Chapter 20
Physician Wald Whitestone was a shadow of his former self.
He’d lost weight since I’d last seen him, which added a hollow gauntness to his every feature, magnified all the more by the uneven shadows cast by lamps, sconces, and Renn himself.
When Renn entered the storage room where his men had brought the Sestan, softly glowing to drive back the dark, Whitestone visibly winced. When I followed, his cracked lips formed around the words “So you did make it.”
No thanks to you, I did not say, but I lingered back by the door in a patch of shadow between lights.
Renn didn’t address the physician first but rather one of the travel-stained spies who had brought him in, a tall blond man with peachy skin, his hair shorn close to his skull. “Does he know why he’s here?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. We pulled information from him before moving him physically, as you requested. He hasn’t resisted us at any point.”
Renn’s emotions were at a low simmer, like he’d grown so skilled at his mask it could hide the unseen as well. “How did you get into Rodsfell?”
“He wasn’t in Rodsfell, Your Majesty.”
That gave me pause. When had Whitestone left?
Renn didn’t ask for specifics; he’d likely be debriefed later. His cool gaze swept to the prisoner. “Whitestone.”
The physician’s head drooped, his eyes on Renn’s feet. “I had nothing to do with the attack on Rove. I never would—”
“That isn’t what I need to know.”
Gooseflesh rose in long streaks up my arms at the coldness in Renn’s voice.
Whitestone swallowed. “Your mother’s order was called Unfallen of Zia, headquartered in western Sesta.”
The spy added, “Potsburn and Liftwell set for it while the others and I brought him here. The information appeared sound. We’d crossed near the location in February when hunting for Tallowax.”
The man had never met me; he likely didn’t realize I was in the room.
“If the sisterhood kept any records, they will be there, but I don’t know the exact location. Only that it was west.” Whitestone shifted on the overturned crate he sat upon. “She might have brought something to Rove, to prove to King Grejor whatever she needed to prove.”
“If she was smart, she wouldn’t have left them there.” Renn rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How do you know it’s west?”
“Because I knew of the order before I left. They came to Rodsfell often. And because once, your mother slipped in her Canseren dialect. Her Sestan tongue had a western accent.” He ran a hand down his face.
“I never knew her . . . before. But every order has a symbol. The Unfallen of Zia . . . it looks like the number three.”
My spine stiffened as if cooling glass. “Wait.”
All eyes turned to me.
“With two circles?” I patted my pockets, turned, searching for something to write with, then noticed the grime on the walls and traced directly into that. I drew the unfinished cursive Z with its two circles—the symbol I’d seen in Rodsfell. “Like this?”
Whitestone’s brows drew together. “Yes. That’s it.”
Wiping my finger on my skirt, I turned to Renn. “I saw this symbol when Eden and I traveled through Sesta. Western Sesta. I don’t know the name of the village, but it’s a small one north of Horgansten. This symbol was on the cellar hatch of a small home on its outskirts.”
Renn’s expression lightened only a hair, but through our connection I felt the inflating warmth of his admiration. “Then we will search north of Horgansten.” He looked toward another spy, a dark-haired, dark-skinned woman in the back corner. “Any luck with Adrinn’s network?”
I perked up at this.
“The lead for Wendway dried up. He’s either dead or left the country,” she answered. “But the last report seemed promising. Harplay is suspected to be in Molls. If we haven’t made contact yet, we will soon.”
I remembered Adrinn barging into my room and pinning me against the wall, a knife to my neck, as though it were yesterday.
Asking me directly if I was a spy. He’d been following my movements.
Suspect of my closeness to his brother and the letter I’d had Lonnie post for me.
He’d been suspicious of Winvrin as well, suspecting her Sestan heritage.
If he had his own spy network, if Renn could use it, that would be incredibly helpful to us. I wondered if any of them had reached out to Renn personally. Then again, I knew nothing of the work, nor the dangers that came with it.
“I know Horgansten.” Whitestone sounded like pouring gravel. “For what use it is to you, I know it.”
He slid off the crate onto his knees, the movement causing the spies in the room to lunge forward and draw their weapons. Renn didn’t budge. Whitestone made no effort to attack; he simply knelt on the floor, shriveled and weak. I noted he favored his left leg.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize . . . I was a fool, Your Majesty. A hundred times over a fool.”
Renn simmered through the bond, a collection of emotions I couldn’t quite parse out.
“Put him in the dungeon for now, until we have need of him. Make sure he’s fed,” Renn commanded, and the spies immediately went to work. Renn’s light snuffed as he opened the door—Sten lingering outside—and guided me out with a hand to my mid-back.
In the hallway, I whispered, “What if I’m wrong? What if your mother’s order didn’t keep documentation?”
Renn stood close to me, his lips brushing my hair. “Have faith in me. Adrinn always used me for strategy; I had very little else to do. Azra’s misstep may play into our favor. We need Antsan, but Antsan wants us.”
I looked into his eyes, midnight blue in the dim corridor. “I do have faith in you, Renn. Surely you feel that I do. But if this marriage is the only way . . . I understand that. I would never hold it against you.”
The link turned heavy, cold. He had no reply. But the spies were pulling Whitestone from the room, so he touched my hip, moving us from his reach, despite the fact that the physician’s wrists were tied behind his back and he made no effort to fight.
“But if it is . . .” My throat thickened and my navel pinned itself to my spine. “. . . I can’t stay here. You can’t ask me to do that.”
The link became a sinkhole, drawing me down, ensnaring me. Renn opened his mouth to repeat, but Whitestone’s voice broke the melancholy.
“He’s coming for Derren, Your Majesty.” The physician finally lifted his eyes. “I heard it before I left. He’ll come to Derren Castle soon. A fortnight at most.”
My breath hitched. The Sestan army, here? Nicosia, here?
Renn merely nodded. Sensed my growing trepidation, for he put his hand on my shoulder, rooting me. The spies dragged Whitestone down the hall, toward the dungeon. I hadn’t even known Derren Castle possessed one.
“Your forgiveness, please,” Whitestone croaked, trying to turn in the grip of his captors to behold the king of Cansere. “Forgive me, please, Your Majesty!”
Renn’s lips pressed into a hard line. Once Whitestone cleared the hallway, he whispered, “I will give you anything you need for your journey, if you go. Food and money for travel, a wagon, even my best men to escort you.” He lifted his eyes to Sten, who lingered a few paces away.
“But.” His eyes leveled to mine, his lips close enough to kiss.
“If I succeed, I ask for your hand, Nym. There is no priest here, but as soon as we find one, I ask for your hand.”
Tears burned my eyes. I nodded. He kissed my forehead.
“You have very little time,” I said.
He looked at me, tracing my features in the dark. “Sten, make sure she gets to her room.” He stepped back, giving me and his guard space to pass. My legs felt too heavy to walk, my half-heart thrumming to keep up with the turmoil spinning through my chest.
At the junction, I glanced back, but if Renn lingered, it was too dark to see him.
I didn’t see Renn for two days.
I looked for him. I felt him. But never once, to my knowledge, did he step outside of that war room, holed up with Sir Jardallen Arquan, discussing the nature of the alliance they would have, because Renn would make sure they had it, one way or another.
There was no time left to dally or play games. Not with the dragons approaching.
I would never be glad for war, but I welcomed the distraction of preparing for a siege.
Distraction from my heart and from my stirring anxiety of facing Sesta.
I helped staff stockpile water, in case Nicosia had his men poison our supply, and put up food for the siege.
I divided healers by experience and worked with Eden, under the direction of Commander Stonelay, to designate where we would be posted when the army attacked, and how we would best be able to help the injured.
While men reinforced the gate and castle walls, Brien and I prepped the infirmary.
With luck, it would merely serve as a holding place for casualties, not a hospice.
While men sharpened swords and fletched arrows, I aided Beatty in stacking firewood.
After General Cuplend gave speeches to improve soldier morale, I spoke quietly with Brien and Dan, more so to lend support to the latter, who had never before faced war.
As a mindreader, Dan was designated to be a spy.
While that meant he would not be at the front lines, it did not excuse him from battle.
We needed every man—and boy—we could get, and Dan had been training with the rest of them; every evening after dinner, I healed his blisters, just enough that they wouldn’t bother him—not enough to prevent calluses from forming. He’d need those, in the long run.
Another commander, Hawksend, took a battalion of soldiers away from Derren Castle.
Leading them to another skirmish, or perhaps to come around and flank the Sestan army.
Perhaps they would go clear to Rove—I was not privy to the information.
Neither Brien nor Dan went with them, but a handful of the craftlock soldiers did.