“For what purpose?”
“Overthrowing the winged rulers.” She lifted a hand. “Before you ask, all I could get out of him was that someone was pulling their strings, giving them resources, tactical advice, that sort of thing.”
Ariar’s face turned grim. “Who?”
“He named Prince Mithanis. But that doesn’t quite fit for me. His one and only ambition is to be the next king of Mithranar, and he doesn’t need to overthrow his mother to do that. He’s essentially guaranteed to be named heir. He just has to bide his time to inherit a stable country.”
“Maybe he’s impatient. Sarana is still relatively young, no?”
“Maybe, but Mithanis is already powerful and influential, and he’s an impulsive, angry man.” That was Cuinn’s take on his eldest brother, and what she’d seen of him fit with that.
“So not patient enough to tiptoe around with a long-term play like this?” Ariar said. “You’re worried, aren’t you? Whatever you know that I don’t, it makes you concerned.”
She sighed, wishing she didn’t have to keep it from him. Her information would make a lot more sense to Ariar if she could tell him that a Callanan informant had reported Montagn was using Vengeance to lay the groundwork for an invasion of Mithranar. Only the fact that her uncle hadn’t passed the information on stopped her. She had to follow her king’s wishes on this. “Yes. Have you learned anything more here?”
“I wish there was something I could tell you.” Ariar ran a frustrated hand through his curls. “We hit a dead end on tracking the brigands that killed your father, and Ranar and his Callanan haven’t found any more leads on the Montagni we arrested in the mountains.”
“Brigand activity is still unusual?” she asked.
He let out a long breath. “It’s quiet. Quieter than it’s been in a long time. Most of my captains think it’s a response to their attack on your parents—that they’ve withdrawn until the fallout has died down.”
That made sense. But Ariar didn’t look convinced. Still—she didn’t see how brigand activity could be connected to Montagn’s intention to invade Mithranar.
“You said your talons are in Ryathl. Did you ride all the way here just to tell me that?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I wanted to see Roan and Tarquin too,” she said, looking away.
Sari roused. “Liar.”
In the day following their arrival in Calumnia, Talyn had constantly doubted her decision to take Cuinn such a long way from Mithranar’s winged healers. She still did. His injuries had taken a terrible toll and the rough sea journey hadn’t helped matters. Infection had set into his broken leg, leaving him feverish and ill.
Tiercelin had repeatedly insisted Cuinn needed fully trained and more experienced winged healers. But Cuinn’s fear of his brother was as real and true as anything she’d ever seen before, and so Talyn had reluctantly conceded to his wishes to remain.
And then, abruptly, it had been too much. Too much guilt and worry and anxiety. Not to mention the heavy weight of all the secrets she was keeping. Mithranar was in danger and she couldn’t tell Cuinn, couldn’t tell anyone. Sari’s loss still tore at her every day, not to mention the more recent loss of her father, and her guilt over Cuinn being hurt so badly on her watch was too much like the guilt she still carried over her role in Sari’s death.
“It’s not the same, Tal. He actively hid his identity from you. You didn’t have all the information you needed to protect him properly,” Sari said. “And my death wasn’t your fault.”
She knew. Finally, she had accepted that, but healing remained a process.
“And if you hadn’t worked it out, if you hadn’t gone into those mines after the Shadowhawk, he’d be dead now.”
“And if he hadn’t thrown me clear of the rockfall—”
“He saved you.” Sari’s warm approval filled her up, making her smile. “You know, having a new partner wouldn’t be—”
“No!” Talyn said it so savagely that Sari disappeared as if she’d never been there. The idea of having a new partner was unthinkable, utterly, utterly unthinkable.
“Talyn?” Ariar sounded puzzled.
“Sorry.” She managed a smile. “It was a long ride here, I drifted off for a moment.”
“Then go and get some rest. Are you staying with Roan?”
“Yeah, just for a week or two. I’ll have to get back soon.”
“Come and see me again before you leave. I’m going to be here in the city for a while given how quiet brigand activity has been lately.” He sighed. “At least it gives us some breathing space to plan more strategically. I’d like to get rid of them once and for all.”
Talyn pushed off the railing and gave him an affectionate punch in the arm. “If anyone could do that, you could. It’s good to see you, Ariar.”
“You too, Cousin.”
Sari stirred as Talyn strolled through the winding streets of Port Lathilly towards Roan’s home, enjoying the warm air and the sea breeze rifling through her long hair.
“I miss nights like this,” Sari said, then, “I think you should have told Ariar about the Callanan informant.”
“If the Montagni ahara found out this person was informing to the Callanan, they’d be dead in a heartbeat. And then we’d lose all insight into the ahara’s plans. It’s my uncle’s decision to tell Ariar, not mine.”
“And Cuinn?”
“I can’t tell him for the same reason. He would want to warn his mother, and if Montagn learned that Mithranar was preparing for an invasion… the informant would be in danger.” An edge of frustration filled her voice.
“I suppose. What are you going to do if Montagn invades Mithranar?”
“It’s not going to come to that. I’m going to go back and take out Vengeance.”
“Which might stall the ahara’s plans. But it’s not going to stop them.”
Talyn didn’t reply. Sari was right. But she didn’t have an answer to Sari’s original question. She should. Her answer should be an unequivocal confirmation that she would return home to the Twin Thrones to do whatever she needed to do to help protect her family, her home, in case Montagn’s ambitions spread wider than just Mithranar.
But those words… family… home… they didn’t just mean the Twin Thrones and the Dumnorix to her. Not anymore.
Almost a fortnight later, Talyn returned from taking Tarquin on a long ride outside the city to find Ariar leaning casually against the back gate of Roan’s home, holding a piece of folded parchment in his hand.
“This can’t be good,” she said, reaching down to take the letter. The seal had been broken, but the crossed swords pressed into the amber-coloured wax was still visible.
“We’ve been summoned,” he said, sparing a wink for Tarquin. Sari’s son beamed.
“Sh…oes,” Talyn muttered, only just catching herself from swearing in front of the boy. “When did this arrive?”
“This morning. Aimsir courier—one of my fastest scouts based in Ryathl.” Ariar sighed. “A clear sign we’re expected back just as quickly.”