her fingers. This was his territory, his plan. Once again, she had the unmistakable feeling of being maneuvered, and she didn’t like it.

The High Sentinel remained frozen, hands behind his back, as her boots crossed the floor. His blue eyes stayed steady and unyielding beneath a severe brow as he gave her a quick once-over. Short silver hair caught the low light, emphasizing the hard angles of his face. He wore a dark, fitted tunic reinforced with leather at the shoulders and chest, giving him the bearing of a man built equally for command and conflict.

Imani stepped to the table and ran her fingertip over the edges of the map. “Do you ever encounter a problem without drawing arrows all over it?”

“Rarely.”

“Terrifying.”

Ellisar pointed to another route. “Mock the arrows when you have a better plan.”

“I generally prefer murder.”

His brows shot up.