King Ror is dead.
Bitterblue had been too busy trying to uncover the cipher hidden in the letter from her cousin, Skye, that she had to reread the sentence thrice before its meaning fully sank in. It was a few seconds more, still, until she was fully able to comprehend what the letter said. How was this the first news to reach me? Bitterblue wondered, before reading on, a feeling of dread sinking into her stomach.
We haven't let the public know yet, but we will have by the time this letter reaches you. He was captured, months ago, by a band of pirates that stayed in Lienid for a few days before covertly invading the Lienid palace, capturing the king, and setting sail before anyone even realized he was gone. The only reason we know it was the pirates was because of the ransom note they left pinned to his bedroom door, with his most important ring hanging from the lapel pin they used to secure the note. We left their requested sums in the place they requested (I will not say where, since you are so prone to investigating) but still, the king was not returned. More and more money, gems and gold, were deposited, but still, Ror did not return. Just yesterday, his body was found floating in the palace's moat, freshly dead.
A chill ran through Bitterblue as she finished the letter. Skye must have been rattled too—he hadn't even sent love like he always did. Of course he didn't, Bitterblue reprimanded herself. His father has just died!
Shaken by the grim news, Bitterblue leaned back against the headboard of her soft bed to mull things over. A sudden shiver of fear ran through her. What if the pirates came to Monsea? Even after ten years, the kingdom was still experiencing the lasting effects of Leck's cruel reign. There hadn't yet been time to build up forces at sea. Even one strong enemy vessel could destroy the entirety of Monsea's struggling navy and infiltrate the kingdom. Easily.
It was dark outside, supper had been long since cleaned up, and the moon was at its highest in the sky, but Bitterblue still could not calm herself to the point of sleep, even with the knowledge that there were guards posted right outside her door. Bitterblue clutched the rumpled bit of parchment from Skye between her hands, crumpling it and straightening it out, over and over. The repetitive motion smudged the ink a bit, but did nothing to calm Bitterblue's nerves.
A loop of writing on the other side of the parchment caught Bitterblue's eyes. There was another side to Skye's letter, seemingly written in gibberish, but Bitterblue was certain of the cipher. Using the word "Ror" as the cipher's key, she spelled out a new alphabet inside her head, and slowly decoded Skye's hidden message. It took her the better part of an hour to decode. It read:
One of our strongest ships has disappeared from our navy, along with its entire crew. We have reason to believe that this is the pirates' ship, the ship that stole Ror. We've heard rumors that the ship is full of Gracelings, though these are unfounded. Most chilling among these is a Graceling who can allegedly convince any witnesses that they're dreaming, and plant illusions in their minds of places where they are not. Three maids and four guards claim to have had the exact same dream—Two Gracelings, blurry in detail but each wearing a leather eye patch, running down the hall toward Ror's quarters bearing knives in their hands, and then an illusion of Monsea's palace fading into view. Tell no one of this.
This news frightened Bitterblue more than anything she'd heard in Skye's encrypted message. The pirate ship could have been in Monsea before the vessel bearing this letter even set sail. They could be here, infiltrating the palace, striking dreams into the heads of her guards, now! The illusion of Monsea in the dreams of the palace workers must have been a warning. But why? Bitterblue couldn't puzzle out why pirates would give advance warning to an attack. It was strange. But what chilled her the most, straight to the bone, was the Grace of this mystery pirate. It couldn't be... the Grace described, to put people into a waking dream, to ravage reality and sow illusion in its place, was nothing like the Grace of the person she knew. But there was a feeling deep in her stomach that she couldn't ignore.
Saf is coming.