“And what a delight she was,” Enya mused, burying her face in a book on the fifty-two forgers.
Oryn
Enya’s books held no explanation of why the demondread seemed to flock to her. Oryn only hoped they wouldn’t encounter more on the way to the Vale. At least the royal apartments allowed no easy access for a creature of Covwood.
The repairs to Leon’s plaza were well underway by the time he visited the stables to speak to Rabream about preparing their escort. The masons were still clearing and patching, but the singers had already smoothed over some of the lesser damage. Oryn was grooming Kiawa when an impossible wind came tearing through the stables, snuffing out the lamps and torches. He dropped the brush as his own gifts strained in answer and bolted for the palace.
The royal apartments were mostly deserted at this hour, but when he burst through Enya’s door, Harshilda waved a feather duster at him in warning. “You should knock,” the dwarven woman snapped with a hand over her racing heart.
“Something’s wrong,” he said gruffly. “Where is she?”
Harshilda scowled at him, but she said, “She was summoned to tea with the High Lord in the state parlor.”
Gods help her.
Oryn flew through the palace to the formal state rooms, his gifts trying to explode from him with each breath. He skidded to a halt in front of double doors flanked by men in Davolier’s crimson and two of Leon’s personal guard. Ralenet’s men moved to stop him, but he dropped them to the floor stones with a blast of air as hard as steel and burst into the room.
Enya wheeled, her hand flying to her chest, and Oryn stared in horror at the band of black encircling her wrist like a shackle. Peytar Ralenet looked up at him with smug satisfaction.
“Prince,” he crooned. “You’re just in time to celebrate.”
“What. Is. That.” Oryn hissed through clenched teeth.
“Oryn-”
“Enya has just agreed to marry me.”
His eyes slid from the vow mark to her face and back again. No, she hadn’t just agreed. She’dvowed.
The world tilted. Time seemed to stall, or perhaps, that was only his heart.
He lost control of his gifts. A raging tempest erupted from him, shattering the parlor windows. Enya’s hand came up to cover her mouth in surprise or horror, he wasn’t sure.
Oryn fled before he or Mosphaera brought the mountain down on their heads.
