The remainderof the journey to Mirith, a total of three days by carriage, passed in a lackluster blur. Ru had no more nighttime visitors. Gwyneth and Archie kept her somewhat sane, distracting her with games and tame, silly topics of conversation. Even Lord D’Luc was blessedly quiet most of the time, only waxing poetic every night by the fire when he would regale the traveling party with tales of Festra or an eerie Mekyan folktale.
The artifact’s voice was vague at the edges of her consciousness. Ever since Taryel’s arrival and subsequent departure, it had lain dormant in her mind, sleeping. It had been Taryel’s presence that had set it off, made it so insistent that night. There was no other possibility in Ru’s mind, nothing more obvious than the fact that his nearness to her set the artifact alight.
The distant spires of Mirith appeared on the horizon just before dusk of the third day. They had made good time andwould arrive at the palace just in time for bed. While Ru knew what lay in store for her in the palace, the sight of the city comforted her. It had been her home until she moved to the Cornelian Tower four years ago. She had missed its colors, its smells, the chaotic shouts of merchants, and the smell of pastries and strong coffee in the mornings. She had missed the narrow cobbled streets and alleyways, hung with drying laundry, like mismatched bunting.
But as they passed into the city and made their way south toward the bay over which the palace sprawled, Ru’s fleeting joy at the return to her old home dissipated in the wake of dread. The closer they came to the palace, the quieter her friends grew until the conversation stopped altogether.
Gwyneth and Archie were afraid; Ru could tell. Just like she was. The dread of the unknown seemed to congeal on their tongues, holding them hostage. Ru glanced at her friends, and they shared a look of unspoken support, of loyalty.
We have each other. We’ll always have that, if nothing else.
The palace shone like a hulking beacon at night, lit by a myriad of lanterns both inside and out. Footmen in fine livery came to greet the carriages as they pulled up, helping their passengers disembark. Bags of luggage were gathered and whisked into the palace.
Ru watched everything through a haze of distraction. She kept wondering, despite herself, about Taryel. Where he’d come from, where he’d gone. She hated that her heart quickened at the thought of him.He’s my enemy, she reminded herself. They were connected, that fact was obvious. But until Ru understood it, until she learned how to break it, that bond was nothing but a problem to be solved.
Gwyneth and Archie stood near Ru, watching as Lord D’Luc ordered the Children and footmen about with clipped, aristocratic words. When the carriages and footmen had gone atlast, a pair of figures exited the palace through opulent double doors, the gold in their armor glinting in lamplight and the plumes of their hats swaying as they walked.
They were two women, one tall with dark skin and a no-nonsense gaze, the other pale, with a smile framed by curling brown hair.
“Sybeth,” Ru said, the relief clear in her voice. “Rosylla.”
“Here comes trouble,” Lyr said, but his tone was jovial, and a crooked smile warmed his usually gruff expression.
The King’s Riders strode forward and stopped to greet Lord D’Luc, who had moved toward them with a sweep of his frock coat, its embroidery catching the lamplight.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” said Sybeth, giving him a stiff nod.
Rosylla beamed at Ru, even giving her a little wave while Lord D’Luc shared low words with Sybeth.
Gwyneth, Ru, and Archie smiled back, and for a brief second, Ru felt like a schoolgirl again, young and overwhelmed, grateful for any show of kindness or affection.
Then Hugon spun on his heel, gesturing impatiently. “Delara, Tenoria, Hill. The King’s Riders will show you to your rooms. Delara, clean up quickly — you’ll be dining with Regent Sigrun tonight.” The words, harmless as they were, sounded like a threat in his clipped tone.
“Yes, sir,” Archie said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
“Oh, and Lyr,” Hugon added, ushering the academics past him, “you’re relieved from duty until tomorrow morning.”
Lyr bowed slightly, shot Ru a reassuring glance, then trotted off toward a side door in the palace. No doubt the barracks where King’s Riders and guards slept, a place where Ru would have given anything to be just then. She imagined Lyr would spend the night laughing and sharing tales with his peers, drinking ale, and then falling into a simple, but warm, bed.
Meanwhile, she would be laced tight into a gown and expected to be on her best behavior. That meant smiling, charming the regent, pretending that everything was perfectly fine and that she wasn’t at the palace for the express purpose of ending the world.
Lord D’Luc disappeared shortly after they entered the palace, leaving Sybeth and Rosylla alone to guide the three academics. As soon as he was gone, Rosylla slowed her pace to walk alongside Ru.
“We missed you,” she said, still grinning as if Ru’s appearance was the best thing that had ever happened to her. “It’s been months since you were here. I’m sure your brother will be dying to catch up.”
“Rosylla.” Sybeth’s voice was low, a warning.
Rosylla shot Ru a conspiratorial glance and murmured, “Sybeth doesn’t trust Lord D’Luc.”
“Rosylla,” Sybeth said, sharper this time.
Ru smiled. They were still her allies, then. She wondered whether she might be able to speak to them alone soon, to get a better understanding of the situation at the palace. After all, Rosylla had been a friend to Ru since they had met, sharing sweets and coffee, on that fateful ride from Dig Site 33 to the Shattered City months ago.
“So you’re the famous Rosylla,” Gwyneth said, clearly noting tension and nudging the subject in a new direction. “Ru told us all about you, how kind you are. And you as well, Sybeth.”
“Is that so?” Sybeth said, turning slightly, eyebrow raised.
“Sybeth and Rosylla are celebrities back at the Cornelian Tower,” said Archie.
