Chapter 42
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Memories yielded nothing on Everette, no matter how deeply she delved.
Doubt nagged at her—perhaps she chased shadows—but that snippet from the hallway chatter stuck fast: every imperial aide but him had risen from the ruler’s boyhood circle.
A newcomer without allies, he embodied the archetype of a fleeting minor figure.
Cold prickled her skin amid the oppressive warmth.
Connie caught the blood draining from her face and leaned in with worry etching her brow.
Carolina curved her lips upward, empty of explanations to share.
Surrender felt premature.
“Your tale pulled me under completely—I shivered right through,” she offered lightly, arms folding against an imagined draft.
With a grin, she claimed Connie’s gift could fund a grand city estate someday.
Connie shed her concern in a flash, volleying back that only Carolina Diaz could judge her prowess.
“No chance,” Carolina shot down.
Connie pushed harder. “Can’t reject me—you started this! Picture a forsaken manor in some remote holding, where twilight brought whispers of the restless dead…”
Daylight blazed overhead, yet she conjured spooks.
Carolina’s mouth quirked.
“Those lurking forms—actual phantoms?”
The word hit Connie like a jolt; she shrank back.
Grinning wider, Carolina teased. “So tonight’s haunted dreams fall to you or me?”
Supernatural terrors gripped Connie twice as fiercely.
Imperial grounds commanded fortunes in rent. Indar Street tempted clerks with its palace proximity and modest fees. Half her neighbors toiled in the halls of power.
Those soaring costs chilled deeper than any specter.
Connie dodged Grisel Park’s ominous aura, accepting a trek from the city’s edge.
Her ploy to unnerve Carolina, born of her own dread, left her quaking.
Carolina rolled her eyes forgivingly.
“Fun’s done. Work awaits.”
Relief washed over Connie; she bobbed her head at once.
Solitary nights loomed for her, shadows lengthening.
Such terror—why summon it?
Carolina huffed softly at the dawdle, then pivoted inward as she guided them officeward.
Her home stash of summaries would sharpen the plot’s edges.
Details burned vivid still, though trust in them frayed.
Sparse clues invited fatal twists from minor slips.
Far-off shots strayed wildly; this demanded precision on a vanished pawn.
Freshly returned from her old life, she must have jotted keys.
Their exchange had loosened knots, but the clock mocked her patience.
Shift’s close brought mercy.
Tasks abandoned, she fled to her rooms.
Notes flew open untouched by fresh garb, eyes hungry for echoes of prior knowledge.
Iveta’s saga launched on regression’s wave.
Past era: Round One. Now: Round Two.
Round One cast her as orphan cleric, primed for sacrifice. Curses stripped her agency; the High Priest wielded her for dark deeds.
The throne grew intolerant of sacred rot, tightening the vise.
The High Priest scorned the crown’s parvenu might—till walls closed in.
Desperation fixed on a fabled treasure.
Disposable acolytes like her scoured blindly.
Iveta alone endured, claimed it amid ruinous gashes.
Death loomed; the soul-brand shattered.
Visions assailed: enforced evils unspooling.
Will absent, guilt crushed fiercer than flesh’s ruin.
To Minos she begged in extremity: solace for the lost, justice for the High Priest.
Artifact stirred; time rewound.
Saintly power bloomed. Shared hatred forged emperor’s accord.
Unchained, prescient, she orchestrated his ruin step by merciless step.
Vengeance kindled passion; bliss followed.
Those early scribbles proved gold.
Everette vanished once leads converged.
Transfer? Estate claim?
She grasped at drifts, shunning the stark.
Caution overruled wishful haze.
The pilfered aide roster lay bare.
Checks dotted most entries.
Everette joined two others in silence.
A breath escaped, weighted.
Three strays defied chance.
Aide’s lapse had botched Camelot’s timely fall—Duke Camelot, grudge’s ancient root.
Discipline had scorched in the tale.
Now brutality surged; the blade tasted blood firsthand.
Careless meddling invited cruelties unforeseen.
Lids pressed tight, she banished crimson what-ifs.
Dare she step in?
Rescue tempted for this possible Everette.
But ripples could shatter timelines.
Shifts already whispered divergence; unease swelled.
Decision crystallized swift.
Romance tales warned clear: rigid plot-clinging birthed wild forks.
