Page 144 of Queen of War and Ruin

“Right,” I say. “Well, good for you.”

He frowns at me. “I saw you do some crazy shit,” he growls. “The night we left Vsenrog.”

Oh. That. My horse plods along the thin trail we’re following out of the mountains. I flex my fingers. Magic races up my arm, then sinks back into the chain in my pocket. It feels nothing like the magic in Vsenrog, when Varitan threw chains at me and I stopped them.

No. I could use this.

Gerard snorts. “Not going to deny it?” he asks.

I roll my eyes and hope the darkness hides it. Gods, you’d think someone who got laid so recently would be in a better mood.

“Maybe I just don’t want to talk about it with you,” I say.

He snorts again. I glance back over my shoulder, wondering if Petrys is going to save me from this awkward interrogation. But Petrys is riding next to Lilias, and the two of them seem to be deep in conversation.

Great. I turn back to Gerard.

“What exactly is it you want?” I ask.

“I just—” He shifts in his saddle. “Prince Elrick should know what happened. All of what happened.”

“So you’re going to tell him?”

“Well, yes,” Gerard admits, meeting my gaze. “Unless you’re going to tell him.”

I shake my head. My horse snorts like he’s sorry I’m trapped in this conversation too.

“Fine,” I finally say.

Gerard sniffs, and our horses plod along. The moon hangs low over the horizon, turning what’s left of the distant snowfields on the high peaks to brilliant silver. Behind me, Lilias laughs at something my brother said. It’s a beautiful sound. I could almost pretend we’re a group of friends out for a moonlit ride in the mountains.

Almost. I turn to Gerard. He’s staring at the reins in his hands like they’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve. It’s really none of my business, but suddenly I wonder if he has someone waiting for him. Or if what happened with my brother is going to complicate his life.

He didn’t have to warn me, I suppose. Actually, it’s a bit surprising he did. I usually assume Gerard does whatever he can to be the biggest dick possible. So, he probably should have waited until we were standing in front of Prince Elrick and the gods only know who else before announcing that I used some kind of horrible magic to ruin part of Vsenrog’s palace.

“Thank you,” I say begrudgingly.

Gerard frowns at me.

“For warning me,” I continue. “You could have just told Elrick what happened that night without giving me the option of sharing my side of it.”

Gerard laughs, soft and low. “Hells,” he says. “I don’t even know what happened.”

“That makes two of us,” I reply.

He looks at me like he wants to say something clever, then shakes his head and turns back to his reins. We trudge on, through the moonlight that spills across the road. The night grinds on forever. We take turns walking alongside the horses to give them a break, and the eastern horizon is flush with scarlet by the time we finally reach the overgrown road leading to the abandoned hunting lodge.

Birds call from the undergrowth as guards from Marion step out from their hiding places and embrace Gerard and Lilias. Some of them even clap me on the back or shake my hand, and I’m too stunned and exhausted to react. The last time I was here, most of the men guarding this place looked at me like they were waiting for me to turn my back so they could sink a dagger into it. Perhaps it’s just my association with the princess that has them offering me some sort of welcome.

I swallow hard as the hunting lodge looms in front of us. Smoke rises from the chimneys, and the courtyard is filled with a jumble of animals squawking and grunting in hastily made pens. A row of canvas tents sits behind the lodge. Roosters welcome the dawn as the guards push ahead of us.

The massive double doors of the hunting lodge swing open, and Elrick, ruler of what’s left of Marion, walks into the courtyard with his wife at his side.

“That’s the prince?” Petrys asks, under his breath.

I nod and clench my jaw. Perhaps Elrick won’t remember that I accused him of selling his sister to Prince Laurance for an alliance with Ethiria.

“He’s wearing an apron,” Petrys whispers.