Page 49 of Death Will Follow

“It’s not so bad,” Riven insisted, helping herself to another sweet as the band started on the next tune.

“Does your brother hear your counsel?” Nova asked before swallowing another mouthful of ale, her cheeks flushed the shade of a pale pink rose.

She leaned into Callan and sighed contentedly, too quiet for anyone but him to hear. It pleased him to no end that it was he who brought her such comfort.

“My brother hears a great deal but rarely listens. Though, on occasion, he can be convinced something was his idea.”

“Do you think he will join us?” Callan leaned in a bit, lowering his voice. “Rise up against Raven’s Isle?”

“I can’t say.” Riven shook her head apologetically. “I’ve done my best to sway him—to persuade him to do what’s right. But he’s keeping his own counsel on that count.”

“As it stands, we’re here working on a backup plan,” Nova said.

“Ah, yes. The mythical broken blade.”

Nova went rigid beside Callan. She stroked her thumb over the milky stone of her mother’s ring twice. The shard she’d prized from the bottom of Lotus Lake unnerved her so greatly, Callan continued carrying it in his own bag. Without speaking, he pressed a palm firmly between her shoulder blades. The tension in her spine melted away under his touch.

Riven continued, oblivious to Nova’s discomfort, “And what part does the Spring Court play in your plans?”

Nova ceased worrying her ring and laid her hands flat on the table in front of her. “We have reason to believe one of the shards is hidden here in Maedwen.”

“How thrilling.” Riven straightened in her seat, the corners of her mouth lifting in amusement. “Where?”

Callan scanned the folk standing near their table, all laughing boisterously and nursing their mugs of warm ale.

“The Wylds,” Bryn supplied before he had a chance to determine whether anyone seemed to have taken an interest in their conversation.

Riven laughed, high and bright, like the ringing of a bell. “Best of luck to you, loves.”

She raised her mug to them and relaxed once again.

“I have seen where it’s hidden,” Nova explained.

“How can you be certain? Every tract in the Wylds looks much like any other.”

The crowd swelled, heated bodies pressing in closer to their table. Callan swallowed a gulp of ale, grimacing as he forced the tepid liquid down his throat. Leaning back in his seat, he shoved the sleeves of his tunic up to his elbows and ran a hand over his face.

“Nova has seen the burial mounds,” he grumbled, growing impatient with the packed tavern and its insufferable heat.

Riven’s smile vanished, and she stared at Nova. “You have seen the mounds?” she asked, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table.

Nova nodded. “In a vision. Do you know the way?”

Riven sat quietly for a moment, her lips twisting as she thought. “I don’t. But I may know how we can find out.”

Wary of drawing suspicion, Callan resisted the urge to mirror Riven’s conspiratorial pose.

“Folk are forbidden to venture there—the Wylds are treacherous—but, there is a map showing the location. The only snag is that it’s stored in my brother’s study, and Artie keeps a guard posted outside the door even when he’s not working.”

“Is there a window?” Bryn asked.

Riven turned to her, studying the Wyldling’s markings for a beat. “There is.”

“If you can see that the window’s left open, I’ll keep watch for when your brother leaves. Once he’s gone, I’ll fly in and take the map. Where is it kept?”

“It hangs above the mantel,” Riven said. “There are plenty of maps scattered about. You could replace the one in the frame. I doubt Artie would even notice.”

“It’s settled, then,” Nova said. “We get the map tomorrow and depart for the Wylds—”