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You don’t care, I reminded myself.
This won’t last. Not forever. Not even a year.
I forced myself to listen even as my mind clouded with plans. Plans that I had thought set in goldstone. Plans that all of the sudden felt ephemeral, hard to pin down.
“There have always been disappearances. It is inevitable, given our proximity to the Split Sea. But in recent months, they have increased. What used to be a disappearance twice or thrice a year is now nearly weekly,” Agravayn was explaining.
My eyes went to Gawayn. His face was unreadable. A disappearance a week? And he’d said nothing to me? He must have known, these were his own brothers standing here. But he had not said a word… had not trusted me enough? Had not believed I would care.
You don’t care, a voice that sounded like Arran’s whispered in the back of my mind.
For six months, I’d cared about nothing but fucking, sleeping, and planning my revenge.
This was my fault.
Every single disappearance could be laid at my doorstep.
I was paralyzed, unable to think or breathe, even as Arran asked intelligent, probing questions.Where were they taken from? Noble or poor families? Was there a certain pattern they’d yet discerned—weather, moon phase, tide?
“What about age? How old are the ones that are disappearing?” Arran asked.
Agravayn leveled a glare at me that matched the self-loathing in my own soul. “Children.”
Fuck.
“We will send someone to investigate,” Arran was saying, his eyes immediately scanning the crowd. He didn’t bother to lean in and consult me. Why would he? I could decide petty squabbles between courtiers, but no one would trust me with the safety of the kingdom. I’d proven I didn’t care enough to deserve it.
“Gawayn,” I said, my voice hoarse. They all looked to me, each brother, every courtier, my own betrothed. I forced in a breath, cleared my throat, and continued in a stronger voice. “Gawayn, you must go. You are the best of my Goldstones, the most powerful. You must see to this at once.”
“Veyka,” Arran’s voice warned, low enough for me alone.
“Children are being taken, Arran.Children.” I felt the flood of tears, the helplessness.
This was what I’d been trying to avoid. This terrible emptiness, uselessness inside of me was why I was void of feeling.
Make it stop.
“You cannot send Gawayn, he is your captain, your best protection,” Arran said.
I could feel the eyes of every courtier upon us. I felt a warm wind encircle us, carrying away the sounds of the court, keeping our voices in. Gawayn, I thought. The stray strands of hair around my ear lifted, tickling the side of my neck. Parys—he was still among the other courtiers, but his eyes were fixed upon me.
I felt a surge of gratitude for them both.
But it was still nothing to the despair clawing at my chest.
“We have to do something,” I insisted, clutching Arran’s arm. “We must send someone who will actually do something, not a vague gesture, not a committee. This must be fixed.” My breath caught in my throat. “Please.”
Arran stared not into my eyes, but down at where my hand clasped his arm. My knuckles were as white as my hair against my already pale skin. The contrast of the light against the dark of his shirt was stark. He was warm and steady, the muscles of his forearm strong beneath my icy fingers.
Fingers that were trembling.
He covered my hand with his. Hiding my vulnerability. Not from the rest of the court, too far away to see it, but from myself.
He turned back to face the four brothers, the invisible cyclone of wind dropping away instantly. Parys relaxed back against a pillar, taking a long drink from his goblet. Gawayn was as immovable as always.
“Evander,” Arran said sharply, his words cutting off any side conversations.
I jerked in immediate and negative reaction, but Arran held me fast.
