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“Who are your soldiers working with in Islor?” the woman asks, her tone harsh. She’s the smallest of the group but looks no less threatening, her limbs muscular, her leather vest marred with stitches from various tears.
I pick through my memories. “I thought it was Lord Muirn?” Wasn’t that the man I was accused of conspiring with?
“And yet our ears tell us that someone is still rallying Islorians against the king,” Boaz says. “They may be working with the Ybarisans. The ones who managed to flee Cirilea that night.”
My thoughts veer to the man who tried to drown Annika. Is he Ybarisan or Islorian? Human or elven? He was strong. He threw Annika and the boulder over the rail with inhuman ease, so … elven? And how many more of my people are out there?
This is what Zander was raging about when I entered the room. Someone is still threatening his throne. I guess that’s par for the course—there’s always someone who wants to be king.
I shake my head. “I have no idea.”
The woman’s lips curl in a vicious smile. “Perhaps we will find an idea beneath your skin when I peel it from your body.”
“Enough with the idle threats,” Zander cuts her off with a heavy sigh, though nothing in that woman’s cold stare suggests her threat is idle. “Elisaf!” he barks.
The door creaks open, and a moment later, my nighttime guard is standing at attention beside me.
“Her Highness has offered me all the insight she is able or willing. Please escort her back to her prison cell.” Zander turns his attention back to his map, his brow furrowed deeply.
He’s clearly concerned about this threat and he was hoping I would be able to provide insight where others could not. Though, he could have come to my rooms to ask. There was no need to parade me through the castle, in effect revealing that Princess Romeria is still alive, a card Wendeline alluded to him only playing when it made sense. So, was there another reason to bring me here?
Elisaf bows and gives me the subtlest nod, beckoning for me to follow. Far more civilized than being manhandled by the likes of Boaz.
But my memory is caught on something. I hesitate, torn between getting out of here as fast as possible and providing information that might earn me some goodwill. “Is there a place called … Lindor? Or something like that?” The name reminded me of chocolates.
Zander’s joyless gaze is back on me. “Lyndel?”
“That might have been it.”
His eyes narrow. “What about it?”
“That night the man tried to drown Annika—”
“The sapling?”
“Sure.” I need to figure out what that means. “Anyway, he knew me, and he mentioned that place.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “He told me to go to Lyndel and then he dumped your sister over the rail and ran.”
Zander looks to Boaz. “I struggle to believe that Lord Telor would betray the crown like that. He has always been supportive.”
“As do I.” The brooding captain’s mouth curves in a thoughtful frown. “But someone is helping the Ybarisans. Someone is swaying loyalty. We’ve already scoured Lord Muirn’s lands. Our spies have heard nothing in Kettling. Now we must look at those we least expect. Lyndel is close enough to the mountain range. They could be harboring dozens of them in that stronghold for all we know. And his men are formidable. If we don’t have their full support at the rift, it is best we know now.” His eyes cut to me. “It could also be a trap, though the princess would be a daft fool to spring such a thing, given she is imprisoned here.”
“I’m telling you what I remember.” I clear the shake from my voice. “It could be nothing, or it could be something.”
“I will take my men there to investigate,” the man with the short golden curls says. He’s been silent up until now, his hateful blue eyes locked on me, watching my every twitch.
“Telor will be wary of the commander of the king’s army arriving at his doorstep,” Boaz counters. “Besides, you are needed elsewhere, Atticus.”
Atticus. That name rings a bell. Zander mentioned him in the tower. That’s his brother, the one who was shot with an arrow the night of the attack. I study the man again. A prince, I suppose. He looks nothing like Zander, but he bears a remarkable similarity to his sister from what I remember of her. He is strikingly handsome with high cheekbones and full lips, though I would dare say not so attractive as the king.
Zander grips his chin in thought, his gaze on the map. “What do you recommend, Captain?”
I note how Atticus’s jaw tenses.
Boaz nods toward the woman who threatened to skin me. “Send Abarrane and a handful of her soldiers there with a summons. Have Atticus split our forces. Prepare half to march on Lyndel if needed and keep the other half fanned out along here”—Boaz drags a finger across the map—“to catch any contingents moving for Cirilea. Any who reach these walls, I will manage with the royal guard.”
