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CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO

Dawsyn runs the rest of the way to the palace walls with Ryon at her heels.

“Dawsyn, wait! They will kill you in moments if you threaten their Queens. DAWSYN!”

Let them try.

Let them aim their arrows at her heart.

She barrels on with blood pounding in her ears, blocking the sound of Ryon’s warnings. He makes no attempts to grab her, so she allows him to keep his hands. It is not the time to deal with him yet.

Dawsyn reaches the walls of the palace and slows. She tempers the beast in her belly that begs her to lunge and claw its way through. She puts the knife in its hidden sheath at her hip as she approaches the gates and makes her steps light and calm. It is excruciating.

She knocks in a measured way. Her fist trembling.

“Dawsyn, please do not do this now,” Ryon whispers. “I know you want answers, and you deserve them, but wait. We can return tomorrow.”

A slat slides away in the gate, and two eyes appear, examining them.

“Yes?” says the voice beyond.

“My name is Dawsyn Sabar,” she says. “I’d like to meet with the Queens. They said I was welcome at any time.” Her voice comes calmly, but it isn’t without effort, and she knows that if this guard does not grant her entrance, he will meet his end.

The slat closes, and there is a muffled shout from beyond. Moments later, the sound of grinding wood greets her, and the gates open. Two more guards wait beyond them. One of them raises a hand and beckons them in.

In the palace courtyard, the guards direct Dawsyn and Ryon to lift their arms and their bodies are patted as the guards search. They find Dawsyn’s blade and she delivers a meek smile as they remove it. They take away Ryon’s short sword and Dawsyn’s stomach twists.

“They will be returned to you upon your leave,” a guard says curtly.

The archers are there at the parapet, shrewdly eyeing them, but this time, their arrows are not aimed.

They follow the guard to the portcullis and wait for it to rise, the iron clattering loudly.

On the other side, Ruby – captain of the guard – awaits. “Miss Sabar,” she calls over the clamor. “You’ve returned so soon.”

“Yes,” Dawsyn says, approaching. “I hope to speak with Queen Alvira.”

“Of course. I assume this is in regard to the recent raids in the south of the valley?”

So, they know, Dawsyn thinks.They knew, and once more, they failed to lend their hand.

“It is.”

At the glimpse of restless movement beside her, Dawsyn shoots Ryon a warning glance. She can practically feel him burning with the need to take action. He seems at war with the urge to grab her and flee. He silently pleads with her, and it only serves to anger Dawsyn more.

They follow Ruby back into the stunningly bright throne room, where the domed ceiling showcases the best of the morning light. Ruby leaves them to retrieve the Queens, and Dawsyn’s eyes turn to the thrones themselves. She wonders if her ancestors once sat upon them. She wonders if her own grandmother ever did.

“Dawsyn,” Ryon begs, his voice low. His fingers curl over hers, but she pulls her hand away. “Dawsyn, tell me what you plan.”

Dawsyn turns from him. She does not have a plan.

And it seems she is the only one.

Queens Alvira and Cressida enter moments later, followed by three guards and Ruby. The guards remain by the entrance to the hall, but the Queens move closer, their expressions guarded beneath the lines of their faces.

“Dawsyn! I am so relieved to see that you and your friend are safe and well. I feared the Glacian raiders might have happened across you.”

“Did you?” Dawsyn says, sharper than she intended.