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“I am. There’s something I must take care of, but I’ll see you in Innislee soon,” she said. “Once you and Faylen are settled, please send word to Amaris that I have been delayed and will return as soon as I can. Tell her to remember what we discussed before I left and assure her that she need not worry about me.”
“You’re makingmeworry about you. My lady, whatever you’re planning, if it’s dangerous—”
“It’s not. It’s simply something I must do on my own,” she said, her stomach twisting at the thought of putting Faylen and Aeron in danger. They had never asked to get involved in any of this, and she would do whatever it took to keep them safe. Riona took his hand and added, “Please promise me that you will not follow.”
Unease flashed across his face, but he nodded grimly and said, “I swear it.”
Riona surprised them both by pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you, my friend, for everything you have done for me. I am more grateful for it than I can express,” she whispered. Then she pulled back and added, “When you get to Innislee, leave a note with Ophelia telling me where I can find you.”
He agreed, and Riona turned to Faylen. “I know it will not be easy to return to the city. It cannot possibly make up for what you’ve endured, but I want you to know that my uncle will pay for Cathal’s murder. The Treasurer was a good man, and he did not deserve the end he met.”
She nodded. “May the Creator watch over you.”
“And you, as well.”
With that, they left. Riona climbed the stairs and returned to the room Faylen had occupied, latching the door shut behind her. She watched through the window as Aeron and Faylen started down the street in the direction of a carriage for hire, Aeron leading his horse by its reins. Riona prayed that she was doing the right thing by sending them back to the capital.
Once they’d climbed into their carriage, Riona closed the shutters and lay on the bed, her lids falling shut the second her head hit the pillow. She would need all her strength for what lay ahead. While Faylen slept, Riona had spent all morning studying Cathal’s maps, committing every detail to memory.
Tonight, she would go to the Howling Mountains.
ChapterForty-Four
The Liar
The banquet hall was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. If Auberon hadn’t been sitting at the head table, looking out over a sea of more than a hundred people, he might have been able to trick himself into believing he was alone. Tension hung in the air. News that Drystan had rescinded his bid for Riona’s hand had spread through the castle like wildfire, and no one—including Auberon—had an inkling of what would happen in the days to come.
He glanced to his right, where Drystan sat with his spine perfectly straight, staring at the double doors at the opposite end of the hall. They had been seated at the end of the table, far from the king’s currently empty chair—still a place of honor, but an obvious sign that they had fallen out of favor. Beside King Domhnall’s chair sat Prince Eamon, then Duke Valerian. The duke shot Auberon a concerned look. Drystan’s drastic decision had thrown everything off balance. Weeks of negotiating, politicking, manipulating…potentially all for nothing.
Drystan set his foot atop Auberon’s, pressing gently in warning. “Have faith,” he whispered. “The negotiations for the betrothal may be over, but we can still spend tonight advocating for a peace treaty. Convince the council of its necessity, and we are almost guaranteed an end to the fighting.”
“We are guaranteednothing,” he hissed, his patience wearing thin. “We’ll be lucky if we’re not thrown onto a ship bound for Torch by the night’s end.”
“Spare me the theatrics, and focus on doing what you were sent here to do. Find proof that the mines exist. Allow me to attend to politics.” Drystan’s gaze finally slid to him. “Remember your duty.”
Auberon glowered. “As you command,Your Imperial Highness.I will do my best to stay out of your way.”
The doors of the banquet hall swung open then, revealing the royal family in all their finery: the monarchs and their children, then Lord Lachlan, Amaris, and…
No Riona.
Alarm shot through him as the royals approached the dais. While the others took their seats at the head table, King Domhnall turned to the court and said, “Unfortunately, my dear niece has taken ill and will not be joining us for the feast, but that shall not keep us from celebrating her impending betrothal. Within one week, one of these young men will be promised to Lady Riona. It will be my honor to count him among my family and usher in a new era of prosperity for Rivosa.” He looked to Drystan then, ice in his eyes as he lifted his goblet in a toast. “To our future.”
A cheer rose from the courtiers. As the king took his seat, servants flooded out of the kitchen bearing platters of food and drink. Auberon studied him. A dozen explanations for Riona’s absence swirled in his mind, and not a single one involved illness. She had been in perfect health the night before. He recalled with unease the strange air that had hung over the royals at the negotiations. Something had happened to Riona, and they had known about it then. Had she decided to confront her uncle about the mines? About Cathal’s murder? Riona was intelligent, but her righteousness made her stubborn and impulsive. She would charge headfirst into danger if she thought she was doing right by her kingdom and her people.
She could be hurt. She could be—
Auberon gripped the stem of his goblet with white knuckles, imagining it was the king’s neck. He still lacked proof that the king had been involved in the murder or that it was connected to the mines, but his gut was rarely wrong. He wouldn’t put it past the bastard to hurt his own niece in the name of “protecting” his kingdom’s security.
Halfway through the meal, his attention snagged on Amaris. She was sitting between the Crown Prince and Riona’s father, halfheartedly stabbing her fork into a slice of wine-poached pear. Every so often, she glanced at the empty seat on Lord Lachlan’s other side, a shadow passing across her face. To an untrained eye, nothing would look amiss; the royal family was eating and chatting, laughing as they engaged Eamon and Valerian in conversation, but Auberon could see through the forced cheer. They were tense and uncertain—their shoulders set in stiff lines, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes. And Amaris looked almost…guilty.
She knows something about Riona’s absence.
After what felt like an eternity, the servants cleared the last of the plates, and the musicians began to play. Auberon immediately stood and started toward Amaris. Before he could reach her, Prince Domhnall took her hand and whisked her down to the dance floor. Frustration flared within him.
Servants filtered through the crowd that was quickly gathering around the dance floor, and Auberon snagged a goblet of wine from one as he wove through the sea of bodies. He needed something to ease the restless, nervous energy rushing through him. Auberon drained the goblet and then swapped it with another from a passing servant’s tray. He was about to lift it to his lips when a hand caught his arm and pulled him around. Half of the wine sloshed to the floor, a blood red stain against the white marble.
“If you’re planning to sulk and drink yourself into a stupor, go back to the guest house,” Drystan hissed, his expression livid. They stood in the middle of the crowd, and Auberon felt the press of the courtiers around them like a too-tight doublet. “You are a prince of Erduria, and I expect you to act like one. Help me convince the advisors to counsel the king toward peace.”
