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The unease is shouting at me, telling me to shut my mouth, to turn away and leave this behind. But I don’t give in. I don't allow myself to hesitate. “You called me Evander. And then you said,I’m so sorry. It was all my fault.” He stiffens beside me. “What did you mean it was all your fault? What was all your fault?”
His voice is stoic and unwaveringly resolute. “Nothing. I was delusional it would appear.”
“Are you sure? It seemed very real. And the way you spoke his name—”
“I said it was nothing,” he snaps at me.
My forehead wrinkles as my eyes narrow in his direction. I know when I’m being lied to, and my hackles are raised. The ability to deflect is a personal specialty, and I can recognize someone throwing an air of nonchalance to cover up something deeper when I see it.
I focus on my breathing, trying to relax my raised shoulders and soften my gaze. “Roan, you don’t have to pretend with me, you know? Your words— they sounded as if you were… are… troubled. Like you’ve wanted to say them for so long, but they never found their voice.” I look forward, a soft mountain breeze rustling my hair.
His body remains tense, taking his arm from around my waist and resting it on his hip, pausing his steps and taking a deep breath. John turns, an eyebrow raised. I wave him onward, wrapping Roan’s arm around me once again. We continue forward, the sound of crunching rocks becoming the backdrop to the melody of mountain meadows.
He doesn’t want to talk, and I do my best to respect it, keeping my mouth closed. I try to keep my breathing even, taking in the scenery of large grassy cliffs, and jutting peaks poking through the not-so-distant distance. The tallest of the Prythan Mountains I realize. Thenstra lays nestled somewhere between its monstrous summit.
“It was my fault.” A whisper from beside me startles me from my trance.
I turn as much as I can to look at him without pulling at his arm around me. “What?” I ask.
“Evander. His death. It was my fault.” Roan’s face looks completely blank, the only hint of emotion showing through glassy eyes.
“I don’t understand. You killed the prince?”
“Yes. And no. Not directly.” His eyes shift around the mountainside before he faces forward once again. “We were fifteen. There’s something called the First Hunt. It’s a big deal. All the loyal families of the Crown come together to mark the beginning of the hunting season.” He pauses, as if the memory is too much to bear. I reach for his hand, gripping it hard between my own.
“I wanted to go. I felt it was our right to go. Evander was unsure. He didn’t want to say anything if we weren’t out-right invited. But I asked him go talk to his father, to the king. I made him get us an invite. Then, when it was time to break for the hunt, his father told us we had to stay back. We were to watch only. But that wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t good enough for me.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes going distant. “So we went. We broke his father’s command. And Evander— he paid the price for my arrogance.”
“Roan,” I breathe. “Roan, I’m so sorry.” I want to ask the details. I want to pry and press until I hear everything. But I bite my tongue. He says nothing else, taking another pained step.
I help him a few more steps forward, letting his words fill in the blank of my question. He feels responsible for the prince’s death. It’s no wonder he spoke Evander’s name when his mind was hazy. He's been holding on to this for seven years. That kind of guilt would eat away at anyone, changing the fabric of their life forever.
It certainly changed mine.
We take another step just as a memory trickles its way back to me. The words from Sir Crane’s office as I stood just outside it.Almost a decade in the making, Phillip. Can you believe we‘re finally here? And we didn’t even have to lure the mouse in with the promise of cheese.
Then, Tamen’s words in the courtyard.Not the throne of the city. The throne of Turin, the whole of Felshan.My brows push together as I try to make sense of those few sentences.
And then a wildfire ignites in my mind, spreading hot and fierce.No. No, no, no, no. My thoughts are racing, twisting away then coming back together. I turn to Roan, torn between finding answers and saving him from the truth.
“I’m sorry for asking this, but— how did Evander die?” My heart is beating wildly in my chest, my breathing coming heavy and shallow like I’m carrying Roan’s full weight on my back.
“He— Evander, he—” Roan takes a deep breath before continuing. “An arrow. We were making our way across the Rashan, meeting up with the king’s men on the other side. A deer was coming to drink on the banks, and the man didn’t see us. He shot Evander on accident.”
“Who? Who was it? Who shot the arrow?” My eyes are pleading, his lips pulling into a frown.
“They weren’t sure, a couple men had shot at the same time. They never pinpointed exactly whose arrow took the killing blow.”
“Who did they suspect? Who were the men who shot their arrows?” My thoughts are jumbled, racing, but all pointing in the same direction with every word he speaks. He pauses, staring me in the eyes. “Who?” I ask again, my voice rising the longer I wait for my suspicions to be confirmed.
“I believe it was—” his voice lowers, and we stop completely on the path. His breathing quickens, his head tilting back. “There were two. One from the Buchanans, and another from the Davenport family,” he all but whispers. His eyes go wide, his head shaking as he tries to swallow. “Robert Buchanan… his wife was Phillip Crane’s sister. And Lord Davenport, his wife is Reynauld’s cousin. Lena was also betrothed to their son before—” he pauses, his eyes darting to the ground, “before Evander died. The queen ended the betrothal after his death.” Roan looks at me like there's something he isn't telling me. But whatever it is, he doesn't speak it. Instead turning toward the looming mountain peaks ahead.
“How did I not see this,” he says to himself. A single laugh escapes him. “It was right in front of me the whole time.” He rubs a hand down his face, leaning heavily on the walking stick I gave him and away from me.
“Were these men never investigated? Held accountable in some way?” I ask.
“A third family, the Ashcrofts, one not involved in what happened, examined and scrutinized every detail. They deemed it an accident. No further inquiry was made.” He lets out a heavy breath, another laugh huffing out of him. “The Ashcrofts. They are tied to the Davenports. His brother married a Davenport a few years earlier.”
I've never met the Davenports, but I've heard them mentioned so many times in the last couple weeks that I'm not sure I'll ever forget their name again. "Why did they choose the Davenport's son for the princess?”
His face is devoid of color, as if he will pass out at any moment. “They own and run Fort Kotar, deep in the Kotar Mountains, just west of Turin. They mine a large portion of the ore in Felshan. And that ore accounts for more than half of Felshan’s export commodities. It would effectively choke our kingdom if the mines ran dry, or if the Davenports decided they no longer support the king and queen and stopped trade altogether.”
The last few pieces finally fit together.
The words from Phillip Crane's office, from Tamen, finally make sense. Almost ten years of scheming, with Prince Evander and Princess Adalena becoming victims to their horrific design. A murder and a kidnapping.
Two fists ball beside me, understanding finally catching up to the truth. “This will be answered, Roan. I promise you.” And when our gazes meet, all I see is burning fire. “We will make them pay. Over, and over, and over again,” I say, my heartbeat roaring in my ears.
They are the last words I speak before we cross the border into Thenstra.
