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Prince Domhnall followed his gaze, looking weary. “My father would rather have had you tied to the back of a horse and dragged through the streets, but I insisted we part as friends.” He turned back to Caelan and extended a hand. “All we have known, our entire lives, is war. I hope we can build a future where we are partners, not enemies.”
He took the prince’s hand and shook it, a knot of guilt tangling within him. He hadn’t spoken much with Prince Domhnall, but he had struck Caelan as a kind, good-hearted man, with the same clever mind and sharp tongue as his cousin. Perhaps in another life, they could have been friends. “I would like that, too, Your Highness.”
Prince Domhnall smiled and gestured for one of the guards to fetch the Erdurian horses, then climbed atop his own mount, a pure white stallion draped in the Rivosi royal colors. He cut a striking figure, his fur-lined cloak tumbling from the clasp at his neck and flowing over the back of his horse. When the guards returned with the Erdurian horses, Caelan mounted up and joined Domhnall at the front of the procession. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vick and the brothers edge close to the Erdurian guards, casting wary glances at the Rivosans as if fearing an attack.
“So, what do you think will happen now?” Caelan asked as they started down the King’s Road, the narrow buildings rising high around them. The city was quiet, but a few bleary-eyed people opened their shutters to watch the royal procession pass when they heard the clatter of hooves on cobblestone. “Once word of your father’s actions spreads.”
Domhnall shook his head, looking troubled. “I don’t know. I’ve ordered the guards who were present last night to remain silent under threat of death, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that will stay loose tongues for long. Amaris and my mother are already planning some court events and city-wide celebrations as an attempt to uplift our people and breathe life into the city. If we can present a united front, the people will follow. Terrible though his actions were, my father led us through thirty years of brutal war. The rush of trade we will soon enjoy from the peace treaty will be a welcome change.”
He raised a brow. “You truly think that will be enough to make them forget that he organized the murder of the queen’s sister? His own brother’s wife?”
“No, but we will make them believe that we are as strong as ever. We cannot fight a war on all fronts, and quelling our people’s unrest will be our main concern until word of the eudorite mines spreads.” Domhnall glanced at him, his expression grave. “But make no mistake, my father’s treachery is over. The crown may sit on his head, but the power of the kingdom rests with me.”
“Do you think your father will allow it to remain that way for long?”
The Crown Prince shifted in his saddle, confirming that he’d asked himself that very same question. King Domhnall had fought for thirty years to keep his throne, and Caelan doubted he would remain complacent for long. A small part of Caelan feared the Crown Prince would find a dagger in his back within the year.
“For all his faults, my father is excellent at waging war,” the prince said, seeming to choose his words carefully. “If that is what he must do to keep his throne, he will not hesitate, be his opponent a foe or family. He has dedicated too much of his life to its service to allow it to be taken from him. He will die with a sword in his hand and a crown on his head.”
That could be arranged. But instead, he merely said, “You’ll need a strong king on the throne if you are to stand against the armies who will come for the mines.”
One of Domhnall’s brows rose. “You don’t believe I can be that king?”
“He has fought for three decades. You have won one battle, and that was with the aid of King Tamriel’s ragtag army. Temper your father’s will, but learn from him in equal measure. Allow him to be the king Rivosa needs in times of war, so you can be the king it deserves in times of peace.”
A smile broke out across the prince’s face. “Now I see why your brother insisted on bringing you with him, Prince Auberon. You hide a clever mind behind those rakish grins and irreverent jokes.”
Caelan shrugged. “Clever men make the greatest fools, as I’ve found.”
Prince Domhnall chuckled, and they lapsed into silence as they rode along the King’s Road. Caelan let his gaze wander over the city one final time, taking in the tall, proud homes with their ivy-covered façades and wide bay windows. Passersby on the street—workmen off to their jobs and merchants on their way to the market—paused to watch their procession pass, and Prince Domhnall greeted them with a wave and a smile. Caelan followed his lead, forcing a cheer he didn’t quite feel onto his face.
When they finally reached the city gate, Caelan twisted back in the saddle and cast one last look at the castle sitting high over the capital. The sky was growing lighter, and the dark gray stone was stark against the vivid pinks and oranges of the dawn.
Riona.The girl who had comforted him while he was dying, when no one else would. The girl who had traded blows and barbed words with him. The girl who had danced with him in a candlelit theater.
The girl who would kill him the next time they met.
Goodbye, aramati.
Caelan turned forward, and followed Prince Domhnall out of Innislee.
ChapterSeventy-Three
The Liar
Caelan had expected the building that held the eudorite ore to be somewhat…grander. More imposing. This was a building that the king had been stocking for the better part of a decade with ore and weapons intended to slaughter the Erdurian forces. The kingdom’s greatest-held secret, one that countless people had—knowingly or not—given their lives to keep hidden.
All in all, it was…not what he had expected.
There was an old ruined city a few hours’ ride west of Crafford, a place that had been reduced to rubble so long ago no cartographer had bothered to mark it on any of the maps Caelan had ever seen of Rivosa. The remains of an old castle sat crumbling at the foot of a low mountain range, only the bare bones of the building still standing. In most places, the walls rose only waist-high, the ancient stones covered in a thick layer of moss and ivy. A few of the structures bore scars from the cannonballs that had struck them in long-ago battles.
The rest of the city had fared better than the castle, but only marginally so. Most of the buildings were still standing, many without roofs or doors, and the cobblestone streets were thick with mud and overgrown weeds. Upon seeing it, it was immediately clear why the king had chosen to hide his country’s greatest secret here: it was a place lost to time, slowly being reclaimed by Rivosa’s wild countryside. Most travelers who happened to discover the ruins would not even bother to get close enough to spot the makeshift work camp at its heart.
A modest house in the middle of what had once been the main road served to store the eudorite ore. Caelan stood with Prince Domhnall outside the open doorway, watching a line of Rivosi soldiers load chests of ore into a horse-drawn cart the prince had commandeered for the journey to Crafford. He and the Crown Prince had walked through the building together, marking off the boxes that would go to Erduria, Kenter, and Rivosa, respectively.
He hadn’t missed the open hostility with which the Rivosi soldiers regarded him. To them, he was a monster—the ruthless son of the man they had dedicated their lives to fighting. Prince Domhnall’s announcement of the peace treaty hadn’t changed any of the men’s expressions. It didn’t matter that the Empire was now one of Rivosa’s allies; these soldiers had lost too many fathers and brothers to let go of old grievances. It would take years, perhaps decades, to bridge the rift that the war had cleaved between their people.
“I still find it hard to believe that my father managed to keep this a secret for so long,” Prince Domhnall murmured, wandering toward a blacksmith’s workshop on the opposite side of the street. The building had been rebuilt and reinforced for the band of Strykers—weapon and armor smiths of unparalleled skill and international renown—who now occupied it. A blast of heat struck Caelan in the face as he followed Domhnall through the doorway. A half-dozen men were hard at work at the forges, lifting pieces of glowing-red metal from the flames or working the bellows to keep the fires burning. “It doesn’t seem possible that an operation this large could remain hidden for so many years. How can it be that not a word of this place has reached Innislee?”
