“Why?” she asked. “Why me? I am not agreeable or sweet or malleable like most ladies in court.”
“You’re right. And if you were, you’d be dead. Actually dead.” Errik took another step toward her. “Instead you are getting stronger by the minute. And you can trust me.”
The whispering grew louder. “What if I no longer desire to trust you?”
“I don’t believe that to be true—and neither do you.” Errik moved close enough that Carys could feel the warmth of his breath in the cold of the night. “If you did, you would have already told Larkin to be wary of me, and she shows no sign of caution when I am near. I lied to gain entrance into the Palace of Winds because I believed someone needed the truth of what was happening in Eden. I had to see for myself why all attempts at peace ended in more blood and death than before.”
“Attempts at peace?” Carys straightened her shoulders and stepped back from Errik. “Which ones? Do you refer to the four times your King sent the heads of my father’s messengers? How silly of us. We should have recognized it as rapprochement.”
Three heads had been displayed on pikes near the tournament grounds. The last had been delivered just months ago in a satchel by a farm boy who had no idea what he carried. Someone in a brown cloak had paid him to pull his small wooden wagon several leagues to Garden City to deliver the sack to the King’s Guard. Had it not been for Andreus, the boy would have been thrown in a cell as a traitor. Instead, her twin took charge of the boy and accompanied the guard when they escorted him home and questioned his family about the story he had told. The boy and his family were terrified all, but they had their lives in the end.
“The King of Adderton did not order the deaths of your father’s messengers, Carys.” Errik frowned.
“I saw their heads myself.”
“I don’t doubt they died,” Errik insisted. “But King Lukha did not have a hand in it.”
“Defending him is not helping your own case.”
Errik grabbed hold of her arm before she could turn. “King Lukha sent messengers to your father with two treaties that I know of, which would have ended the war. Both were rejected out of hand.”
“I know of no messages received by my father.”
His fingers eased their grip, but he didn’t release his hold as he said, “That doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.”
That was true. Messengers on both sides could have been intercepted and the situations manipulated to further someone’s agenda. Or Errik could be lying to further gain her trust. To prove she needed him.
Errik’s fingers trailed down her arm and touched her hand. “If we travel into Adderton, I would be able to prove I speak the truth. King Lukha’s fatigue with the war is well-known.”
Carys jerked back. “You wish me to travel with you into a kingdom that views me as the enemy? A kingdom whose subjects killed my family?”
“It is the last place anyone would ever look for Princess Carys of Eden. And if we ride to the town near my uncle’s stronghold, we could learn more about what my cousin was doing in the Palace of Winds. My uncle has always considered himself to be the rightful heir to the Throne of Light. Imogen had to be working to help him gain the crown. If you intend to return, you need to know who else was helping them and what the entirety of their plan might be.”
“If I intend to return?”
Errik brushed his fingers against hers. “Everyone in Eden believes you to be dead. It is up to you whether or not they learn different. You could choose something else. You could choose to be free of the life you were born into and start a new one.”
Freedom.
The word echoed inside her. The wind fluttered the jagged edge of her hair as if affirming she could choose between the walls she was born behind and what lay beyond.
The very idea was dazzling. The chance to be whatever she chose. The chance to . . .
No. She shook her head. There could be no freedom. Not like this. Not when Eden was in danger and her brother was . . .
“If you think you know how to do it better, then feel free to try.” Larkin’s voice cut across the night. Carys stepped away from Errik and turned as Larkin appeared at the mouth of the cave with a small torch flickering in her hand. Larkin spotted them and crossed the snow looking as if she wanted to throttle something—or in this case someone. “Garret is taking charge of setting up camp for the night. He would like me to mend his trousers, an honor I have declined.”
“I am certain he is suitably crushed by your refusal.” Errik gave a small bow.
Larkin plunked a hand on her hip. “If he is allowed to continue with setting up camp in the cave, we will all end up dead. He’s decided to build a fire.”
“A small fire could prove quite comfortable once—” Errik said.
“Not if it’s built in the wrong place. It is winter. The dirt and rock could warm, soften, and crack. Would you like to get crushed as you sleep? Would you find that comfortable?” Larkin’s eyes narrowed. Carys grabbed the torch from her friend’s hand. “Larkin, come with me.”
Snow crunched beneath her boots as she strode toward the opening in the rock, dipped her head, and climbed into the cave. Garret looked up from where he squatted at the far end of the large oblong space that stretched deep into the rocky hill. A smile lit by the torch he held spread slowly across Garret’s face as he spotted Carys, then faded as Larkin took her place at Carys’s side.
Being tall had always served Carys well at court. It was easier to intimidate other ladies into keeping their distance when you towered several inches over them. Now her height meant she had to stoop to keep from cracking her head against the ceiling of the cave. Larkin, fully upright, glared at Garret and the pile of sticks and leaves he’d placed in the center of the space.
“Have you ever built a fire in a cave, Lord Garret?” Carys asked.
“No, but . . .”
“Larkin.” Carys turned to her friend who had her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Since you and your father have camped in this very cave, I am putting you in charge of keeping us warm without killing us. Garret and Errik will follow whatever instructions you give.”
“You . . . want me to take orders from a commoner?” Garret stood. His hair in the torchlight looked as if it, too, were on fire. The whispering started again. Like mist at the edge of her thoughts. She was dead to all those who loved her, and Garret was upset about answering to her best friend? Her legs trembled, still weakened from the desire for the Tears of Midnight.
Her heart pounded.
The torch flickered.
Leaves scattered.
And the whisper of the wind grew more insistent, asking her to . . .
To what?
“You will take orders from the person I deem best suited for this task.” The air stilled as she handed the torch back to Larkin, then headed for the exit.
“Where are you going?” Larkin and Errik both asked as Carys ducked out of the cave. The two of them followed with Garret not far behind.
“Hunting.” She walked to her mount and pulled a bow and quiver recovered from the armed men from her pack. Her heart still pounded. Her breathing was coming fast and shallow, and the whispers in her mind were pulling at her. She had to get away. She had to think.
“You can’t go alone,” Errik said, pushing past Larkin.
Being alone was exactly what she needed. She needed to think without someone watching her. She needed the quiet. Maybe then she’d be able to figure out what the whispers wanted or why they made her want to scream with rage. “I won’t go far and I won’t be long.”
“Let me go with you,” Larkin offered. “After today it’s clear I should learn how to shoot.”
“I can teach you better when it’s light, and the longer we argue about this the longer it will take. Take our things into the cave and get us set up for the night. Garret, follow Larkin’s instructions. We will discuss what our next steps will be when I return.”
Larkin frowned.
&nb
sp; “Please.”
Larkin turned and flounced past Garret. Had a chill not run up her back, Carys would have smiled at Garret’s irritated scowl.
Carys trekked away from the cave. Behind her was the crunch of boots on the snow. “You would have a better chance of earning my trust if you followed my wishes.”
“If I followed your wishes without questioning them, you would do well not to trust me.”
She turned to find Errik right behind her, his own bow in his hands. “I will not accompany you. But I will be close enough to help if something . . . or someone attacks.”
“And if I refuse?” she demanded.
“I don’t see how you have much of a choice. Unless, of course, you want to finish what you started earlier.” He stepped closer as he said, “Your life is important to me, Carys. I will do what I must to see you safe.”
His hand touched her face with a gentleness that stole her breath and made her mind swim with confusion. Warmth swirled through her stomach. The anger churning inside her vanished like smoke. His eyes were clear of the calculation that had defined her life, and she froze under that gaze, uncertain how to respond.
“This feeling,” he said in a voice that sounded as puzzled as she felt. “It is not what I wanted, but I will not turn away from it because you are afraid.”
Carys straightened her shoulders. “I am not afraid.”
“Really?” Errik leaned down so his mouth was a breath from hers.
Blood pounded in her ears. Wind whipped at her cloak. She heard the dare and saw the amusement in his eyes. She might still be weak and confused, but there was one thing she was certain of—she wasn’t a coward.
Carys grabbed his head and crushed her mouth against his. Without the Tears of Midnight in her, feelings exploded. Anger pulsed. Desire leaped. Everything inside her crackled with want. Never had she been allowed to want for herself. Duty came first. Duty meant everything. Now, she reveled in the taste of Errik. Of his desire for her. Of the way it felt to be a woman instead of someone’s weapon or shield.
Errik’s hands pressed against the small of her back and desire was doused with pain. She gasped and Errik immediately pulled back.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” she said.
“The lashes.” His fingers tilted her face to look at him and he frowned. “You’re in pain. You’re still healing, and I hurt you.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Carys,” Errik said, taking her hands and holding them between his own—keeping her fingers warm in his. “You can admit to me when you hurt. You are allowed to show your weaknesses. If you let me, I will lend you my strength until you are ready to fight again.”
The kisses had fired her body. But the words cracked the walls she had built around her heart.
A sob built in her chest. Without the walls, who was she? Who would she even want to be?
She bent down and picked up the bow and quiver she had dropped. “I’m going to hunt,” she said. “Alone.”
“I will find you if you need me. Always.”
She walked away listening for the sound of footsteps following her. There were none.
The moonlight was bright against the thin layer of snow as she navigated the uneven, rocky path leading around the hill. Until now, she had thought the walls surrounding her were a curse, as much as Andreus’s illness. Something that controlled her life.
Now, she wasn’t sure. Errik claimed she was free, but she had never felt more trapped.
Carys pulled an arrow out of the quiver and notched it in the bow as she walked—aware that Errik was behind her watching. When she reached a group of trees, she angled to the left and ducked behind a tall outcropping of the rocky hillside where she was no longer in sight of the cave.
Her legs buckled and she grabbed the rock for support. The taste of fear was bitter in her mouth. The whispers she had been hearing for days grew louder. She huddled deep inside her cloak. Tears she had refused to let flow welled. Under them bubbled fear and hurt and longing.
Longing for the Tears of Midnight and the oblivion they brought.
For the way Errik made her feel when she stood at his side.
For Andreus and the way things used to be.
Fear that she’d made the wrong choice by leaving the palace. By pretending to be dead. By leaving the walls that she’d hated, but understood.
For the first time, she had no orders other than the ones that she gave to herself. No clear direction other than the one she chose. Garret thought he knew how to proceed. Errik did, too. They both seemed so sure.
But they couldn’t both be followed.
So, Bisog or Adderton?
Anxiety churned her gut and her mind. Cold sweat dripped down her back. If she made the wrong decision . . .
Carys pushed away from the rocks and with shaking hands raised her bow. Her body ached from the cold and her still-healing wounds, but she pushed herself forward. She didn’t know what path to choose, but she did know how to pull strength from an empty well. She’d done it time and again.
She drew the bow. The flex of the wood, the tension in the string, the rote movements calmed her, as they always did. As a girl she would flee to the tunnels after one of Andreus’s attacks. She could not undo the curse that sucked away his breath and stalled his heart, so she would practice with the bow, and with the sword, and eventually with knives.
Over and over, she would drill until her mind was at peace.
Carys slowly placed one foot in front of the other and focused on the quiet of the night, pushing away all worries and whispers. She concentrated on the sounds around her instead of the confusion raging inside her.
A twig snapped to her left. She searched the shadows for something moving. As a girl, she would stalk the rats that roamed the tunnels below the Palace of Winds. They moved fast and they screeched when her arrows skewered them. Andreus hated the high-pitched sound. He preferred targets to the vermin scurrying along the walls.
Carys saw nothing scurrying now. Her fingers were stiff with cold. Her legs shook, but she refused to go back to the cave without something to show for her efforts. Just as she would not return to Garden City until she had learned something that would help her unmask the ones behind the darkness lurking inside the Palace of Winds.
Garret wanted her to use the strength of his forces to take her place on the throne. She didn’t have to see the strings connected to his offer to know they were there, just as she didn’t have to travel to Adderton to understand Errik had not been honest about all that would be waiting down that path.
Two choices.
Two men.
Both believed they knew what was best, but neither had hunted the rats under the palace. Like Andreus, they aimed at the target in plain sight.
But whatever rodents had helped Imogen kill Carys’s father and brother—and the men in the dungeon who could have pointed her to those behind it—were walking the halls of the palace under the cloak of the seven virtues. As Imogen had. They claim to walk in the light and yet . . .
A shadow moved up a tree. Carys inhaled, held her breath as she stretched back the string of the bow, then exhaled as she let the arrow fly. The arrow punched through the shadow and it fell from the tree onto the moonlit snow.
Carys approached the gray-furred creature she had felled. It had a white face and black feet. She slit along the white of the creature’s neck to make sure it was dead before lifting it by its long pink tail. Though it weighed at least two stones, the creature reminded her of the rats she had stalked and removed from the palace tunnels. Because she’d had patience to watch them—to learn the way they moved—she had learned the best way to hunt them.
Imogen had been a rat. She’d wormed her way into a hole in the palace defenses. She’d made it her home even as she ate away at the foundation of the kingdom.
How?
Carys had been so focused on Andreus’s betrayal—and the danger Imogen had put them in—that
she hadn’t asked that question before.
How had Imogen been given the position of Seer of Eden? Carys remembered her arrival at the steps outside the Palace of Winds not long after the old seer’s death. She had been accompanied on her journey by palace guards and said her guild had foreseen the death of Seer Kheldin. The Queen had flown into a rage when Carys’s father shut her out of the meetings to decide whether the young seeress was acceptable. A week after the old seer was buried, it was announced Lady Imogen would take up residence in the Tower of Light.
Imogen had trained in the Village of Night for years. Which meant Imogen’s father, Errik’s uncle, must have been plotting even longer—for decades perhaps—for Imogen to gain admission to the Palace of Winds.
Carys looked down at the kill in her hands. The whispers at the edge of her mind returned.
Her enemies had patience. They knew how to hunt.
Well, so did she. And now she knew where the hunt would start.
4
“No!”
Max disappeared over the side of the battlements. The hooded figure bolted toward the entrance to the tower stairs.
Andreus couldn’t breathe.
Rage burned. Footsteps sounded. Andreus’s chest clenched as he stumbled forward against the stone wall.
He forced himself to look over the edge.
Max whimpered. The boy’s fingers desperately clung to the narrow ledge. His small face was pinched and desperate. His eyes closed tight.
“Hang on, Max,” Andreus yelled, grabbing Max’s hand. The boy’s eyes flew open and the grip Max had on the wall slipped.
“Help!” Max screamed. Andreus dug his fingers into Max’s wrists as the boy’s sudden drop almost yanked him off his feet. But he didn’t let go. He wasn’t going to lose the boy.
“Andreus!” Max cried over the churning of the windmill above.
“It’s going to be okay,” Andreus shouted. “Just hang on to me and try to stay as still as you can.” He gritted his teeth and pulled.
The boy rose an inch . . . two . . . three.
Andreus’s chest tightened again.