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“We won’t be. Alaric’s orders are nothing you wish to be involved in, even should he allow your presence.”
“But I’m Verol’s apprentice.”
He gave her a pointed look. “You know quite well that of the two abilities you possess, only one would improve from magical instruction. However, it is the one no one is qualified to instruct you on, and furthermore the one you have no intention of taking instruction for.”
“Aren’t there rules about this? I thought I had to live under Verol’s roof or some such nonsense.” Her mouth was set in a stubborn line, but behind it he saw something he hadn’t expected. Something he didn’t think even she was aware of—that she might have fought tooth and nail not to be stuck with them, but she didn’t want them to leave her, either.
He found himself, against his will, softening toward her. “The living requirement will not be an issue.” He would prefer not to attempt explaining that no one would be able to remember they were gone long enough for it to matter. “We will return as soon as we are able.”
She made a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. Verol, who had been largely silent up to this point, said, “Please be careful. Alaric can be…charming, when he wishes to be. But Clare, no matter how harmless he may choose to make himself appear, he is not.”
When she met Verol’s gaze, there was something of that early madness in them that had first been present when they’d found her in the swamp. “I assure you, I know all too well the dangers of powerful men.”
It seemed like an opening, an invitation to question, but Marquin knew it was not. Verol didn’t.
“Is that what upset you so in the throne room?”
She blinked, as if coming out of a stupor. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“It is painfully obvious that something was?—”
“What precisely is it you do for the king?” she interrupted. The words left her lips sweet as honey, but the look in her eyes was one of pointed triumph. They wouldn’t give an answer—not a real one—any more than she would answer Verol’s question, and she knew it.
“Whatever is required,” Marquin said.
“We will return as soon as we are able,” Verol said. “In the meantime, if you need anything, Fitz will be at your disposal. If you have a problem, he will handle it.”
“Fitz will be at my disposal,” Clare repeated incredulously.
“Yes. I’ve spoken with him and, whenever we are not able to be here, he will be. Though I do think an apology for your actions last night might be in order.”
The expression on her face went studiously neutral. Marquin would wager good money Clare had never apologized for anything in her life. Not unless she’d been under duress.
“Consider it,” Marquin said. “And please try to stay out of trouble.” He took Verol’s elbow and steered him to the door, having no doubt that if they let her, Clare could keep them here another hour or two with questions that would never be answered. And the longer it took them to leave, the longer it would take them to get back.
It bothered him more than it should, leaving her here. They didn’t make it more than a step outside, the door closed behind them, when Verol stopped. His magic sparked, opening the well-used channel between their minds. I don’t like leaving her. Not this soon. You know this is a fool’s errand.
I don’t like it either, and of course I know. Alaric had stripped Veralna Province of all items of magical interest decades ago. Marquin doubted there was a single stone within its boundaries the king had not overturned in his quest for power, so his directive for them to examine a set of ruins in the Duchy of Wake was, without doubt, nothing more than a flimsy excuse to get them out of the palace.
Verol’s budding wrath seeped through the heartstone. He wants her left here without our protection. I should stay.
Marquin brushed his fingers against Verol’s cheek, a touch to take the sting from his words. He wants to see if you are capable of leaving her. If you contrive some reason to send me alone on this matter, you will ensure his interest in her.
A muscle tightened in Verol’s jaw. He is already interested. Fitz may aid her if necessary, but he cannot follow her to public functions. She will be alone with those vultures, unprotected.
That girl is never unprotected. And I do not think she minds being alone. Marquin suspected she wouldn’t be alone either, not so long as Numair Tolvannen was at court—and he was always at court—though saying as much would only serve to heighten Verol’s ire. If Alaric truly wanted her alone, he would have sent us much farther than Wake, and you know it. This is a test, my love. We can return by tomorrow afternoon. Hardly more than a day.
Verol’s eyes closed. We left Marie for hardly more than a day, too.
The sorrow that shot through the heartstone was sharp and deep. It wasn’t only Verol’s. Quin had raised Marie, too. If he was honest with himself, it was another part of the problem between him and Clare. In this matter, he understood Fitz—Marie had died, and Clare had been born. Marquin thought he’d moved past it, but he was only just understanding that Verol’s grief had been so deep that he himself had never had his own space to grieve.
He’d been too focused on ensuring that he didn’t lose Verol. Too focused on bringing him back, no matter the cost. Then, on dealing with the consequences of his actions. Consequences that meant he’d almost lost Verol, even though he hadn’t lost him to death.
The heartstone throbbed in the clutches of the staff. It was a dangerous, forbidden thing to link one’s will to another, and for good reason. But it was that will that had convinced Verol to continue living past Marie’s death.
Marquin would never be forgiven—it would, forever, be a betrayal between them. But he had come to terms with that. Just as he now felt Verol coming to terms with what had to be done.
Let us go, then.
