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Lawrence eyes me, his expression inscrutable, and then he looks at a nearby guard. “Fetch Roark. He’s returned to his forge.”

“I’ll go,” I say wearily, already turning from the king and his men.

“Are you all right?” Bartholomew asks as we climb the steps.

We leave the stone mausoleum and emerge into the main level of the castle once more.

“He’s my father,” I answer. “I was going to have to talk to him eventually. Now’s as good a time as any.”

* * *

Bartholomew hesitates outside the smithy, looking like he’s not sure he should go inside.

“It’s all right,” I tell him, answering his silent question. “I’m not here for a heart-to-heart.”

“Brielle says you haven’t spoken with him since he returned.”

I turn to my squire. “You’re with my sister often these days.”

His eyes widen, and he gulps.

“Later,” I tell him when it looks like he’s going to start stammering excuses.

I pause when I push through the door, startled to find I’m not accosted with the usual heat. The forge sleeps, and the workroom is quiet and dark. The shutters, which are always open to allow for a cooling cross-breeze, are closed.

The house is empty as well. As I’m rounding the back, assuming Father must be in the nearby tavern because that’s the only other place he haunts, I find him.

Bent at the waist, he stands in the patch that was once Mother’s garden, ripping overgrown weeds from the ground. I used to tend the area, but it’s gone wild since I became a commander. Despite the lack of care, a persistent yellow rose blooms on the arbor, sunshine amongst the bindweed and thistles.

“It’s too damp for such a chore,” I tell him without bothering with a greeting. “You’ve neglected it for the last fifteen years. At least wait until the storm moves out.”

“Henrik,” he says gruffly as he straightens, startled to see me after I’ve been avoiding him for a month. His eyes move to Bartholomew, assessing the king’s cousin, and then they slide back to me. “Your knighting ceremony is tonight.”

“It’s been postponed.” I hope my curt tone will deliver the message that I don’t wish to speak about it. “I have to go to Heistone.”

“Postponed?” Father drops his arms, his lips curling as his eyes go hard. “Why?”

“We’ve just learned elven war golems are being smuggled into the port city. Lawrence is sending me to find answers.”

“I thought your friend’s mother was in charge of Revalane now?”

“This isn’t Lady Ellaine’s doing. We believe whoever is behind it is acting of their own volition. It’s likely a revenge plot concocted by one of Augmirian’s men.”

Though none of them seemed motivated enough to do such a thing. Something feels off, but I’ll find out what it is soon enough.

“Our informant brought one of the smuggled shipments to us, and we’re studying it for weaknesses. His Majesty wishes to speak with you about the talvernum alloy you created. That’s why I’ve come.”

Father takes a step back, nearly tripping over a bucket that’s half-hidden in pigweed. “I didn’t forge the golems.”

“You created the talvernum alloy.”

“It wasn’t treason,” he snarls, dropping his voice. “Camellia asked me to work on it long before she left Cabaranth.”

“Did you know the elves were constructing golems from the alloy?”

“The only ones I saw were made of talvernum,” he says, anxious. “I used the alloy to create Augmirian’s armor and the necklaces—that’s all. I’m the only one who knows how to smelt it.”

“You didn’t think the High Vales could deconstruct it to learn its secrets?”