Page 65 of Shadowborne: Reckoning

I frowned and read it again, remaining as confused and frustrated as I’d been the first time.

“That makes no sense,” Bren whispered.

“No, it doesn’t,” I muttered and read the thing again. But no matter how I looked at it, the missive seemed to swing back and forth between harmless, general Shadowfang code, and a simple informative note.

‘He’s used the general code at times, yet most of this doesn’t fit—he’s not returning to Draeventhall. The “merchant” could be anybody's guess. Newly planted roots is the code for a brand new spy or Shadowfang operative arriving to join a team—yet there’s no one here who arrived after us. I’d know them if I saw anyone from home. And he can’t mean us, because we aren’t new.’

‘I am.’

‘Not in the way that code means—it’s what we use when we’re trialing someone in a role, or we’ve had to insert someone unexpectedly. Trust me… he’s not talking about you. Besides, he says the soil is barren—which should mean they aren’t having success. You’re having great success establishing yourself here. No… none of this makes sense.’

‘Could it be someone he’s put in the servants—someone who’s hiding from you?’

‘I suppose… but that would raise suspicions too. Anyone from home would expect to report to me if I’m here. And the paragraphs around it don’t work for events here… God, this is so frustrating.’

I read it again, but gained no more clarity than I had the first two times. “He claimed to be traveling back to Draeventhall, with a stop in Sierral? But they’d know this message comes from the network in Fyrehold.”

The Great Lakes were Sierral’s pride, and reference to it in the context of travel could mean nothing else. But the messenger network that delivered this to the palace would be known to have arrived from Fyrehold. Our Shadowfang networks were established and lines of communication between kingdoms upheld in very specific routes and members, so if a report was lost or stolen, we would have clarity about where the intervention occurred.

Had Ruin somehow convinced them his excursion from Draeventhall was purposeful, and now he planned to return?

I didn’t know. But the most disturbing detail was his mention of Akhane and Bren—as if they’d been expected?

Bren had been certain he was shocked by her appearance. I could see Ruin being deceptive enough to fake that. But that didn’t explain how Diaan had warned Ruin that Bren was coming. She would have needed to know he was in Fyrehold to do that—and none of us learned that until days ago.

Bren and I discussed the details—and the frustrating contradictions—but there was no time to parse it all out. I had to get the original message back to Benji to send it along the usual network, and quickly. More than a few hours delay would be noticed and raise alarm if Ruin was sending reports via more than one source as he was supposed to.

Even that fact seemed so entirely out of the frame, I shook my head.

Bren and I both hurriedly copied the message down, word for word, ignoring only the scribbled out errors, each of us folding a copy and keeping it on our person. Then I heated the knife and carefully replaced the wax, doing everything in my power to leave the decorative seal intact.

Then I hurried back to the stable, to the waiting Benji, and Kgosi, trying to ignore the strange pang in my chest when I watched my dragon fly off with a child.

A child he would speak to.

But there was no time to dwell on details.

As Bren and I prepared for the ball that evening, we both committed the message to memory, until we could each write it down again, word for word, then burned the papers so there was no chance of discovery.

My mind would not stop turning it over. Yet I was a cat chasing its tail—one conclusion naturally drawing the next question, but none ever clarifying anything before.

I kept landing at the same spot.

Why would they believe he hailed from Sierral, on his way to Draeventhall? What purpose did they think he served in that? And how did it relate to the merchant, and Akhane?

It wasn’t until we walked along the main corridor, towards the Banquet Hall, Bren’s hand resting lightly on my arm, that it hit me.

I stopped midstep, fighting to keep my expression blank as Bren turned to look at me in concern.

Several nobles nearby turned, curious about what might have made me stop so abruptly.

Bren opened her mouth, but I spoke over her quickly.

“No, no, of course you mustn't, dear. I will return you to the room and your bed—I wouldn’t ask it of you.” ‘I figured it out—we need to talk.’

Bren blinked, then took my cue and dropped her chin. “You are very kind, sir,” she said formally. “I have no wish to disappoint you.”

“We have many days of festivities ahead—many hours of joy still to come.”