In the wake of her relief came dread. But why hadn’t he written sooner? Something must be wrong. Something must have happened. The last time she had heard from her brother, he had written to caution her about the Children. She wished she had attended to his words earlier, somehow. She wished she had left the Cornelian Tower, escaped the clutches of Lord D’Luc, abandoned Fen before he could betray her.
“Well?” said Lyr, shifting his weight from one boot to another. “You going to read it?”
Ru glanced up at him, his kind eyes watching her face with obvious concern. She relaxed slightly. She was grateful for Lyr, his constant presence, an anchor of normality in her life. Unrolling the parchment, she read it quickly, heart in her throat.
Dearest sister,
I do hope your handsome guard Lyrren has brought this to you immediately.
I’ll try to keep things brief. As you can see, I’m alive and well as of writing this. And I’ve a new patron, whose name shall remain unwritten for both our sakes. There’s something not right about the woman — she’s beautiful, naturally, but her charisma reaches far beyond the norm. And she’s aware of you, Ru. If that wasn’t unsettling enough, she knows more about you than she should.
There is something rotten afoot at the palace. I can’t say more without compromising myself and, by extension, you, but a wretched web of influence stretches from Mirith to the court of Navenie.
I’m safe, which ought to be obvious, but I know how you worry. Just promise me that whatever you do, stay at the Tower. Keep Lyr close. Keep Horrid Hugon closer. And don’t do anything to draw attention from the Regent. My worst fear is that you’ll end up here at court, embroiled in the horrific mess I’m currently trying to navigate.
Burn this, by the way.
Your loving and devoted brother,
Simon
Lyr yanked the letter out of her fingers before she could stop him. He scanned it with a frown that deepened with every second until he crumpled the parchment in his fist. Pushing past Ru, he went to the fireplace and tossed the letter into the burning embers.
“Lyr!” she hissed.
The King's Guard faced her, looking stormier than she’d ever seen him. “He said burn it.”
“What if I wanted to read it again?”
“I’ll kill Lord D’Luc for you.”
Ru snorted. “Sweet of you, but no.”
“I’ll do it,” Lyr insisted, moving toward her, large hand on the pommel of his sword. “I don’t know what’s going on at the palace, but your brother knows more secrets than anyone in Navenie. We can end Lord D’Luc’s influence right here and now. Let me take care of it.”
“Ithinkthat might draw the Regent’s attention,” Ru said, moving to sit on her velvet settee.
The King's Guard was still frowning deeply. “The Tower is safe for you,” he said, “as long as D’Luc decides it is. He finds out your brother is prying into his business, he’s liable to explode, worse than he has already. Just like he wants that magic rock to do. I’ll kill him. You’ll escape to Solmaria. I’ll get you a horse.”
“IIf Regent Sigrun is caught up in this, I don’t think running to Solmaria will exactly absolve me of Lord D’Luc’s murder, nor will it solve any of the bigger dangers at hand.” She smiled despite herself. “I’ve never heard you use so many words in sequence.”
His heavy dark eyebrows lowered over a fervent gaze. In the firelight, Ru became — as she sometimes did — aware of just how young Lyr really was. In his late twenties, he wasn’t much older than her brother, or Fen… who, she reminded herself, didn’t exist.
“I don’t waste words,” he said.
“Which I appreciate. But don’t kill Lord D’Luc. Yet.” She forced a smile. “I’ll be fine, I just need to think. I need Arch and Gwyn.”
“I’ll get them,” said Lyr, and turned to go.
“Wait,” said Ru, reaching out, her hand extended in the firelight. Their gazes met, and she felt in that moment that if she had asked for it, the taciturn guard would have embraced her. He would have given her the comfort she sorely needed, a body to cling to in the dark. He was her bodyguard, but he was also a friend, and a generous one.
“Be careful,” was all she said.
Lyr only nodded, a quick jerk of the chin, and then he was gone.
Morning broke over a dreary sky.Gwyneth lifted a porcelain cup to her lips, sipped, and spat out the brown liquid with a sputtering curse. “Cold!” she gasped. “What time is it?”
“Sunrise,” said Archie, sipping his own cold tea and wrinkling his nose. “More tea?”
