“Do you know where she is now?” the fae asked.
Kyrion offered him an icy look in response. “If I did, what business would I have sharing that information with a stranger who may or may not pose a danger to her safety?”
“No danger,” the fae said, and Kyrion could see when weariness flashed across his face. “I only want to find her. To discover whether she is well.”
“And what does the dagger have to do with it?”
The fae paused for a moment before gesturing to the weapon in Kyrion’s hand. “It is spelled for protection and bears a lodestone. I was sent to find the dagger and the one who held it, and offer her certain… information.”
“Information?”
The fae grinned. “For her ears, night elf, not those of a random, chance-met stranger in the woods, no matter how perfectly he cooks a trout.”
Kyrion found himself torn between the urge to rid himself of an enemy and an unaccountable desire to laugh.
“Then you’d best be on your way and forego the trout,” he said, choosing to hold his peace for the moment. He didn’t care to give the stranger any reason to stay in the vicinity where he could eventually pose a danger to Leisa. And if it turned out Leisa wanted to speak with him, Kyrion should be able to track the fae down later.
“The woman who gave me the dagger isn’t hiding out in the woods,” he informed the fae dryly, “and you’ll get no closer to finding her by idling at my fire.”
“No?” The fae tilted his head as if listening to sounds only he could hear. “Then why does her guard tarry so far from home? Camped near the border in a stretch of empty woods?”
Such questions suggested that the fae was tenacious as well as dangerous, and when he was younger, Kyrion would likely have acted on his suspicions and been done with it. But ten years of reducing himself to an emotionless shell gave him more than enough control to shrug and act as if he were unconcerned. “Can a man not choose solitude for reasons that have nothing to do with a woman?”
“Of course,” the fae agreed. “Just as a man may choose to linger in the forest for a time to determine whether his hunches are correct.”
He grinned, and Kyrion’s lip curled in response. They understood each other. Even if neither was likely to be sleeping in the other’s presence any time soon.
At least, Kyrion reminded himself, his wait for Leisa had just become a great deal less boring.
Chapter 3
When Leisa awakened the following morning, she felt as if she’d somehow been transported back to a time before her trip to Garimore.
Princess Evaraine’s rooms were brightly lit and bustling, filled with her usual complement of maids in the midst of their daily tasks. Dresses were being aired, trays of tea and medicines hastened back and forth, and even the rugs were being dragged outside for a good cleaning.
The princess herself was seated near the fire in a comfortable gown, looking pale but composed as she laid aside a stack of papers.
“Leisa! You’re awake!”
“More or less.” Leisa stretched and ran her fingers through her hair before contemplating her grubby clothes with a grimace. Hardly suitable for appearing in front of a princess. Or anyone else for that matter. She desperately needed a bath. “Has His Majesty sent word of whether he requires me for anything further today?”
“Actually, yes,” Evaraine confirmed. “He is coming momentarily to discuss the import of your news from Garimore, so I’m afraid I must request that you stay. I’ll send for breakfast, though, so at least you won’t be required to discuss politics on an empty stomach.”
“And perhaps even a bath…” Leisa started to say, but the door was flung open before she could even finish the sentence.
The first person through the door was the king’s personal bodyguard, Roderick, so Leisa groaned and resigned herself to a few more hours of wallowing in her own dirt.
Not much longer, surely. She’d already reported everything worth hearing. Soon, King Soren would have a plan for rescuing Zander and the others. Soon, she would be able to leave all this behind with a clean conscience. She’d done her duty, and now she was free to walk her own path.
The moment Soren appeared in the doorway, Leisa was forced to rein in her optimistic thoughts. He seemed to have aged years since the night before, as if he’d not slept since the moment she told him her news. Deep lines carved their way across his pale, hollow cheeks, and his eyes burned from where they’d sunk beneath the shadow of his brows.
Those eyes flitted over Leisa to land on Evaraine.
“How are you this morning?” he asked, in the soft, gentle voice he seemed to reserve for his only child.
“I am well, Father,” Evaraine replied politely.
Their reserve never ceased to perplex Leisa. She knew they loved each other, but they rarely showed it overtly. Was it the price of being royalty—to be always forced to contain your feelings so they could not become a weakness for others to exploit?
“I suppose she’s told you the news then,” Soren said abruptly, and Evaraine nodded.
“Yes, I’ve heard Leisa’s report, but I would be pleased to hear your assessment of it. What do you believe our answer must be?”
Soren sighed deeply and rested his hand on her head for a moment. “That is why I am here. To fetch Leisa so that we may discuss what is to be done. But do not worry, Evaraine. I swear you will be safe. I will take care of everything.”
Leisa had seen this scenario play itself out countless times over the years. Soren believed his daughter too shy and too sickly to confront the difficult circumstances of ruling, so he protected her from them. And, typically, Evaraine would smile, cast her eyes to the floor, and go on, silent and accepting of that protection.
In truth, the king was accomplishing little but keeping his daughter ignorant and smothering any attempts she made to understand the realities she would one day face as queen. But as long as the two of them seemed content to continue in their mutual blindness, Leisa could have nothing to say about it.
For the first time, it occurred to her to wonder whether Evaraine, too, felt rejected. The king might treat Leisa as a tool to be used, but at least he had never underestimated her abilities. At least he trusted her with the truth. Was it really any more enviable to be in Evaraine’s position—forever regarded as too weak to be a part of determining her own future?
According to their usual pattern, the princess fell silent, and the king turned to leave. But this time, the pattern was broken when Evaraine finally spoke up, in a far different tone than she’d ever used before in Leisa’s hearing.
“Father, stop.”
Every servant in the room froze.
King Soren paused and turned his head. Blinked in confusion. “Was there something you wished to say to me?”
“Yes, Father, there is.” Evaraine remained seated, cool and composed, but gestured to the seat across from her. “Please, can we speak for a moment?”
Soren appeared perplexed. “There is a great deal I must do today. Perhaps it could wait until the matter with Garimore is decided?”
“No.”
Leisa was already moving towards the door—preparing to follow the king from the room—but when Evaraine gestured to dismiss her maids, it began to seem as though the princess did not wish any audience for the conversation that must follow.