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The sun’s rays were now only half-cast, the golden light fading, and some of the colors from the reflection of the stained glass on the ground disintegrating. Dusk was fast approaching.
Cetia laid her hand out in front of her. “Please, proceed.”
Terin stepped forward. Although he was a prince in his own right, he bowed. “Queen Cetia, we come before you for two reasons. First, to bring you the unfortunate news that my brother, Fynneares, now walks with those in the Beneath.”
In Graeson’s peripheral, he saw Dani shift on her feet, her hand clenched in a tight fist at her side as gasps echoed in the grand room.
Unsurprisingly so, the Tetrian women had adored Fynn during their visit. Fynn always had a way with women, especially before he and Dani finally got their heads out of their asses.
“I had heard rumors, but I did not want to believe them to be true,” the queen said solemnly. “Fynneares was a kind soul. He would have led your people well after your mother.” She tilted her head to the side in Terin’s direction as if she was wondering how the second son would lead in his twin’s place.
Terin remained steady beneath her scrutiny. “Yes, he would have,” he said.
She hummed in agreement. “While this is certainly grave news, and all of Tetria gives you our condolences, I suspect this is not the only reason you have traveled here. As you said, there is a second reason for your presence.”
Terin’s lip parted, but Cetia lifted a hand, silencing him. “If it is whether we have kept your secret, know that we do not go against our word once spoken.”
“No, Your Majesty, that is not quite why we are here,” Terin said. He folded his hands behind his back, and his knuckles grew white as he tightened his grip.
It’s now or never.
Graeson stepped beside Terin. “The queen’s daughter has been found.”
Gasps slithered down the line of warriors. With one flick of a hand from their queen, silence fell upon the room.
“Is that so?” Cetia asked with a slight rise in her pitch.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Graeson said. “Esmeray’s Kalisandre is the same as the Kalisandre of Ardentol.”
Graeson’s blood rushed from his face as Cetia huffed in disbelief.
“You must be mistaken. Kalisandre of Ardentol is King Domitius’ daughter.” The queen leaned forward on her throne, her hand wrapping around the arms of her twisted throne. “You must know this is a grave allegation you are making.”
He cocked a brow. “Yet it does not make it false, Your Majesty.”
Leaning back, Cetia scraped a long, pointed nail across the side of her cheek. “How? Domitius’ daughter has been with him since she was born.”
“Has she though?” Graeson asked.
“Yes, since his late wife . . .” Cetia snapped her fingers. “What was her name?”
Her question was met with silence.
Another story manipulated and misconstrued, no doubt. No one ever remembered the name of Domitius’ wife. Not even Kalisandre knew it, which Graeson had discovered during their journey to Pontia.
Somewhere in the room, someone cleared their throat. At the sound of footsteps approaching, Graeson turned around and saw an older woman hobbling forward. A warrior walked on either side of the woman—to protect the woman or to aid her, Graeson couldn’t tell. Her white hair hung past her lower back. Black beads wrapped around dozens of thin braids that clattered against each other as she approached. A wrinkled hand gripped the head of a twisted wooden cane. The woman’s dark brown skin was thin enough that Graeson could see every vein not covered by fabric.
“I believe the former queen’s name was Troia, was it not, Your Majesty?” The woman’s voice was sandpaper, yet Graeson could hear the power that once belonged to it.
“Troia?” Cetia repeated the woman’s name as if the taste of it would recall the forgotten knowledge. “She died in childbirth, did she not, Loralaine?”
Loralaine.The older woman’s name was familiar. And by the way the Tetrian warriors straightened and the queen’s voice lightened, Graeson knew who stood before him: the former queen of Tetria, the oldest living ruler in all of Vaneria. Loralaine had been one of the first queens in the divided world.
“Mhm,” Loralaine mumbled. Then, having said what she wished to say, she sat in one of the nearby chairs. Sleep found her soon enough.
At least Graeson hoped the former queen was sleeping.
Long black nails tapped along the winding roots of the throne. “Explain. How do you know this Kalisandre isyourmissing princess?”
