Page 11

I barely notice the streets passing. My chest is tight, full of silent sighs and unspoken questions.

What became of Skriniaris Evander? The old man was an echo of my grandfather and he had risked everything—distracted the regent so I could escape Hinsard.

And I’d left him. I swallow hard and send a quiet wish skyward, hoping he and his cat are safe.

I round the final corner, my feet moving on their own, only to be bowled over by a blur of motion at the gate.

“Goddess above!” A firm grip steadies me before I can stumble back. “I just finished with my last healing, and now I’m late for my fitting.” My aunt plants a kiss on my cheek, her touch brisk but warm. “Let’s steal a dance tomorrow, alright?”

And just like that, she’s gone, rushing down the street in a flurry of fabric and purpose. I stare after her, exhaling a short, wry laugh of admiration.

“Her work will always come first,” I say, mostly to myself. A warning. A reminder. I smirk slightly, shaking my head. “I hope Prins Lief is aware of that.”

A sharp whack lands on the back of my head.

I whirl around, half ready to curse the culprit, only to find Prins Lief himself standing there with arms crossed and brow lifted.

“Of course I am,” he says coolly. “Her dedication to helping others is one of the reasons I love her.” His gaze narrows slightly, assessing me with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

The sudden shift in mood prickles my skin. For a moment I expect a scolding, as if I’d been caught climbing over the castle walls.

I yank the king’s badge from my pocket and lift the bag of runes for good measure, waving them between us like a shield. “I didn’t sneak out.”

“I didn’t suggest you had.”

“You were thinking it.”

He leans in, “And don’t I have good reason to?”

I flash him a smirk. “You forgive me all transgressions, uncle .”

“That’s Prins Uncle to you.”

“Yes, your uncleness—”

I run as my soon-to-be-uncle-in-law chases after me with exaggerated swats of his sheathed sword.

Patrolling stormblades offer their help and he waves them off.

Only when he catches sight of Captain Kjartan does Prins Lief stop playing.

He moves swiftly towards the captain, and I stick in his shadow .

“What news?” Prins Lief asks.

“As we feared.”

“They’ve taken Crosshaven?”

“Harmoria, too.”

Harmoria, the independent trader town where Akilah and Florentius had gone?

“They’re getting closer.”

“A week at most and they’ll reach Ragn.”

“We depart after the wedding.”

“Give it to the morning after,” Kjartan says quietly.

“Even tomorrow is—” Lief hesitates, grimacing.

“This is a moment for you to remember,” Kjartan insists. “Let your men see what it is we fight for.”

Lief closes his eyes and nods. “I’ll try to find a miracle.”

“Many more men will do.”

I’m left standing in the harsh heat of the summer sun, shivering. I suddenly see the day differently—the larger numbers of patrolling stormblades, the rune store owner hurrying to close shop, the desperate thieving of my bag, the duelling over potatoes.

Ragn is a town preparing for war.

I turn sharply towards the castle, my heart hammering.

What other things is Quin here to do?

There’s no one to ask, and no one to tell me. Casimiria is at the king’s side this evening, as she is most evenings; I’m alone as I pace the small courtyard between her chambers and my shed. I will the heavens to give me some clue so I might understand. So I might know how to support him.

I stall, mid-step . . .

I ball my hands.

It’s no longer my place to support him. Nicostratus will save Casimiria and me, and I will disappear. I have the dromveske; I have my last moment. Whatever he is here to do, it’s not for me to involve myself. He’s no longer a captive. He has a plan. His brother is by his side.

I rub the back of my neck as I nod and nod.

Behind the piles of wood in my shed are jars of goddess tears—peach wine—gifts from King Yngvarr when he’s been in a good mood. When he’s falsely believed his health is improving. I’ve not been able to stomach tasting it, but now guilt is overpowered by an anxious tightness in my chest and...

I drink.

The liquid burns down my throat and waters my eyes as I stare up at the half moon. The half moon that shimmers over all of Ragn, that witnesses all the frightened families packing their things and leaving while they still can...

I slosh back more wine.

Akilah and Florentius. If they ended up in Harmoria, are they safe? What does it mean, exactly, that the town had been ‘taken’ ?

I drop my jar onto the table. Another question for Quin. Surely I can ask this before I leave. Then, once Nicostratus sets me free, I’ll know where to head.

Quin will know where I’ve headed too.

“Ahhh.” I bang my forehead against the lip of the table. “Stop it. Stop.”

But I don’t. Instead, I’m dragging myself to my freshly dried bed. I’m rubbing chalk over his runes. I’m falling into the dromveske.

On a hiccup, I stumble around oak roots and turn my face up to the sky of violet leaves. Once more I’m dressed in everything Quin gave me, and once more I breathe in the faint echo of his scent from the cloak.

On a hollow laugh, I fall onto a rune door.

It swings in and I tumble into the meditation grove behind Ragn’s temple.

The first part of this memory is still shiveringly fresh.

The second part, I’ve only seen through Quin’s experience.

It’s the night thugs came after Chaos and he ran back to Quin—his reason: to hide behind the hundred stormblades there.

Quin had been suspicious of that excuse, and he’d been right to be.

Chaos told himself he only wore the king’s braids so no one else would get them. For his dignity. But Chaos had been living on ticklish shivers all day. He was drawn back to Quin. He couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t expose the truth. But he wanted to.

Chaos tries to inhibit the feeling with alcohol, but he only gets drunk.

I watch the moment, shaking my head. The seams of your mask are unravelling, Chaos. Like they still are. Look at you, just as drunk, finding it just as impossible to stay away.

I sag against the door with a hectic laugh as Chaos pours a potion against insomnia down his throat. Only, it’s not a potion to help knock him out; he’s taken something to ease his worries.

Suddenly, like me, he’s laughing. Quin, perched at the bedpost, raises a soft brow that freezes when Chaos’s veil sweeps over his cheek and he dives onto the bed.

Quin sets down his cherry wine and turns slowly towards Chaos with twitching lips. He leans over that veiled face and murmurs, “I haven’t finished my interrogation.”

Chaos laughs, puffing the veil up to Quin’s lips.

Quin snatches the edge and pinches like he’s ready to rip it off, but after a pause, he settles it carefully over Chaos’s jaw. He lowers his voice. “Are you laughing or crying?”

Chaos flings a crooked arm over his curacowl, tipping the hat to his nose as he groans. “Can it be both?”

“Tell me your story. Are you a young man lost and lonely in deep dark woods? Are you a young man flushing after falling over your feet at a dance? Or are you—”

“I’m a young man who once encountered a wounded wolf.”

Quin leans back against his post, turned towards Chaos with a pensive expression.

Chaos spills out his story. “I helped the wolf recover and he ran off again, but whenever I returned to the woods, he visited me. He was a beautiful red wolf but had lost his pack and was very lonely. I fancied myself... a keeper for him—someone who would always be there for him; companionship at last. The wolf, not one to trust easily, gave me that privilege, and I was deeply touched. But between visits from that dazzling wolf, I encountered a... beady-eyed wyvern. This wyvern was goal-driven and determined. He swooped me up and wouldn’t let go.

He lifted me high into the air and flew me over great distances and demanded I help all the hurt creatures in the forest. I was afraid I would fall from such great heights, that the fall would surely kill me, but the grip of the wyvern never wavered. A promise he would never drop me.

“The wolf kept visiting and I loved that, but... its glossy red coat didn’t dazzle me the same way anymore.

I started to anticipate the beady-eyed wyvern’s return.

I wanted to keep flying with him; feeling that wild gravity-defying thrill: the wyvern saw me as someone worthy to help the little creatures, and each time I did, I loved myself more.

And each time I strayed, he would clasp me around the arms and fly me back to the right path. ”

Chaos laughs, while Quin shuts his eyes on a hard swallow, while my heart trips over itself.

Here, Chaos is baring everything. Here, Quin is quietly taking in his confession.

“Somewhere along the way I started to feel protected, and then, suddenly, I was eagerly awaiting each glorious sight of him soaring and diving towards me. I realised I never wanted him to fly away without me. ”

“But the wolf... the only other he had in this world was that very wyvern. Before that beady-eyed wyvern had ever known me, they had shared a cave, had protected one another, had vowed to always have one another’s backs.

“To want to be with the wyvern was a betrayal. I lost the wolf’s trust and seeing his heartache crushed me. Just one thing , he begged. Don’t take my wyvern away from me .”

Quin reaches out to rest his hand atop Chaos’s head, and pulls back.

Here, Quin is drawing his line.

Chaos’s voice cracks. “So I left. Not just for the wolf’s sake but the wyvern’s. He is fiercely protective of his wolf and has loved him through the mountainous ups and downs of their lives. I shouldn’t come between them.”

I watch the end of the scene with a hard lump in my throat. Of all the rune doors, I’d stumbled into this one.

“It was right to leave,” Chaos whispers, and I nod and nod. “But.” Chaos says it.

So do I.

Quin’s voice is a soft, hesitant whisper, “But?”

“But what if the wyvern returns? What if I’m not strong enough to stay away?”