Ru was shaking now, as everything she’d seen and heard in the throne room sunk in.
“She’s coming with me,” continued Taryel. “You haven’t explainedshitto her, as expected.”
“I’ve been very clear,” the lord said; the calm in his expression was a warning. “Delara isn’t a child. She knows exactly what is expected of her.”
“Both of you can kindly take a dive off the tallest tower in the palace,” Ru spat, pulling away from Taryel. Her head was beginning to clear. “You’re pathetic, the two of you. Would you like a pair of dueling pistols to clear things up? Or perhaps a pair of rapiers? I’d happily watch you gut each other.”
“Oneof us would certainly face evisceration,” said Lord D’Luc.
Without another word, too angry to respond, Ru spun on her heel and left them. She wanted to find Gwyneth and Archie. She needed to get away from these men, from this throne room, as far away as she could manage.
“Delara,” Lyr said, as she rushed past into the hallway. It was quiet now, though Ru could hear continued chanting in the throne room.
“I want to be alone,” snapped Ru.
“Sorry,” Lyr replied, his long strides keeping him easily at her side. “Orders.”
Ru made a loud, angry sound of frustration.
Another set of footsteps echoed in the corridor, hurried and heavy.
“If it’s Taryel,” Ru muttered, “would you mind stabbing him for me?”
Lyr glanced down. “This sword’s more for slicing than stabbing, but—”
“Wait,” said Taryel, breathless.
Ru stopped in her tracks, spinning to glare at the Destroyer. He was no longer wearing that horrible circlet, and his hair hung in loose black waves around his ears. She clung desperately to her rage, the only thing that felt real and true just then.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
He skidded to a halt, holding his hands up in placation. “I’ve told you, Ru. You’re always welcome to stab me. Or slice.” He risked a weak smile at Lyr. “I know you’re angry.”
“What an intelligent hypothesis, Taryel. Or should I call you Festra?”
He winced. “I can explain everything. If you’ll let me.”
Lyr crossed his arms in warning.
Ru sighed, a long, drawn-out exhalation, as if to rid herself of everything that had been said in the throne room. Even in her ire, she couldn’t look away from Taryel. He was oil to her flame. He was inextricable.
“Fine,” she said.
Taryel raised a hesitant eyebrow. “Fine, what?”
“Fine, I’ll let you explain. But you’ll have to do it now.”
“Now?” Taryel asked. “Here?”
“You arethe most wretchedly slow… no, nothere,” Ru said. “I need tea and a warm dressing gown. And to not be overheard by the entire court of Navenie. We’re going back to my rooms.”
Ru was situatedon her sofa, wrapped in a fur-lined dressing gown, a cup of steaming tea balanced between three fingers. Her hair fell in a dark waterfall over her shoulders, and her slippered feet were drawn up under her for warmth. If she was going to face Taryel that evening, she would do it in as much comfort as she could manage.
Taryel, on the other hand, was perched stiffly in one of the armchairs opposite the sofa. He watched her darkly, blowing on his tea to cool it. She hadn’t allowed him to speak until she was ready, and like an obedient dog, he had waited.
“Now,” she said at last, sipping her tea, “you may talk.”
“Everything I said back there,” he said quickly, as if he’d been waiting desperately to say the words, “everything that happened in the throne room, none of that was my idea.”