Rydan watches intently as she begins slicing the apple. He can only imagine what Tymond’s done to Arden, how much pain she’s probably in.
As if she’s reading his thoughts, Vira says, “It’s not your fault, Rydan. Tymond’s been looking for Arden since the day you were thrown in that cell.” She takes a shaky breath. “It was bound to happen one way or another.”
He breaks his silence. “Be that as it may, we haven’t seen your brother in weeks. Shouldn’t he be back by now?” He shakes his head. “We came here to tell Arden what we know about her family, and I messed that up. I’m the one who lied to you about searching for her. I’m the one who wasted valuable time. If I had done what I said I was going to do, I could have found her—”
“And in telling her what we know about her brother and the Savant murdering her mother,” Vira says, her tone matter-of-fact, “she would have fled to Trendalath anyway to get her revenge.” She holds his steady gaze. “Like I said, it was bound to happen. There’s nothing you could have done.”
“But I can now.”
“It would be a death sentence, Rydan.” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Arden in Trendalath, you in Trendalath. You’d be giving the king exactly what he wants—signed, sealed, and delivered on a silver platter.”
The words cut through him like glass. While she certainly has a point, he does too. “Someone has to help her.”
“It doesn’t have to be you.”
His eyes flick to the knife in her hand. “But it should be. I was her partner—”
Vira plunges the blade directly into the cutting board. “She left you during that assignment, without the proof you needed, without thinking about anyone but herself. Or have you forgotten? You went into that mission as partners and walked away divided.”
Rydan jumps to his feet. He leans over the counter so that his gaze is level with Vira’s. “She came back to save me. To save us.” His jaw clenches tighter with each word. “Without her, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
Vira steadies her hand on the hilt of the knife, her eyes locked on his. Rydan doesn’t retreat in the slightest. She pulls the blade from the slab of wood and continues cutting the apple. “Then go to Trendalath,” she says, each slice like a jab to his heart. “Because as much as I want to, I know I won’t be able to stop you.”
CERYLIA JARETH
“HE HASN’T SHOWN his face in days.” Cerylia presses her palms into the stone opening of her chamber window, shivering as a cool breeze dances across her neck. “I almost find it amusing how I release him just so he can lock himself in another room,” she mutters to herself, but loud enough for Delwynn to hear. When her advisor doesn’t respond, she whips around to face him. “Well?”
His voice is pained. “Bear in mind, he did just lose his estranged mother, Your Greatness. And at the hands of someone he thought he could trust.”
This had certainly come as a shock. When Cerylia had received the news, she’d hardly believed it herself. But, sure enough, Opal had taken her back in time and they’d watched, as bystanders, as Arden’s attempt to heal Aldreda had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Cerylia couldn’t say she was upset that the Queen of Trendalath was dead—rather, the opposite. She’d just hoped it would have been at her own two hands.
With the thought turning in her head, her attention settles back on Delwynn. “Even more reason to surround yourself with—”
“With support?” Delwynn shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t have to.
Cerylia stiffens at the implication—that she’s somehow been unsupportive of Braxton. Not only has she welcomed him into her queendom, full well knowing his family’s history, she’s also given him the benefit of the doubt, up until recently—an error on her part that she freely admits to. “If he’d just show his face, I’d have the opportunity to apologize. His stubbornness is proving to be just as infuriating as his father’s. Perhaps I should have kept him in there a little while longer.” It’s meant as a joke, but Delwynn doesn’t take it that way.
“As I’ve said before, I’d advise against that.”
She gives him a pointed glare. “I had to do what I thought was right. For the safety of Sardoria. The evidence—”
“There is no evidence,” he interrupts. “There’s no evidence of Braxton betraying you, or conspiring against you with Cyrus, or with King Tymond.” He lifts his shoulders, standing a little taller. “With everything that’s happened”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“with Dane, with the Mallum, with Arden. It’s understandable that you’d have your doubts. But assumptions are the devil’s work. You know that better than anyone.”
As much as she doesn’t want to hear it, he’s right. As of late, with almost every problem she’s encountered, the first logical conclusion that’s entered her head has been the only conclusion. She’d assumed that Arden’s capture and the Mallum’s attack had something to do with Braxton because of his family—he has Tymond blood running through his veins, after all. But she’d been wrong about Dane’s murderer. It hadn’t been Darius, but his wife. One truth seems to withstand the tests of time: nothing is ever as it appears to be.
The bell tower chimes, signaling the setting sun. She turns her gaze back to the window. “Please escort the Caldari to the dining hall.”
“I don’t think—”
Cerylia sighs. “I’ve had my fair share of disagreements for today, Delwynn. Please do as I’ve requested.”
Delwynn opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it. He bows his head before ducking out the door. Cerylia knows exactly what he’d been about to say—that, more likely than not, she’ll be dining alone tonight. And that it’ll probably be that way for many nights to come.
BRAXTON HORNSBY
A SOFT RAP on the door wakes Braxton from a longer-than-intended nap. He throws his legs over the uncomfortable chair he’d fallen asleep in, working out a painfully withstanding crick in his neck. The knocking ceases, then starts up again. He stumbles over himself as he makes his way to the door, cursing the unknown visitor, but in his half-sleep daze, answers it without a second thought.
Delwynn’s mouth crinkles into a smile. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”
Braxton stifles a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did Cerylia send you? Again?”
His smile fades. “She’s requested the presence of all Caldari in the dining hall.”
Suddenly fully awake, Braxton scoffs, “I suppose it’s the perfect opportunity to lock everyone up.”
Delwynn doesn’t respond, but the look on his face is a mixture of indifference and pure exhaustion. “On the contrary, Queen Jareth wishes to apologize and start anew. Mind you, I’ve only mentioned this every day during my visits for the past three weeks.” He raises a brow. “Unfortunately, I’ve only had the honor of speaking to your door.” He knocks on the wood for emphasis. “If you’d opened it, you probably would have known by now.”