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Lark peered into his drink, all his humor and jest having evaporated.
“There’s more,” Draven grumbled. “He has an aide with him. Someone from Justice.”
“Who?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“A young man; just a servant, as far as Noemi’s been told.”
“Is it Theo?” Lark asked, his voice strangely tight.
“Yes, I think.” Draven arched an eyebrow. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” Lark growled.
Lark knew who Theo was and was in no mood to tell us.
“What’s his next move?” I asked.
“He took the road to—”
“Pain,” Lark said. “His seat of power. Once there, he’ll burrow in like War’s sandworms. He’ll be impossible to get to. We had our chance.”
“No, actually.” Draven sighed and looked to me. “He’s headed to Love.”
“What?” I asked. There was nothing there for him.
Lark clattered his tankard down. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why?”
“We have my crown,” I added. I checked on it every day, not trusting Draven. His boy was still in Pain’s clutches and Razak knew Draven was alive. Razak would use Draven again, but this time Draven would tell us.
“Is there anything there he’ll use as leverage against you, Arin?” Lark asked.
“No, there’s nothing left. He made sure of that.”
“Well, he must think there is, else he wouldn’t be going. For him to wield the font to its full potential, he needs Love’s crown. He has no option but to lure us out of hiding. Are you sure there’s nothing left you care about there?”
“Nothing. The palace is gone. I didn’t know most of the court enough to care, there’s only…”
Oh no. I closed my eyes, cutting off Lark’s penetrating glare.
“Only?” he prompted.
“I’m sorry, Lark. It’s not me he’s luring.” I opened my eyes. “Ellyn’s there.”
Lark’s eyes widened. “Ellyn? I thought…” His voice stuttered. “I thought her dead.” He hunched over his drink, gripping it tight, then with a roar, threw it at the back of the bar and flung himself from the stool. He flew out of the door, slamming it behind him, leaving just a few dallying snowflakes spiraling in the air and the inn’s other patrons staring after him.
Draven leaned over the bar. “Innkeeper, my apologies, let me help clear that—"
“Let me.” I stepped in. “Draven, go after him. Make sure he’s doesn’t… hurt himself.”
“Me? Shouldn’t you go?”
“As things stand between us, I’d make things worse.”
Draven grumbled something along the lines of not wanting his throat cut and swept after Lark.
I helped the barkeep clear up the spilled drink, but even as I focused on that menial task, Razak’s icy touch skimmed the back of my neck. He knew exactly how to get to Lark, and how to get tomethrough him.
The shatterlands were not prepared for Razak. He’d already reduced two courts to rubble. War was next. We could—should—go there, explain everything, demand Ogden rally his armies, and march on Pain. It was the only way to stop Razak. Ogden was our last chance and Razak’s final barrier to break. We had Draven, Noemi, me, and Lark. Four representatives of four courts. We could do this, if we worked together. But right now, Lark and I were drifting apart.
