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Chapter Twelve

Irin

Sinna and I camped at the entrance to the Clifftombs, a spark of hope lighting from the realization someone had to

raise the palace’s drawbridge from the inside. At first light, we walked all around the walls looking for some hint of

an alternate entrance. Sinna was correct about the wards. I am not unknowledgeable about wards and the breaking

of them, but these were constructed on a level I had yet to see in my 25 years of magic studies. Whoever cast these

wards would likely be the only one who could lower them.

-"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 39 of Ber's First Reign

T he twelfth and final name announced by the attendant was definitely the most welcome. It had been the only one I would actually look forward to seeing any time of day.

“Your Highness, Lady Haron Val Toric is your last guest for court.”

I tried to hide the excitement that bubbled inside me, like a nest of bees had been kicked over in my stomach.

Beolf seemed to notice me practically buzzing, rolling his eyes with a huff.

His shoulder pressed against the side of the heavy throne as he leaned with his arms folded tightly across his chest. It was no secret he disliked Haron, but at least he trusted her enough to be at ease… mostly.

Behar, on the other hand, was ecstatic to see her.

He bounded down the steps and trotted to meet her halfway down the red carpet runner with a wagging tail and tongue lolling out.

The way he danced on his front paws until she bent to give him an affectionate pet on his scruffy head melted my heart to a puddle.

After she gave him an acceptable amount of attention, Haron patted her thigh to encourage Behar to stick by her side as she continued on her way toward me.

Behar kept his head tilted up and eyes set on her as he trotted along, eagerly waiting for more attention.

I feel the same, friend. We were both hungry for any scrap of recognition from her.

Even in the massive receiving hall, Haron’s presence filled the space with her radiating confidence.

Everyone else who stepped through those doors gave sniveling, knee-scraping energy that left a dark stain on my mood.

She was once again a refreshing gust of air that swept down the carpeted walkway, shoulders pulled back and head held high as she glided toward the throne.

I could easily see the travel bags buckled to her belt and the sheaths for her sword and thigh dagger strapped to her person, but she moved so smoothly none of her baggage jostled or clanged.

Haron Val Toric may be the only woman in Respar who could attract me just as much with her silent conviction as she did with her sharp wit.

“Prince Irin.”

Haron stopped at the bottom step of the platform, and instead of dipping into the traditional curtsy, bowed low at the waist like a man.

True, it would have looked out of place for her to do such a dainty move in her rugged travel attire, but nonetheless sent Beolf to openly choke on a laugh at her choice of greeting.

Behar nudged her side again, thinking that she was bending over to pet him and making her laugh heartily.

Haron dropped to her knees and buried both hands in the thick fur on either side of his neck to give Behar another thorough petting, bordering just on the cusp of rough as she shook his head with her scratching.

“Why I expected anything else, I don’t know,” Beolf coughed out. “That rinhound is a damn traitor, though.”

The smile that lit her face was equal parts ferocious and jovial. “Your expectations of me are none of my business unless I explicitly ask you. Right, Behar? Right?” Her voice became syrupy sweet as she turned her attention back to him, a stark contrast from the waspish tone she threw Beolf’s way.

That broke my already-crumbling composure. A wild burst of laughter burst from my chest and bounced off the walls of the vast hall. It may have been the most joyful sound this room ever held. “Oh, dear Haron. There’s never a dull moment with you, is there?”

“Not unless you’re a stick-in-the-mud like your general.

” She nodded in Beolf’s direction. Behar took the opportunity to give her a barrage of licks across half of her face.

Haron scrunched her nose playfully and leaned back, trying to avoid his loving attacks.

“Despite the enticing idea of rubbing Beolf the wrong way, I actually come with some information regarding my… investigation.”

Haron’s head tilted toward the hallway leading to my study, her thick copper-toned braid sliding off the opposite shoulder. The silent message was clear enough. This was a conversation for a private setting.

I glanced toward the high windows to check the time of day. From the dimming sunlight that gave way to the deeper reds and purples, it was already halfway through the evening transition. The double moons were barely visible at this angle—they promised a well-lit night with the full phase.

Two attendants appeared from behind the platform, likely signaled by Beolf that we were leaving. They bowed low at the waist and waited for orders. “Please bring two sets of dinner to my chambers.”

Haron scoffed. “Unlikely. I can eat my dinner in the study while we talk, if we must dine together for this meeting.”

“Then we can dine after we talk,” I fired back.

Haron rose from the floor slowly, eyes boring into mine as they narrowed to slits, as if that would magnify their intensity.

I stared back with a challenge of my own.

The attendants’ soft-soled shoes scuffed across the stone floor as they retreated to the kitchen.

It was hard to tell how long our standoff lasted, but Beolf was the first to break the tense silence.

“Am I going to have to relieve you of your weapons, or are you going to play nice tonight?” Beolf was only half-teasing, I realized. He shifted from his casual lean, lightly resting a wrist on the sword pommel at his hip with an unspoken threat.

Finally, her gaze shifted to me. There was a cold gleam in them that promised some kind of retribution. “Fortunately for Irin, I still have use of him. But I’m sure he appreciates your loyalty, nonetheless.”

For anyone else, that kind of audacity would have them hauled off to the dungeon for some hard lessons in respect.

How Haron managed to avoid the same treatment was a mystery to me, but part of it was self-preservation.

It didn’t take a genius to realize Haron Val Toric was clearly a cut above the normal spellcaster.

I was equal parts afraid and intensely attracted to that kind of power.

Also, Behar would likely never forgive me for taking away his favorite person. If I didn’t love the damn hound so much, I wouldn’t have cared. But I did. So Haron was safe for now.

“Leave her be, Beolf,” I waved him off and rose from the throne. It was nice to look down on Haron, for once. Even if the haughty angle of her chin didn’t feel like I gained much of a victory from the height. “Haron, after you.”

With a flick of her braid back over her shoulder, Haron threw Beolf one last scathing look before leading us down the hallway to my private study. Behar padded alongside her as if wholly unaware of the tense set of her shoulders.

“Am I going to be paying dearly for this information?” I asked her broad back. I wished I was joking, but there was always a price for something from Haron. Unfortunately, it was unlikely to be paid easily with drummons.

She tossed a particularly suspicious look over her shoulder. I didn’t like the bit of smirk on her lips. “To me? No. But Highlan Pid may be belly-crawling his way over in the next few days. He may or may not think I’m working for you now.”

My feet halted in the middle of the hallway, shocked at her casual admission. Haron had opened the door and stepped through into the study without me. “Why does Pid think you’re acting on my behalf?” I asked.

If Pid thought Haron was acting on my behalf, rumors would spread like wildfire that I had a necromancer in my pocket.

Meaning, curious eyes would be turned away from what seemed like inaction in investigating the supposed suicides of Father’s advisors.

The council and nobles would assume I was using a necromancer in my own investigation.

My steps had slowed, lost in wonder at how well the recent turn of events played out. Then, Haron was no longer in sight. “Wait!”

She had already ducked into the study and went straight for the liquor bar, pouring goldtine into two glasses.

The long coat she wore was tossed it over the coat rack by the door, and her figure cut a delicious shape beneath practical travel clothes—a simple white shirt beneath a stiff leather tunic cinched at the hips with her belt, paired with tight leather pants and scuffed riding boots.

I made sure to close and lock the door behind me just in case someone decided to let themselves into our private conversation.

Mainly, so Beolf wouldn’t barge in. I trusted the kitchen staff to deliver our food to my rooms as I ordered.

She turned and walked past me, still standing dumbly in the middle of the room even as she pressed the other glass to my chest for me to grasp, and took a seat on one of the two overstuffed lounge chairs by the unlit fireplace.

Only after she'd taken the time to settle into the chair and bring the goldtine to her lips, finally, her eyes lifted to meet mine over the rim of her own tumbler.

Damn this woman and her singular talent of driving me insane.

I could tell she enjoyed keeping me on the edge of interest.