58 #2
When we enter the building, the hallways are empty because everyone’s in class. Riven and I walk in a kind of awkward silence. Before we reach the royal tract, I grab the sleeve of his loose shirt to stop him.
“Caryan did find the flute, by the way.”
“By the way?” he asks, pausing and staring at me.
“Yeah.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I pushed him, and finally he admitted it,” I say, and his eyes widen.
“You shouldn’t push him. He’s not in a good mood these days,” Riven warns, his tone serious.
“Oh really? Because he’s all cheery and smiles normally?”
“You know what I mean.” His eyes flick back to my hair and rove over my face, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing. What he should make of my new look.
I bite back the urge to ask him whether he likes it. I would so not do that.
Even if I really want to know. Damn it.
“And he wants me to find his brother,” I add.
Riven’s face pales, and it’s quite an effort because he’s already white as snow.
“What do you know?” I ask instantly.
He clears his throat. “Not much. He only mentioned him once to me. That he misses him. Can you find him?”
“No,” I lie easily, although it feels oddly bad to lie directly to his face.
But what can I say? Sure. I can actually call him with a freaky-cool stone I’m hiding in my room.
But oh, a creepy acolyte grabbed my wrist and warned me to never do that.
But then the library monster showed up, and oh, I think the acolyte is dead now.
But you know the strangest thing—she had long, blue hair, but there’s no acolyte with blue hair.
Oh, and she spoke. So maybe I was just imagining things.
Oh, and yes, I actually met his charming brother in the human world but kept that from you and Caryan.
And Blair. Not that you care about that.
“What did he tell you about his brother, exactly?” I ask, shutting down the spiral of my thoughts.
“Only that he is in another world. But that he doesn’t know which one. And he can’t sense him. And that sometimes it drives him mad, being separated from him.”
“That explains a few things,” I suggest lightly, just to ease the mood a bit.
But Riven’s frown only deepens. “The flute…so that’s where he was all those months. He managed to retrieve it from the eternal snow,” he mumbles, more to himself than me. “I suppose he wants the other artifacts too?”
“Yeah. But I have to prioritize his brother. He even went as far as cutting my translating shifts completely in order to have time to search the archives for answers. I’m not sure why the queen granted him this, though.”
“She doesn’t need to grant anything these days. She can’t anymore,” Riven says quietly, throwing me a long look.
I feel even worse for lying to him now. But I’m not sure what to do about that stone. Aris isn’t helpful either. And I don’t know what Blair would do if she learned about it. Or which side Riven is on. Caryan’s, of course, I’m sure. So I can’t tell him about it until I know more.
I can’t tell anyone .
If his brother truly means something bad to this world, I can’t risk bringing him back here.
“She’s ill. The queen,” I guess.
“Very,” Riven admits. “It looks bad.”
“And if she’s…gone, who will take the throne?”
“Caryan, of course,” Riven says and I could slap myself for not seeing that coming. A dark feeling dawns in my mind that he’s planned this all along. He plans on taking over Avandal.
“Is her illness—could it be poison?” I spit it out.
Fuck it. And if Caryan drinks Riven’s blood and sees this, so be it. I might as well ask him directly, seeing his face while I do it.
Riven swallows heavily. “Maybe. I’m not sure. At least there’s no evidence that proves it’s anything but an illness.” His voice is very quiet.
I nod. Riven would support Caryan taking Avandal’s throne. He would do anything for Caryan. Always stand by him.
His eyes quickly dip to my lips for the briefest of seconds before he glances away and gestures down the hall. “We should go on. He doesn’t like waiting.”
Again, we walk in silence. I don’t feel like breaking it. If he wants to keep on pretending that there’s nothing between us, that’s fine with me. And if he has truly moved on, then, well—not fine, but I won’t cry my eyes out over it.
No longer. No. The new me won’t. The new Melody—a woman making her own damn decisions and working to buy a farmhouse with Blair and Aris one day—won’t damn lose her mind over a man. Not even one that is as hot as Riven.
I also won’t cower at Caryan’s feet after slapping him—although my insides are crawling with anxiety at the prospect of seeing him in a few minutes, my head light, my pulse too fast.
No. Damn it. I will not be afraid!
That’s always been my credo. It’s the only way I survived Lyrian.
Again, I cling to the words like they might hold me upright, even as they start to crack.
I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders while I let him guide me to a different tract, past the door to the archives, to another guarded door at the end of the same corridor.
The guards step aside after bowing their heads to Riven, and we enter a council chamber with a painted ceiling and a hell of a lot of maps and various figurines strewn over a very long table.
More maps cover the walls. Old maps of Avandal—one where Caryan’s kingdom is not yet marked as his.
Candles burn in between, and wax covers half of the maps and the table’s wooden surface.
A fire flickers in the hearth embedded in the wall.
At the end of that table stands Caryan.