Page 45 of The Faceless Queen

But Kienan—Kienan was not on the list, nor was it a common name in Eskalon. It was, however, quite common—I was coming to see—in Spartva.

“What color is Olivay’s hair?” I asked.

“Dark,” the Hermit said. “Nearly black.”

Nearly black. Like Kienan’s had been. Brennan’s friend.

“It says her first cousin,” I said quickly, “Lord Kienan is a ward of Eskalon. Does he still reside there?”

The Hermit raised his eyebrows. “He does. He’s been Tirian’s ward since birth. Forced to grow up with the prince and his ilk instead of his own people.”

Shit. “So he doesn’t know Olivay well?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“He knows her as well as anyone might. He’s been permitted to visit Spartva for a month every year. But remains close to the prince.”

And Brennan. Kienan had been the one to convince him to go out that first night.

Gods. I’d been trying so hard not to think about Brennan, about seeing him.

The trees began to grow sparser below, and in the distance I could make out the silhouette of the stone wall of Eskalon’s border. Beyond it, leading further into the city center, high up on its hill, sat the stone walls that surrounded Lafir Castle. But we remained at the edge of the Dark Woods.

“Down, Erys,” the Hermit commanded.

I held my breath as we descended, trying desperately not to think, not to remember. It hadn’t been spring when I rode through here seven years ago. The trees had been nothing but bare thin branches drooping beneath the weight of snow. The woods had been quiet. Too quiet. Not one bird singing, always a sign of danger, a sign they might be near.

But we’d chalked it up to the winter and the cold. Snow had covered the forest path we traveled on.

It had been pure, sparkling, and white. Until it was covered in blood.

The blood of our guardians. Tirian’s soldiers.

My mother’s blood.

My blood.

I took another deep breath and then another. Erys touched down on the ground.

I caught sight of a blue robin, and could hear more chirping, singing back and forth. This wasn’t like last time. This wasn’t like last time. Birds meant no chimera.

I focused instead on my memorizations. Olivay’s favorite color. Olivay’s favorite song. Olivay’s favorite dessert, story, joke.

Erys walked over to me and suddenly butted his furry head against my stomach.

“You remember me?” I asked.

He lifted his head and gazed up at me, the way he used to when we were younger. The way he did whenever we finished a long journey together. Like he wanted me to tell him he did a good job. I rubbed his forehead and tried not to cry.

“Good boy,” I whispered. “You got us here safely.” And you would have gotten us safely to the border seven years ago, if you’d been allowed to fly.

He pressed his head harder against my belly. And I wondered if he knew what I’d been thinking. If he understood what happened seven years ago. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten me at all. Maybe the other night in Kalder Forest, he’d just been avoiding me because he felt guilty. Responsible.

Pressing my fingers more deeply into his fur, I pulled him closer, inhaling the woodsy scent that clung to him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered.

His eyes blinked slowly, and he shook his head, almost as if he meant to say, “It wasn’t your fault either.”

“I missed you,” I whispered.