Sophrayni's Quiet Hunt Chapter 10.

Chapter 10.

 

Confrontation.

 

“This way then,” said Tess. The passage narrowed, stone pressing close. Tess led the way, her steps light despite the chill. Sophrayni followed, her senses stretched thin—not for danger, but for the subtle hum of magic. Nesthana’s presence pressed faintly at the air, distant but watching.

At a fork in the corridor, Tess paused. “Left leads to the family quarters. Right goes to the clerks’ offices.”

Sophrayni nodded. “We split. I’ll check Baston. You find Lady Rocco and Bessie. If there’s trouble, shout—but quietly.”

Tess gave a tight smile and darted left.

Sophrayni turned right, fingers brushing the wall. The stone here was older, less touched by Nesthana’s influence. She reached a heavy oak door, iron-bound and locked. No guards. Just silence.

She whispered to the lock. It opened with a sigh.

Baston was in a cramped chamber off the upper cellars, surrounded by ledgers, maps, and correspondence. A flickering lantern hung overhead, casting long shadows across his hunched form. He didn’t look up when she entered.

“Baston?” Sophrayni said softly.

He blinked. “You brought the potion?” he asked, voice distant.

Sophrayni handed him the cup with the nettle soup. He drank it and shuddered at the bitter taste. After a few moments, the glaze in his eyes thinned, just slightly.

“I’m not allowed visitors,” he said, voice flat. “Orders from Lord Wilgan.”

Sophrayni knelt beside him. “You’re under a spell. Do you know what’s going on?”

“I know,” he said. “It doesn’t stop me knowing things. Just stops me from acting on them.”

Sophrayni rested her hand on the desk. “Can you tell me?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know who you are. I’m not allowed visitors.” Then his gaze dulled again.

“A friend,” said Sophrayni, and gave him another sip of the nettle soup.

He shook his head. “Wilgan said no talking. Nesthana’s watching too.”

“Who is Wilgan?” Sophrayni asked.

Baston sniffed. “King’s nephew. He wants to be king. Horrible man.” Then his head went down again. “Can’t tell. Not allowed.” There was a faint glimmer of resistance. “Ask Arcon. He knows. West Wing.” His fingers twitched over the ledger, as if trying to write something he couldn’t say. Then he slumped, the effort spent.

Footsteps. Tess returned, breathless.

“They’re alive,” she whispered. “Lady Rocco’s weak, but she helped me carry Bessie. They’re hiding in the wine cellar. I told them to stay quiet.”

Sophrayni nodded. “Good. Baston’s under the spell, but he gave us one name—Arcon. West Wing.”

Tess frowned. “That’s where the old nursery is. No one goes there anymore.”

“Then it’s the perfect place to hide someone important,” Sophrayni said. “We can’t stay here. Nesthana’s reach is growing. We need somewhere hidden—somewhere she doesn’t expect.”

“Bessie’s cottage is tucked behind the old mill,” said Tess. “Well out of the way.”

Sophrayni nodded. “Perfect. But I don’t know the way.”

“I do,” said Tess.

Sophrayni studied her. “Then I’ll show you how to move yourself there.”

Tess blinked. “That’s big magic.”

“Yes,” Sophrayni said quietly. “And Nesthana will feel it. But if we move quickly, we’ll be gone before she can trace it.”

She took Tess’s hands, guiding her fingers into a shape that felt like a doorway. “Don’t push,” she whispered. “Invite the place to meet you. Think of the cottage—not just the path, but the smell of the hearth, the way the door creaks, the nettles by the fence.”

Tess closed her eyes. Her breath slowed. The air around her shimmered.

Sophrayni stepped back. “Collect the Rocco family. I’ll wait here.”

Tess opened her eyes—glowing faintly green. “I think I can do it.”

She reached for Lady Rocco, Bessie, and the children. The shimmer grew, then folded inward. With a soft rush of wind and a flicker of light, she vanished.

Sophrayni staggered slightly. The ripple was immediate—like a bell struck deep underground. Magic pulsed outward, brushing every ward, every hidden thread in the manor.

Far above, in a chamber thick with shadow, Nesthana stirred. Her eyes opened. She smiled.

There was another ripple of magic, and Tess was standing next to Sophrayni.

“That was unbelievable,” she said, eyes wide with excitement. “I can go anywhere I want now.”

“Take care,” warned Sophrayni. “You could end up somewhere that doesn’t exist—and that would be the end of you.”

Tess nodded. “I’ll be careful then. Bessie knows how to make the nettle potion, and she’s not really affected by the spell, so she’s going to make some and give it to the Roccos.”

“Good,” said Sophrayni. “Now we’d better hurry. The ripples from your movement will have reached Nesthana for sure, and she’ll be searching for us. I can keep us hidden for a while, but she’ll find us soon enough.”

“This way then,” said Tess. The west wing was colder than the rest of the manor—unused, unloved. Dust clung to faded tapestries, and the scent of lavender lingered faintly, a ghost of childhood long gone.

Tess led the way, her steps cautious. “No one comes here. Not even the guards.”

“That’s why Wilgan put Arcon here,” Sophrayni murmured. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

They reached a door carved with faded stars and moons. Sophrayni touched the handle, felt no resistance. The lock was old, but not enchanted. She eased it open.

Inside, Arcon sat at a small desk beneath a cracked window. His robes were neat, his posture straight—but his eyes were glazed, his movements slow. A half-written letter lay before him, ink still wet.

He looked up as they entered. “You’re not Wilgan,” he said, voice calm but distant.

“No,” Sophrayni replied. “We’re here to ask questions. You’re under a potion, but not a spell.”

She gave him the cup of nettle soup. “Drink this. It helps.”

He drained the cup. “Bitter,” he said. Slowly, his eyes became clearer, brighter.

“Can you speak freely?” Sophrayni asked.

Arcon blinked. “I can. The potion clouded me, but it seems to have gone now.”

Sophrayni stepped closer. “You work for Wilgan?”

“No,” replied Arcon. “I serve King Syldan, like every royal clerk. I was sent to help Wilgan manage his lands.”

“Wilgan brought me here. He said it was too dangerous to leave me in his manor. I know too much. Wilgan has always wanted to be king. But with King Syldan now having a grandson, that chance is even further away.”

Tess frowned. “Does the king know Wilgan wants the throne?”

“I can answer that,” said Sophrayni. “Yes—but up to now, Wilgan hasn’t done anything illegal.”

Arcon’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Wilgan’s clever. He’s using Nesthana’s magic to mask his movements. The king doesn’t know how deep it goes.”

Sophrayni knelt beside him. “What do you know about Nesthana?”

Arcon hesitated. “Wilgan thinks he controls her—but she’s using him.”

He looked toward the window. “She’s growing stronger, and he’s slipping further under her control. I don’t know what she is, but she scares me rigid.”

Sophrayni nodded. “Then we need to move quickly. Is there anything else we should know?”

Arcon reached into his sleeve and pulled out a folded parchment. “This is a list of Wilgan’s contacts. Smugglers, potion-makers, loyalists. It’s not complete—but it’s a start.”

Sophrayni took it, eyes scanning the names. “Thank you.”

Arcon leaned back, eyes dimming again. “Be careful. She’s watching everything now. You’d better go and take that document to the king. If Wilgan or she see it, I don’t know what will happen.”

“Stay strong,” said Sophrayni. “We’ll do our best.” She turned to Tess. “I think it’s time for me to confront Nesthana. Lead the way.”

They were walking the corridor—Tess just ahead, speaking softly about the parchment—when the air changed.

Sophrayni felt it first. A tug, not physical but deep, like a thread pulled tight inside her chest. The walls shimmered. The floor fell away.

Tess turned, startled. “Sophrayni—?” But she was already gone.