He stared at her, the same severe expression I saw him wear in my wanderings at the citadelle, but now it was intensified, as if he were calculating the veracity of every word Gwyneth uttered. He finally reached inside his cloak and threw a small bag onto the table. “I’ll speak with the king and queen. Don’t mention this to anyone else.”
Gwyneth reached out and took the bag in her hand as if weighing it, then smiled. “You have my silence.”
“It’s good to work with you again, Gwyneth. Where did you say you were staying?”
“I didn’t.”
He leaned forward. “I ask only because I might be able to help you with more comfortable accommodations. Like before.”
“Very generous of you. Let me know what the king and queen have to say, and then we’ll discuss my accommodations.”
She smiled, fluttered her lashes, tilted her head the way I had seen her do with countless tavern patrons and then, when he left, she sat back and a waxy sheen of sweat lit her face. She reached up and wiped damp strands of hair from her forehead.
I walked over to her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but clearly she was shaken. From the moment he’d mentioned the child, I had seen everything about Gwyneth grow tighter. “You had a baby with the Chancellor?” I asked.
Fury swept through her eyes. “Stillborn,” she said sharply.
“But, Gwyneth—”
“Stillborn, I said! Leave it, Pauline.”
She could say and pretend whatever she wanted, but I still knew the truth. She distrusted the Chancellor so much she wouldn’t even tell him about his own child.
* * *
A package arrived at the inn the next day. It wasn’t addressed to the messenger service but directly to Gwyneth at the inn. It held a larger bag of coins than the day before and a note.
I’ve inquired of the parties you mentioned, and they have no interest in pursuing the matter. They both consider it best left as is, with a reminder that the city is still in mourning for Princess Greta and their concerns lie now with Crown Prince Walther, whose company of men has gone missing. This is for your troubles and discretion.
The king and queen had turned their backs on their daughter? Best left as is? To be tortured and killed at the hands of barbarians? I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn’t believe they would abandon their own daughter, but then the word mourning struck me.
I sat on the bed, my strength drained, and guilt overwhelmed me. Mourning I understood. In all my worry for Lia, I had almost forgotten about Greta and the tragedy that set Lia on the road back to Civica in the first place. Walther’s haunting expression loomed in front of me again, and the way he had looked as he huddled in the mud behind the icehouse. The horror in his eyes. He hadn’t seemed like Lia’s brother at all, but a shell of the man he had once been. At least I hadn’t seen Mikael killed right before my eyes. Lia had told me only that he died bravely in battle. Now I wondered if a soulless barbarian like Kaden had shot an arrow through his throat too. I cradled my stomach, feeling the grief again.
“We need to leave,” Gwyneth said. “Immediately.”
“No,” I argued. “I’m not leaving just because—”
“Not Civica. This inn. This hamlet. The Chancellor figured out where I’m staying. He must have bribed the messenger. Now he’ll either be expecting me to be on my way, or paying me a visit for other favors. It won’t be long before he discovers you.”
I didn’t argue. I’d heard his voice when he asked, Where is she? He hadn’t asked out of concern for my well-being.
For when the Dragon strikes,
It is without mercy,
And his teeth sink in,
With hungry delight.
—Song of Venda
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Behind me, Aster, Yvet, and Zekiah laid out the clothes piece by piece. They told me not to look until they were ready. It was easy for me not to peek, because my mind was still occupied elsewhere. I couldn’t shake the heaviness in my chest.
It seemed everyone and everything I encountered was laced with deception, from Rafe and Kaden, to the Chancellor and Royal Scholar—even my own mother—and in the Sanctum were strange men hidden away in the caverns who clearly didn’t belong here. Was anything what it seemed to be? I stared out my window, watching birds flying home to roost. The scaled stone armor of a monster settled into rest, and its jagged back was silhouetted against a darkening horizon. The grimness of night fell on an already grim city.
There was a tug on my trousers, and Yvet told me to come look. I wiped my eyes and turned. Yvet scampered away to stand between Aster and Zekiah, all three straight-backed like proud soldiers. Aster’s grin faded. “What’s wrong, Miz? Your cheeks are all splotchy-flushy like.”
Their faces stopped me, innocence and expectancy, smudges and bread crumbs, hunger and hope. There was at least something real and true to be found in this city.
“Miz?”
I pinched my cheeks and smiled. “I’m fine, Aster.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked over toward the bed. My gaze jumped from bed, to barrel, to trunk, to chair.
I shook my head. “This isn’t what I bought today.”
“Sure it is! See right there on the chair. A shirt and trousers for riding, just like you asked.”
“What about everything else? It’s too much. The few coins I gave—”
Aster and Zekiah grabbed my hands and dragged me across the room to the bed. “Effiera, Maizel, Ursula, and a passel of others worked all day to have these ready for you.”
A flutter swooped through my chest, and I reached down to touch one of the dresses. It wasn’t fancy, and wasn’t made of fine fabrics—if anything, just the opposite. It was stitched together with scraps, pieces of soft leathers dyed in the muted greens, reds, and deep browns of the forest, strips of fur, ragged edges hanging loose, some trailing to the floor. I swallowed. It was decidedly Vendan, but it was something else too.
Aster giggled. “She likes it,” she said to the others.
I nodded, still confused. “Yes, Aster,” I whispered. “Very much.” I knelt so I was level with Yvet and Zekiah. “But why?”
Yvet’s pale eyes were wide and watery. “Effiera liked your name. She said anyone with a pretty name like that deserved pretty clothes.”
Aster and Zekiah shot a worried glance over Yvet’s head.
I narrowed my eyes at one, then the other. “And?”
“Old Elder Haragru had a dream a long time ago when he still had a tooth right here,” Aster said, tugging on her front tooth, “and he hasn’t stopped wagging about it since. He’s not quite right in his head with all his piled-on years, but Effiera says he described someone like you, who would come from far away. Someone who should be wearing—”
Zekiah reached behind Yvet and pinched Aster. She pulled her shoulders back, catching herself. “It’s only a story,” she said. “But Elder Haragru likes to tell it over and over. You know.” Aster knocked on her head and rolled her eyes.
I stood and chewed on my lower lip. “I have no way of paying Effiera for all these clothes. I’ll have to send them back with you—”