Chapter Twenty
I visited the temple ruins this afternoon, and my heart is heavy.
The glorious tree that used to shelter us beneath its branches on warm days struggles to survive in this new world of winter.
I fear we have seen its last bloom. Future generations will not know the peace of leaning against its trunk as the scent of the goddess’s favorite flowers whispers on the wind.
A small thing, perhaps, in the face of everything we have lost. But I grieve.
The lost journal of High Priestess Tona
Einar’s least favorite moment of every morning was when he finally overcame reluctance and opened the door, braced for another day of navigating Gwynira’s court.
True, it had become slightly less intolerable as the nobles continued to flee to the dubious safety of the mainland—even Klement had become scarce in recent days—but Einar still would have preferred to keep the rest of the world locked away so he could stay in bed with his lovers.
Perhaps the island was still granting wishes, because this morning, when he’d opened the doors at a gentle knock, it had been to find an army of servants weighted down with food.
“The Grand Duchess thought you might prefer breakfast in your rooms,” one of them said, somehow managing to curtsy without spilling her massive tray.
“As there are not enough nobles left in the palace to make the usual arrangements practical.”
So Einar thanked them, opened the door wide, and watched them fuss over each offering before shyly smiling at Naia and asking for a blessing.
Not a single one of them seemed perturbed by Einar’s changed appearance, and while the bows they offered him might not have been as deep as those Naia received, every one of them bent their knee to him on their way out the door.
Gwynira’s nobles had not just been nakedly horrified by his demigod form, but thrilled to be so terrified.
Their furtive stares had crawled over him like an unwelcome touch, their whispers following him wherever he went.
He’d half suspected one or two—like that puffed-up fool who had cut Aleksi—had fled the island just to escape him.
But to the people of Rahvekya, he would always be the lost prince who had brought home their goddess. They didn’t care how he looked, only that he was here.
They had almost completed a peaceful breakfast when another knock sounded at the door. Einar opened it to find Gwynira on the other side, dressed in one of her long fur coats, her expression intentionally blank. Once inside the room, she took a deep, bracing breath. “There’s been a development.”
Aleksi tilted his head. “Oh?”
“Yes. We’ve located the harbormaster’s missing records.” Her carefully neutral expression cracked for a moment as she grimaced. “Hidden behind a loose stone in Jaspar’s suite.”
Oh, shit. Einar should have killed the man at that first disastrous dinner.
Aleksi’s words remained mild. “And what do they say?”
“Precisely what you already suspect,” Gwynira allowed. “He personally authorized the mercenary ship to dock. On a diplomatic request from Kelann.”
Kelann, the home of Eirika, Elevia’s counterpart in the Imperial Court. The urge to throttle Jaspar only grew stronger.
“Makes sense.” Aleksi shrugged. “The Stalker wants my head, preferably still attached to my body so she can rip it off herself.”
“So. Jaspar set the trap.” Naia was very, very still. “Where is he now?”
“He left this morning, on the last ship bound for the mainland.” Gwynira’s brow furrowed. “Though I’m not sure it matters, as this does not prove his guilt. He was accustomed to handling such requests. Even under current circumstances, he might not have even felt like he could deny her.”
“But then we were kidnapped.” Understanding dawned on Naia’s face. “And he could not say a word without implicating himself. So he remained silent.”
Aleksi’s thoughts had taken a different turn. “The harbormaster?”
Gwynira hesitated. “I . . . don’t know. Jaspar is arrogant, self-serving, and fully capable of violence. We all know this.”
It was tempting to condemn the man anyway, but even Einar had to acknowledge the truth. “But being a little shit is not evidence of murder,” he rumbled.
“So where does this leave us?” Naia asked.
“With another lead.” Gwynira pulled a sheaf of papers from the pocket of her day dress. “Jaspar documented the initial request. So he would have exonerating evidence, I imagine, should the offending party throw him at my mercy for allowing Eirika into my home.”
Aleksi accepted the document she offered. “She did not make the request herself?”
“No.” Gwynira turned to ice, in word and demeanor. “Guildmaster Klement made the application.”
Klement, who hovered irritatingly on the edges of every conversation, his gaze following Einar with a fascination that was so off-putting, Einar had never considered him a real threat. It seemed too ridiculous to believe.
Aleksi groaned. “The bastard hid in plain sight. Annoyed everyone just enough to convince us he had neither the wits nor the guile to be the spy. Clever.”
“A spy would not wish to make a spectacle of himself,” Naia agreed. “Which Klement has done, and rather often.”
The man’s stubborn insistence on visiting Petya took on a far darker meaning.
“He wanted access to my ship,” Einar said.
“He claimed he only wanted to meet Petya, and it made sense at the time. He’s written so many of those foolish books.
But even when I said no, he kept pressing for an invitation. ”
Gwynira looked apologetic. “No doubt with an eye toward reconnaissance.”
“Or sabotage,” Naia added flatly.
Or perhaps even a hostage. Einar’s blood chilled at the thought of Petya within Sorin’s grasp. What would he not sacrifice for the woman who had raised him? And Klement had known all the stories—about the island’s history, about its mythology. About Einar himself.
“It gets worse.” Gwynira shuffled the papers. “Of course, Arktikos searched Klement’s suite next—he has also vanished, by the way—and found this.”
It was a letter, but not from the Stalker. As Aleksi took it, Einar caught sight of the Imperial Seal.
Sorin’s seal.
Aleksi mumbled under his breath, quickly reading aloud as he skimmed the letter. Then he paused, the paper crinkling as his fingers tightened. “. . . hope this gives even you adequate notice to prepare for my imminent arrival.”
It should have horrified Einar—and it did, on one level. The people of this island had suffered too much already, and there was no joy in knowing the Emperor was coming here to inflict more harm upon them.
But the goddess walked the shores of Rahvekya again, and Einar was not a helpless infant. The Empire could not have his home. If Sorin tried to take it . . . he would die. There was no other option.
“Of course we’ll all want to meet to make our plans,” Gwynira said. “But before that . . . Einar, do you have a moment?” She inclined her head toward the door. “I have a somewhat pressing matter to discuss with you.”
He was hardly thrilled with the idea of leaving Naia and Aleksi alone with Klement on the run and the Emperor planning his invasion, but at his uncertain look, Aleksi smiled encouragement and Naia brushed his arm gently. “We’ll be fine.”
Once they were in the hallway, Arktikos fell in step behind them. He was a powerful presence at their back, a reminder that Gwynira’s inner circle had plenty of strength of its own—strength Sorin might not be prepared to meet.
“Do you mind walking outside?” Gwynira asked. Her lips pressed together, as if she’d caught herself on the edge of a smile. Those had been appearing with unsettling regularity since Isa’s return. “It is once again unseasonably warm. But I could do with some fresh air.”
Einar quashed any lingering reluctance to leave Naia and Aleksi alone. If they were safe anywhere, it was surely on this island, where the very elements answered to Naia’s whims. “I don’t mind stretching my legs.”
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when she led him out the door that led to the gardens, and the little winding path up the hill to Naia’s temple.
At the base of the path, she gave Arktikos a silent look.
He hesitated, clearly as reluctant to leave Gwynira unprotected as Einar had been with Naia, but he finally inclined his head and pivoted, his large body becoming an unmovable wall that blocked anyone else from following them.
They walked in silence until the first turn in the path. Then Gwynira sighed. “I never wanted to rule here, you know. It was meant to be a punishment. A cruel joke. Sorin took the only person I had ever loved away from me, and then banished me to an island as frozen as my heart.”
Einar knew all about frozen hearts, but Gwynira didn’t seem to want a reply, her eyes focused forward as if she was seeing not the landscape around them, but some haunting memory of the past.
“After that, Sorin mostly ignored me,” she continued. “Oh, he called me to his court from time to time to torment me, but as long as the money from the island’s exports flowed into Imperial coffers, he paid me very little attention.”
He had not expected to feel sympathy for the woman who ruled over his conquered homeland, but Einar found he did.
Especially now that he had tasted the sweetness of being loved by the person who haunted your dreams. He simply could not imagine the agony of being forced to dance attendance on a person who had killed Naia or Aleksi.
His conflict must have shown on his face, because Gwynira offered him a chilly smile. “Don’t fret, Captain. I am not asking for your pity. I still raised a palace on the ashes of your family home, and ruled your people for centuries in Sorin’s name.”