Chapter 10 #2
I’m deep in thought about the omnidraught as I exit the hospital on my lunch break.
On a regular day, I’d be eager to eat with Daisy.
But after a long morning, all I want is to curl up in my room and not move until the clock forces me.
Plus, I need to check on the fox. So I head to my tower instead.
I can tell something’s wrong when the door comes into view.
It’s not closed.
Dante.
The fox is my only thought as I hurtle into the chamber. I’m not prepared for what I find: the table overturned, my mattress sliced open, the wardrobe and closet both ransacked.
And Dante is nowhere to be found.
“No, no, no…” I mumble, and start tearing through the wreckage.
Who could have done this? Why would they do this? Did they hurt him? Did they kill him? I feel about to combust.
Until I spot a red blur streaking past the open door.
“Dante!”
I sprint into the tower hall and find it empty.
After a moment’s indecision, I take the stairs, rounding into a long corridor.
I see six doors—servant chambers. All closed.
Either I left my door open, or one of the maids must have when they were cleaning my room.
I grit my teeth against the flare of my surging magic and dash down the hall.
I hurry toward the central chamber of the castle, passing studies and dining halls and armories, sticking my head into every possible room, calling out for Dante when I am sure no one else can hear me.
My search brings me almost all the way to the throne room, and I am rounding a corner when I hear the clanking of armor and heavy footsteps.
Thinking fast, I dash into the nearest chamber, which looks like an empty dining room. A dozen empty chairs sit around a wooden table, and a massive tapestry and curtains dominate the flanking walls.
Heart pounding, I wait for the footsteps to pass. To my horror, they only grow louder—approaching me—and I have just enough time to duck into a hollow space between a tapestry and a window before the door bursts open and a cohort streams into the room, debating at top volume.
“I don’t care what the proportional response is! These were my men!”
Ice water plunges over me at the all-too-familiar voice.
When did Finn return to the castle?
The answering voice is also familiar—high, measured, and soothing. “And their attackers will be brought to justice in due course,” says the queen. “But we can’t go making any rash decisions.”
“He raises a fair point, Your Majesty.” The third speaker sounds like Roburn. “We can’t ignore the fact that they attacked a royal party with banners raised. Whether or not they knew your son was among them is beside the point.”
“We don’t know if Ursandor funded them.”
“Who else?” Finn snaps. “I want heads. Heads on platters!”
“Finneas.” The queen’s voice is dangerous. “You need to—Ahh!” Her scolding vaults into a scream, followed by an explosion of expletives and scraping chairs.
“What is that?”
“Get it out!”
Finn’s voice rises over them.“Wait! I know that fox!”
I leap from my hiding place. In the chaos, I’m not sure who notices as I sprint after him. Dante tears down the vaulted hallway, and I go hurtling behind at top speed.
“Lyria!” Finn shouts from behind.
I whip around in the briefest acknowledgment. “We need to catch him!”
We’re both left in the dust as Dante streaks up a staircase.
The steps go up and up, past column after column of dusty sunlight streaming from slitted windows.
I round the landing just in time to see Dante’s copper-colored figure dart through an open door.
This damn fox. Not thinking, I charge straight after him—
And slam into something warm and hard.
Not something. Someone.
I stagger back, and she does the same. Blinking, I take in her appearance: black hair, tawny skin, a golden gown, and a strikingly beautiful face, crowned with a tiara.
It’s the gorgeous brunette from the party. Sandria.
“And where,” asks the princess of Ursandor, with a glance that strips me to my socks, “do you think you’re going?”
I don’t get the chance to explain. Before I can form a coherent thought, the chamber erupts into shrieking.
Behind Sandria is a cohort of girls who scatter as Dante blitzes around their ankles.
Commotion erupts, chairs scraping and bustles ruffling as they clamber out of his path.
Needlepoint and knitting fly everywhere.
Dante aims for the next door, dodging a sofa—and I leap forward, crashing onto my forearm as I tackle him to the ground.
“Aha!” I yell triumphantly, and scramble upright with my wriggling quarry in hand.
Then I turn to meet a dozen furious glares.
Every woman in the room looks like she wants to hang me by my entrails. Some cover their noses (which is ridiculous, considering I’m holding Dante, and he most certainly doesn’t smell).
There is only one thing to say. “I am so…incredibly…sorry.”
Sandria saunters toward me with that singularly unreadable expression. “Is that a fox?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” a sour-faced lady corrects me.
“Well,” says Sandria, with a dazzling smile. “He’s quite the handsome little fellow, isn’t he?”
I glance down at Dante, who stops squirming long enough to appraise her. Right as I’m floundering over what to say next, I’m rescued by the clatter of footsteps in the hall. Sandria turns toward the door right as Finn barrels through it, red-faced and disheveled.
“You got him?” he pants.
I cringe. “He’s fine.”
More rustling sounds from behind me, harmonizing with a chorus of giggles. I glance back and realize the ladies have all sunk into curtsies at Finn’s appearance. Should I do that? The notion feels ridiculous.
The princess looks disarmed by his entrance, smoothing a hand over her hair. But I notice she doesn’t bow, either. “Finneas. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Sandria.” Finn tips his head in the barest acknowledgment. “My apologies for interrupting…whatever this is.”
Sandria shrugs. “Nothing like a little novelty to shake up the day. We don’t mind some excitement, do we?”
Her ladies do not seem to share the sentiment. As their glares accumulate, I can only guess what they’re thinking, and the tension turns suffocating.
I edge toward the door, desperately seeking an exit. Dante’s writhing like he wants a closer look at the princess. “If you’ll excuse us, I’ll just get him back to my room….”
“No, you should stay!” Sandria protests, with another practiced smile. “And perhaps you’ll join us as well, Finneas.”
“Actually, Lyria has to get back to the hospital,” Finn says tightly. “They’re expecting a large inflow today. Perhaps you’re unaware, but a Verdish scouting party was just attacked past the border of Ursandor. We lost two soldiers; another three remain in critical condition.”
“That’s terrible.” Sandria’s expression does not match her words. “My ladies and I will have to pay them a visit and offer our condolences.”
“I’m sure they’d appreciate your attention, Princess.” Finn gives a stiff bow to Sandria and then holds an arm out to me. “Lyria?”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. With another muttered string of apologies, I escape with him out the open door. We descend the stairs in silence. Once we reach the landing, I can finally ask, “You think Ursandor was behind the attacks?”
His brow furrows. “Just how much of that meeting did you overhear?”
“More than I understood,” I admit.
Finn glances around us, though the hallway is empty. “Can we go somewhere we can speak freely?”
I hesitate. “I can’t. I need to get back to the hospital—I’ve been gone too long already.”
“Please?” He takes an entreating step. “I don’t know when I’ll get ordered away again.…It could be as soon as tonight. I’ve been so desperate to speak with you, I feel like I’m losing my mind….”
My conviction splinters, but I still try to hold fast. “I really shouldn’t,” I protest. “Cygnus will be furious if I’m not back in time for my shift.”
Finn laughs. “He can manage for one afternoon.”
I can’t argue with that. Even though I’m desperate to help the wounded soldiers that arrived, Cygnus still won’t let me do any healing. It won’t make a difference if I scrub floors today or not.
He leads me back to the garden where we escaped after the feast. In the light of day, the scenery is even more spectacular. I let Dante down to explore, and we sit together beneath the willow tree with the golden blossoms, near a duo of preening swans.
“Look,” Finn says, once we’re settled, “I promised you that I was going to be honest.”
“I’d appreciate that very much.”
He takes a deep breath. “The truth is…I don’t get to be honest with people very often. So it’s a little hard for me to say the right things. But I believe that I can trust you, Lyria. And I’m going to try and never lie to you.”
Finn meets my gaze, and I am swept away by those eyes again. It isn’t fair, actually, for a person to be this beautiful. I wonder what kind of childhood he had, buoyed by royalty and looks like those.
“We’ve had tensions with Ursandor as long as I’ve been alive,” he explains, and I force myself to focus on the conversation.
“During the Long War, the Ursandorns backed the Elven. Even after the accords, they harbored war criminals, and we’ve had analysts comb through the books on their exports and manufacturing—everything points to continued involvement. ”
“What do you mean by involvement?” I ask. “Are you talking about the plague?”
“That,” Finn says, “and we think Ursandor’s backing the Elven insurgency.”
The world lurches. The planets might have stopped spinning.
I blink—once, twice, three times—trying to recalibrate my senses.