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The guard cleared his throat awkwardly, straightened, and averted his gaze. “Actually, we were instructed not to inform any member of the Sentry’s team…”
Realization dawned. There was only one rational explanation. “Do you know if His Highness took her with him, or simply set her free?” There was no sense not asking the question. The information was more valuable than continued discretion.
Darnel turned a wide-eyed expression to him but said nothing.
The guard gaped at him for a long second before squaring his shoulders. “I didn’t see.”
Of course not.Aric didn’t waste his time challenging the statement. He merely offered the nervous prison guard a nod and turned, striding away.
Darnel would follow at his own pace.
Once he was outside, and Darnel had rejoined him, Aric transported them away for expediency. There was no sense lingering around a prison that had nothing to offer for their goal.
“Okay, what in the ancestors’ names is going on, Aric?” Darnel asked as soon as the magic faded. He swept an arm wide in a hapless gesture. “Are you saying Prince Denham personally released Cece? Why would he bother?”
“That’s a fantastic question,” Aric said.
Darnel lifted his eyebrows until they disappeared beneath the sweep of his bangs.
Aric indicated the furniture in the sitting room around them, then lowered himself into a high-backed chair. “I’ve developed a theory that there is a deep, perhaps long-established, connection between Cecilia and Denham,” Aric said. “The problem is that my evidence is limited, and you saw what happened the one time I had opportunity to speak to Cecilia about my suspicions.”
Darnel dropped onto one of the sofas and dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t understand, Aric. What are you saying? Even if Cece was for some reason secretly friends with the Elder Prince, why would that be a problem? What, exactly, were you trying to clear up when you talked to her the other night?”
Aric glanced toward the nearest window, as if he could see across the distance between his estate and the royal castle. Though it was unlikely that Denham would have taken Cecilia there, if they’d left together.
He pushed the thought away for the time being and met his friend’s confused, concerned stare. It was time to tell the others what he feared, whether he liked it or not. He didn’t have all the answers or nearly enough evidence for a confrontation of the level he needed, but leaving them in the dark when Denham had boldly taken Cecilia to his side was no longer the wisest play. “I think Denham was, or is, the mentor Cecilia found when she disappeared after Trisha’s death,” Aric said.
Darnel’s eyes widened again and a stuttered sound escaped him, as if he wanted to comment, but had no clue what to say.
“As you said, that shouldn’t be an issue. However—” Aric paused for just a moment. Voicing the words, where someone else would hear them, would change more than anyone was ready to handle.But hasn’t it already?“I no longer believe that Trisha’s death was an accident, and whatever happened, Cecilia knows the truth. If she wasn’t actively involved.”
Chapter Seventeen
Two Months Later
Caram had proven to be nothing like Emyr. For better or worse. Though Rochelle had been dead on her feet when she’d first reached the city’s border, it hadn’t taken her long to realize the truth behind the city’s reputation. Caram really was the national haven for refugees. Those willing to work for their share, anyway.
According to the lunar calendar, it had been about two months since she’d reached this place and been successfully swallowed up in its sea of unfamiliar faces. But according to her inner clock—guided mostly by her temperament—she was on the cusp of overstaying her welcome. If the nasty rumors that had started circulating in the past few weeks continued, she would have to try her luck in a smaller town farther from the capital.
Rochelle kept her head down and attempted to narrow her focus to her breakfast, to drown out the ebb and flow of fellow patrons around her and the snippets of poorly hushed conversation. She’d discovered this little eatery the week before. It was only her second visit.
“—can’t believe we’re stuck with such a fool for a King,” an older man at a table to her left was saying.
“Keep your voice down,” his companion, a man of similar age, snapped at him. “They say that dog’s got ears everywhere.”
Rochelle’s fingers tightened around her fork as her next bite of food slid down her throat like a hardened lump. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the term, so she knew precisely who the insult referred to.
In the weeks since she’d fled, terrible rumors had begun swirling through the city. Probably all the major cities. There were whispers about King Jensen’s incompetence, and how he used the Sentry to enforce ridiculous and unachievable demands. He was pushing his soldiers into exhaustion. Terrorizing his own nobles. Creating a society of ever-building fear. The once respected and revered Sentry was now little more than an incompetent King’s mad dog in the eyes of the people.
The disgusting rumors had all started a handful of days after the Lamonts were released from prison. From Rochelle’s perspective it was clear they had decided to declare themselves victims as loudly as possible, to anyone and everyone who might listen. It added up with how she remembered them. What horrified her was that their outrageous claims of Aric behaving like some power-crazed bully were treated as fact. Peasants and lower-ranked nobles who hadn’t been remotely involved latched onto the story like leeches starved for a scandal and spread it like wildfire.
Rochelle hadn’t for a moment believed the stories. Not when she’d first heard the burgeoning whispers, still recognizable enough that she could identify their point of origin, and certainly not weeks later when they’d taken on entirely new forms. She only didn’t understand why any of this unrest was being allowed.
“More coffee, Breila?”
Rochelle jerked upright, blinking dumbly up at the waitress standing beside her table. She still wasn’t very good at keeping a proverbial eye on her surroundings. It wasn’t something she’d practiced, with the exception of recognizing the signs of magical flares, before running away. Her heart ached at the reminder, as it always did, and she forced a smile for the younger woman. “No, thank you. I’m just finishing up.”
“Sure thing.” The woman hopped away, a touch of magic helping her to glide across the floor faster than she could have walked—and with significantly less sound.
