Page 103 of Hearts Lost

Ithronel smiles at me, and finally, the chill of the Outer Ring dissipates. Lythienne glances around the room, as if reminding me that there are magicians of dubious loyalty sharing this space, and then folds her brow into a worried expression. How is she? Lythienne is asking. How is Rowan?

I smile and shake my head slightly. Fine, I’m trying to say. They’re both fine. Then I turn to Ithronel, and my gut twists again. Talk to her, Orryen always says. As if it was that easy to find the right words, force them into the right order, and march them out of your lips.

“Ithronel,” I say. There’s a tremble in my voice that I can’t seem to stop. “Walk with me?”

She frowns, and one of the magicians at the far table glances in my direction. I’m not sure if his expression is suspicious; everything seems suspicious to me these days. My fingers brush the hilt of my dagger, and then Ithronel is by my side, her hand wrapping around my arm. I clear my throat.

“Let’s go to the gardens,” I announce.

We’re halfway down the stairs when Ithronel breaks the heavy silence between us.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers. “Did you find something?”

I shake my head, and suddenly, this all seems so petty and stupid. We have bigger problems to face, after all. I should be focusing all my efforts on determining which magicians we can trust, whom we can ask to help us rip open the fabric of reality and retrieve the Evenworth brothers from wherever in the nine hells they are. If they’re both still alive, that is.

Voids below, I should have told Orryen I couldn’t be a part of his wedding and saved myself all this nonsense. My lips twist as I imagine trying to back out of the ceremony now. King Galan’s event planner might have a heart attack if I did. Perhaps it would be worth the attempt just for the look on her face.

“No,” I whisper to Ithronel as we round a corner and emerge from the stone staircase. “Nothing like that. It’s—”

I hesitate as I push open a door, and then we’re in the formal gardens, with their straight lines and rows of marble statuary. How in the screaming voids Rowan had managed to sneak Arryn all the way in here I might never know. I guide Ithronel to a shaded corner with a stone bench where a hidden fountain sings a sweet little song from behind the leaves.

“It’s Orryen and Elanerill’s wedding,” I say.

Ithronel sits down heavily on the bench. She looks like she’s trying very hard to keep her face composed. I sit down next to her, take her hand in mine, and try desperately to capture the words that will cage this entire situation and make it into something manageable.

“Do you want to go to the wedding?” I ask.

Ithronel’s face knots in confusion. “Um, do I have a choice?” she asks. “Because I thought everyone was going to the wedding. I thought it was kind of a whole city event. But, if I’m not welcome—”

“Oh, voids, no,” I stammer. “You are welcome. You’re very welcome. I just— Do you want to go with me?”

Ithronel blinks, then looks like she’s trying to wrestle her smile back beneath her cool, composed expression.

“I guess I assumed we’d go together,” she says. “I mean, you moved all your clothes into my room, so we’re practically living together. Unless you have someone else you’d rather go with?”

Her smile twists the corners of my lips.

“Of course not,” I say, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “There is no one else I’d rather attend a stuffy, pretentious, overwrought royal ceremony with.”

She giggles. “Wow, you make it sound so romantic.”

“It’s the first official celebration King Galan’s held in ages,” I say. “It’s going to be hours and hours of ceremonial nonsense. Nothing about it is going to be romantic.”

“It sounds like you don’t want to go to the wedding,” Ithronel says.

“Your powers of observation are truly admirable,” I reply, with a smile. “Alas, I’ve already promised Orryen I’d be his best man.”

And that’s the whole problem, I think, with a twinge of guilt. I panicked in front of Galan’s social coordinator when I said I’d be bringing a guest, but I can’t pull Ithronel into something unaware. I have to tell her. I have to let her decide what she wants.

“Ithronel,” I begin, then falter, huff out a sigh, and begin again. “Most of the time, most of my life, I’m just a member of the Royal Guard. I can put my family history aside and focus on my work. But, when there’s a big, formal event like this—”

My voice falters. Ithronel’s fingers curl around my hand.

“I get it,” she says. “Your worlds collide, right? Royal Guard and royal blood?”

I nod. “Exactly. I can’t just be a member of the Royal Guard if I’m also presented to the court as a member of the nobility. Or at least, I can’t if I’m still going to have any connection to the family Ravadithas. If I’m still going to be their heir.”

My voice twists bitterly around the word heir, and the last words I spoke to my parents echo through the stillness of the formal gardens. I love you both, but I won’t be seeing you again.