It was there that his mother lost her life to the witches.
He scowls down at the map before me. “The guards knew the way through the Shard—it wasn't an accident that they were traveling through there. Whoever the witches are that they had hostage, the guards didn't want anyone to know they were moving them, and certainly not alive.”
It's speculation, but I'd wager he's correct. My fingers press into the embossed mountains of the Shard, then run across the map until they hit the symbol for Yregar.
Three days from here.
Only a three-day ride away, my uncle's guards are transporting live witches through the kingdom. To where and why, I cannot guess, but I know that Darick has done me and the rest of the kingdom a great service by bringing me this information.
“Good work. Now off with you to rest up. I’ll have more work for you soon.”
He bows again deeply, long fingers clasped in a fist over his heart, before leaving and shutting the door quietly, his cloak swirling behind him. He barely ever takes it off, his pride at having it in the first place deeming it impossible to part with.
“No one goes through the Shard, not unless they’re desperate,” Tyton murmurs as his eyes shine down at the map, his magic still protecting us from any high-fae ears.
My mind is never far away from the guard my uncle left behind with his daughter, the contempt on his face an admission of guilt, as far as I’m concerned. All of the high fae who are loyal to the regent are confident that he’s going to keep the throne, but those who serve him as guards can’t claim to be unaware of his treason.
They’re the ones doing his dirty work.
I stand and lift my sword from where it rests against my desk, buckling it to my hip as I answer, “The real question is whether he's trying to hide the prisoners from us, or from Kharl. If I’m right about them working together, which I’m sure I am, he's not going to give up the throne to the witches either. If I were Kharl, I’d be questioning every move the regent makes, because one of them will surely lead to the High Witch’s demise.”
Tyton reaches forward and taps his own fingers against Fates Mark. “The important thing for now is that the Goblin King will see you, and that Roan is almost finished securing his father's lands. If we can get him back to Yregar and open a trading route through the Goblin Lands, that’s two major obstacles taken care of. If we can get both of them done and you married by the winter solstice, we have a chance of saving our people and stopping your uncle from dragging us all to our deaths.”
With a sharp nod, I get out from behind my desk, clapping him on the shoulder as I take my own cloak and buckle it on, letting the thick fur settle around my shoulders. “I need you to take over from Tauron downstairs. He’s coming with me to escort Sari back through the fae door. Once she’s safely secured at Yris and the regent’s ears are out of Yregar, we can send word to the Goblin King and arrange the meeting with him. With any luck, Roan will be home with Airlie once more, and you can both guard the witch while Tauron and I see the Goblin King.”
Tyton lets out a slow breath, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck with a sheepish look on his face. “Are you sure that Tauron’s the right person to take to the Goblin King? Better to leave him behind with me and take Roan. We both know my brother’s temper is too quick for such delicate diplomacy, and at the first sign of disrespect, he’ll start a whole new war on your behalf.”
I might start a war myself.
Tyton isn't wrong about his brother. He's had centuries of complaints about the Goblin King and his refusal to help with the War of the Witches outside of the borders of his own lands. There's no law saying he must, or even social reproach, thanks to the other high-fae families that are too terrified to do anything but chase the regent around and hope for his protection. That doesn't mean that Tauron and I don't have our own opinions about it, though.
“Everything will be fine, Tyton. This is good news, and we need to hold on to hope after so many years of despair. Let's not spit in the face of the Fates when they finally give us a break.”
Tyton’s eyes shine a little too brightly to be nothing more than a trick of the light, and the apprehension stays firmly stamped across his face as I leave him in the reception room.
A small seed of dread buries itself in my gut at the sight of it.
* * *
I'm relieved to find Malia on the back of a small pony at Sari’s side, the princess flanked by her guard, who watches her like a hawk.
The etiquette of my cousin and her half-sister has always confused me, and there’s a small part of me that thought she might force her handmaiden to walk just to be sure the guard never suspects she shows affection to her half-sister. There would be dire consequences if word of that got back to the regent.
There are other bastards of his at Yris, all of them tending to Sari and living with the stigma of being his bastard children, but Sari only ever travels with one. Malia has been her close confidant for many years, not that you could guess their closeness by the icy way that the Sari treats her handmaiden in public, or the way that Malia's eyes stay fixed downward.
Tauron takes up the rear of the escort, his gaze sharp and shrewd, and the group of soldiers fan out around Sari in a protective circle.
I start off in the lead but am forced to drop back when Sari continues to ride alongside me asking questions about the landscape and the state of the kingdom as we pass through the inner walls of Yregar, then toward the outer wall and our destination.
Sari pouts at me. “Do we have to go by the fae door? I hate using them, and I would much prefer to simply ride to Yris. I packed enough supplies to camp for a few days along the way. Malia even packed my tent.”
I cast a long look in Malia's direction, but her horse steers itself, following docilely behind Sari as the maid fixes her gaze on the dead earth before us.
“This isn't a fun camping trip, Sari. I have tasks to get home to. I'm leaving now only because your safety is so important to me.”
She beams at me, happy with even the tiniest scraps of affection thrown in her direction, and she settles back in the saddle a little more securely.
Her cloak is fastened low at her throat by a clasp with the Celestial House insignia on it, stars and branches cast in a beautifully polished silver. The stars are embedded sapphires that shine as the low morning sun hits them. She's dressed more plainly than her usual attire, but there's still a large blue bow pinned to the back of her head, the curls tucked around it as though she is riding out to impress the Unseelie Court and prove herself to be the perfect princess.
