Snick.
Rolling off the bed, she drew her sword before she was fully awake. Her feet thumped to the floor.
Vern stood still by the window.
She blinked sleep from her eyes and examined him head to toe. Unharmed. Her sword slid back beneath the sheets.
“The Akeramian was correct,” Vern murmured. “Guards are crawling all over the dungeons. Yelena's bed chambers, as well. And I found Castien.”
“Where is he?” If he was in her bedroom…
“Second floor.”
She let out a breath. Yelena's chambers were close to the throne, on the third floor.
“North side, near the center. He entered a room alone. I couldn't follow – too many guards.” He paused. “I also noticed the Akeramians’ chambers are down the hall from here.”
She shook her head and gestured to her bed. “Get some rest. Balak is not our problem.”
His eyes didn't leave her. “I won't be able to sleep if you go after him.”
“I won't. Not yet.”
He stared.
“Iwon't, Father.”
After a second, he nodded.
Center north of the second floor contained the clerks’ offices, the chapel, and the treasury. She doubted he was being held with the castle’s gold, but the offices and chapel were both plausible. Yelena wasn't particularly religious. She would check the offices first.
The second she decided on a plan, her feet moved toward the window. Her fingers hovered over the latch.
Vern's breathing was even and deep. His face was turned away from the light. Travel had worn them all down. She shouldn't disturb his rest. She had promised. Slowly dropping her hand, she moved beside the bed and sat with her back against the frame, her hand on her sword.
Her head jerked up to the sound of a knock on her door. Scowling, she rose to her feet in a smooth motion. The bed was empty, but the sheets were warm. A light breeze blew in from the window. She closed the latch before moving the chair away from the door.
The same boy from last night entered bearing a thick stack of fabric. He bowed low, his face angled at the floor. His voice was soft. “My Queen offers clothing in Nadraken fashion, fit for a royal. May I help you dress, highness?”
She would rather wear the blood of every person in this castle who had touched Castien. Just to begin with.
She stepped toward the slightly shaking boy, a stray corner of cloth twitching erratically as it dangled off his arm. The servant wasn't at fault. She needed more sleep.
She needed Castien.
“Leave the garments. I do not require an attendant.”
The boy bobbed his head but didn't leave. “My Queen requests your highness’ presence at breakfast in the dining halls. May I let her know when you will be ready?”
“Soon. Tell hersoon.”
The boy bowed, set the clothes on a table, and backed out of the room.
She rifled through the fabric. A few underclothes and shirts were barely acceptable. Otherwise, all Yelena had provided were lacy dresses and gossamer skirts. If Madeline were here, she could have put together something passable. And while doing so, fret after Jerome. Her captain would be fine.
Glancing at the door, she barred it again and changed swiftly. Her leathers slipped over fresh shirts.
There was a half-decent cloak buried in the mess. It was too thin and colorful, but it would have to do. She threw it over her shoulders. A Queen ought to wear decorum like armor, but the bare modicum of civility was all Yelena deserved.
