“Back?”
“That’s the other thing we need to tell you. We’re being dispatched to the City of Sacraments next week, and after we finish up there, my squad is going on to Gitos while Bryn’s goes to Cortenai. We’ll make stops at cities along the way.”
“You’re both leaving?” I said a bit too loudly, and Gwyneth cleared her throat as a warning reminder. I lowered my voice. “How is that possible with Walther dead and your father ill? You’re the crown prince now, and Bryn’s next in line. You can’t leave Civica. Protocol requires at least one of you—”
Bryn reached out and squeezed my hands. “These are hard times, Pauline. The foundations of Morrighan are shaken. The Lesser Kingdoms have seen the falling-out between us and Dalbreck; the crown prince has been butchered along with the sons of great nobles and lords; my father is ill, and my sister is presumed to have joined forces with the enemy. The Watch Captain says it’s not a time to hunker down and cower but to show our strength and confidence. It was decided by the cabinet. Regan and I questioned the order too, but my father confirmed this is what he wanted.”
“You spoke to him yourself?” Berdi asked.
Regan and Bryn looked at each other briefly, something unspoken passing between them. “Yes,” Regan answered. “He nodded affirmation when we questioned him on the order.”
“He’s not well!” Gwyneth said with disbelief. “He wasn’t thinking clearly. That will leave the throne at risk if he should take a turn for the worse.”
“The physician assured us it’s safe for us to leave, and as the Watch Captain said, nothing can bolster the confidence of the troops and neighboring kingdoms like the appearance of the king’s sons.”
I looked at Bryn and Regan, whose expressions were sending mixed messages. They were torn. This wasn’t just about restoring confidence. “It’s to prove that you’re still loyal to the crown, even if your sister isn’t.”
Regan nodded. “A divided family instills fear and anarchy. That’s the last thing we need right now.”
And there had been fear. In some ways their mission made sense, but it still felt wrong. I saw the worry in their eyes.
“You both still believe in Lia, don’t you?”
Bryn’s eyes softened. “You don’t need to ask, Pauline. We love our sister, and we know her. Please don’t worry. Trust us on this.”
There was something about the way he said it. Gwyenth noticed too. She eyed them suspiciously. “There’s something you’re not telling us.”
“No,” Regan said firmly. “Nothing else.” He looked down at my belly, barely disguised now by my loose cloak. “Promise us you’ll lie low. Stay away from the citadelle. We’ll return as soon as we can.”
Berdi, Gwyneth, and I exchanged glances, then nodded.
“Good,” Bryn said. “We’ll walk to the gate with you.”
The graveyard was nearly empty. Only a few mourners still lingered. The rest had returned to their homes to prepare for eventide remembrances. One young man, dressed in full warrior armor with his weapons at his sides, remained on his knees before the memorial stone, his head bent, every angle of his body bearing a deep agony.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“Andrés, the Viceregent’s son,” Regan answered. “He’s the only one from Walther’s platoon who’s still alive. He was sick with fever when they rode out and couldn’t go with them. He’s come here every day since the stone was placed to light a candle. The Viceregent says Andrés is racked with guilt for not being there with his fellow soldiers.”
“So that he could die too?”
Bryn shook his head. “So that maybe they all might have lived.”
We stared at him, probably each of us wondering the same thing—could one more soldier really have made a difference?
When the brothers left, I told Gwyneth and Berdi to wait for me, that I’d be right back. I understood Andrés’s guilt, the anguish of reliving moments and wondering what could have been done differently. In those weeks after Lia disappeared, I relived that morning of Kaden dragging me into the brush a hundred times, thinking I should have grabbed his knife, kicked him, done something that could have changed everything—but instead I had only trembled, frozen with terror as he pressed his face close to mine and threatened to kill us. If I had a second chance, I would do it all so differently.
Andrés was still kneeling at the memorial stone when I returned. Maybe I could pull two purposes from this moment that would help us both. If he loved the platoon and Walther so deeply, he also knew how close Walther and Lia were. He may have even been one of those who helped Walther plant false leads when Lia and I ran. When I approached him, he looked up, searching the shadows of my hood.
“They were good men,” I said.
He swallowed and nodded agreement.
“No one thought so more than Lia. I’m sure she never would have betrayed them.”
I watched him closely to see if he recoiled at her name. He didn’t.
“Lia,” he said thoughtfully, as if reminiscing. “Only her brothers called her by that name. You knew her well?”
“No,” I said, realizing my error. “But I met Prince Walther once, and he spoke fondly of her. He told me at great length about their devotion to each other.”
He nodded. “Yes, all the royal siblings were close. I always envied them that. My only brother died when I was small, and my half brother—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He looked up at me, peering closer, as if trying to get a better glimpse. “I don’t think I caught your name. What may I call you?”
I searched quickly for a name, and my mother’s came to mind. “Marisol,” I answered. “My father has a candlery in the next hamlet. I came to pay my respects and heard some other mourners mention you were the lone survivor. I hope I haven’t intruded. I wished only to offer you comfort. This was the work of ruthless barbarians and no one else. There was nothing you could have done.”
He reached out and boldly squeezed my hand. “So others have told me too, including my father. I’m trying to believe it.” I was rewarded when some of the agony in his expression lifted.
“I will keep them—and you—in my remembrances,” I promised. I slipped my hand free and kissed two fingers, lifting them to the heavens before I turned and walked away.
“Thank you, Marisol,” he called after me. “I hope I’ll see you again.”
You most definitely will, Andrés.
Gwyneth’s eyes flashed with anger when I rejoined her. “Speaking with the Viceregent’s son? How is that lying low?”
I answered her with a smug smile. “Have some faith in me, Gwyneth. Aren’t you the one who said I had to stop playing nice girl? He may know something that we’ll find helpful. Maybe now I’m the one who’s become the spy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
RAFE
I walked into the surgeon’s bungalow.
Tavish, Jeb, Griz, and Kaden were all laid out on cots being treated. Kaden had hidden the fact that he’d been wounded as well—a gash on his lower back. A small wound but still in need of stitches. Orrin and Sven sat in chairs across from them, their feet propped up on the patients’ cots.