30. Lilias
Lilias
SOMETHING THEY WANT
Ifollow him.
I know I shouldn’t, that it’s dangerous enough to make a prince angry, let alone to track him through his castle, but I have too many questions that need answering. Besides, I doubt he’ll notice me.
I stand in the porch’s wide, elegant doorway as Laurance stalks down the hall and throws open a door on the far side.
He walks into the northern wing of the castle, rooms that would be used for storage in Marion.
I assumed they were used for storage here too, but that was before Gerard found Vsenrog bridles in Ethiria’s stables.
I follow Laurance, moving quickly, trying to look vaguely lost in case anyone stops me.
The door he stalked through opens into a grand antechamber, larger and more luxurious than the one that greeted us at the castle’s entrance.
My breath catches in the back of my throat as I realize Zarek was right.
The northern side of Ethiria’s castle is definitely not used for storage.
“Fine,” a voice snaps. “You were right.”
I jump. That’s the prince’s voice, drifting out of the open door on the far side of the room in front of me. Another voice replies, but it’s too low for me to make out the words.
I glance around the antechamber. There are a few chairs along the walls and an elegant table in the center of the room. A vase filled with spring flowers catches the light that filters in through the high windows.
There is absolutely nowhere to hide in this room.
“Well, when will they finally arrive, then?” the prince demands, his voice echoing through the antechamber.
I swallow hard. It’s obvious I shouldn’t be here, but gods, I have to know what they’re talking about.
I step into the antechamber, my eyes fixed on the closest painting hanging on the walls. It’s two horses running through a field, although it looks like it was painted by someone who had never actually seen a horse. Their legs don’t bend that way.
“Yes, of course,” the prince snaps, his voice echoing around the room. “I know we need to accept their offer. I already said that.”
I freeze, my eyes fixed on the painting.
“I don’t even want to marry her anymore,” Laurance declares. “That bitch is out of her mind!”
My chest pinches. I would never marry Laurance, but hells, maybe holding a blade to a prince’s throat wasn’t the smartest move, strategically speaking.
“It should come from you,” a man answers. This voice is lower, softer, and it trembles slightly.
The king. I’ve never met him before, but there’s something in that low, soft voice that makes me think this is a man who is used to being obeyed.
The prince snorts. Someone coughs. It’s a heavy, wet, thick cough, and it makes me think perhaps the king’s illness wasn’t exaggerated. Finally, the coughing ends, and the king speaks again.
“Vsenrog,” he says, “is a better ally than enemy.”
Damn it. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
“Yes, yes,” Prince Laurance says. I can almost see him waving his hand in the air dismissively. “And we’ll force them to negotiate.”
“No,” the man replies in a stern voice. “We give them something they want. And, in exchange, we get something we want.”
“But we have an army,” Laurance says in a voice that’s almost a whine.
The other voice replies, something harsh and sharp that I can’t quite make out before his words are swallowed by another ragged coughing fit. I back away from the strange horse painting, my heart trembling in its cage.
They’re going to give Vsenrog something they want? Gods above, that could be any one of us. Elrick. Zarek. Even me.
We came here to beg for allies.
But Ethiria is a trap. Zarek was right, damn it. He was right about everything.
My hands twist together at my waist. I need to get out of here. We all need to get out of here, now, while we still can.
I step out of the antechamber and start down the hallway. A group of serving girls in white aprons climbs the steps in front of me, heading toward the chamber where the prince is discussing matters with his father. One of them looks at me like she can’t quite place my face.
“My lady,” she says in a soft voice, like she’s speaking to a spooked animal, “can I help you with something?”
I take a breath and stifle the urge to look back over my shoulder. I’m only a few steps away from the room where the prince is talking about making an alliance with the kingdom that destroyed Marion. About giving them something they want.
I give her my most charming smile.
“I’m looking for the stables,” I say. “I’m afraid I got a little turned around.”
The girl glances at the other servants. One of them shrugs like she’s not at all surprised a noblewoman would be looking for horses on the upper levels of the castle.
“Could you help me?” I ask, pushing on before she has time to think too hard about what I just said. “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble. You could just point me in the right direction?”
I glance down the hallway like I’m thinking of wandering onto the patio and maybe just jumping off the edge. The girl stifles a brief flicker of annoyance, then bows.
“Of course, my lady,” she says. “If you would just follow me.”
She leads me down the stairs to the second floor.
The doors on the northern side are open this morning, and servants flow in and out, carrying washbasins and piles of neatly folded sheets and towels.
They aren’t even trying to hide what they’re doing; maybe they assume I won’t understand what all this clean linen means.
They must be staying in the northern wing, the guests from Vsenrog with the horses Gerard saw this morning.
But still, the level of commotion on the second floor doesn’t quite make sense.
Gerard found six horses. I assume that means one important visitor, a diplomat perhaps, along with his attendants.
That would mean three to four guest rooms, or possibly six, if the attendants are sufficiently high ranking or if Ethiria is trying to impress them.
But it looks like the entire second floor of the castle is being washed and readied.
All this effort for a delegation of six? Something is off, although I don’t have time to dwell on it as I follow the serving girl across the floor and down another set of stairs, this time to the main castle entrance.
“There it is,” the serving girl says as she points across the courtyard to the stables. “You can’t miss it,” she tells me in a tone that makes me think she expects me to walk directly into the wall if she doesn’t point out the door.
“Oh, of course,” I say with a wide smile.
She nods, bows, and then backs away, probably trying to escape before I can ask her to do something else. I cross the courtyard and slip into the stables.
The light dims as I enter the barn doors, and the scents and sounds of horses surround me.
My shoulders drop, like I’m letting go of a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying.
Yes, I lived in the palace in Marion. I slept in a massive bed, ate in the banquet hall, and learned to dance and bow in those stone halls.
But the stables were my home.
One of the horses nickers softly, sticking his velvet nose out of his stall to see if I’ve brought anything. I rub his nose and watch his nostrils flare.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t think to grab a cracker.”
The horse sniffs my fingers again, just to be sure, and then retreats back into his stall, clearly disappointed. I smile as I run my hand over the nameplate. Star of Morning Light’s First Shimmer in Dawn. He’s a four-year-old gelding, if I remember Ethiria’s records correctly.
“Hello, Star,” I whisper.
Star ignores me, clearly uninterested in anyone who’s not bearing gifts or treats. I take another step, reading the name of the next horse. Crabapple Blossoms in the Morning Dew. One of the breeding mares, I think. I take a step closer to the stall and peer inside, curious to finally see her.
The massive door at the far end of the barn slides open, and a voice calls into the gloom.
“Hey!” someone shouts. “They’re coming!”
I freeze. A man steps into the doorway, silhouetted with light. Another door slams open, somewhere I can’t see. I glance down the aisle and see horses sticking their heads out of their stalls, curious to see what’s about to happen.
I drop to my knees. And then, before I have time to think about what in the gods’ many names I’m doing, I climb over the low bar and into Crabapple’s stall.
Another man rushes past me, hurrying toward the open door and cursing under his breath.
“How many?” he calls as he runs.
If he gets an answer, I can’t make it out. Crabapple snorts, then shifts in the stall. A long whinny echoes through the stable, drifting in from the window. It’s a greeting, something horses say to each other when they’re reunited.
Slowly, I come to my feet and peek through the narrow window that gives Crabapple a view of the palace courtyard. Crabapple huffs beside me, her wide, brown eyes watching dispassionately as a dozen horses ride through Ethiria’s castle walls.
Vsenrog’s horses.
Hells, they’re not even trying to hide it. Four soldiers ride in front, wearing Vsenrog’s scarlet and blue. I hold my breath as they fan out in the courtyard, each with one hand on their reins and the other on the pommel of their sword.
Another round of official-looking riders follows the soldiers, wearing heavy cloaks and clean, crisp Vsenrog sashes decorated with metals and amulets that sparkle in the sun.
How did they get here so quickly? They didn’t ride hard, not if they look that good. Gods, they must have camped just over the border.
My mouth goes dry, and my body feels cold. These riders must have come down from the mountains just after we did.
The officials move to the side as women and men emerge from the stables to take their horses. Another rider comes through the gates, a tall man on a black stallion. He dismounts smoothly, then pulls his hood back.
My body goes cold. The stable hand who just reached for the stallion’s reins freezes.
He’s too tall, the man who just rode one of Vsenrog’s horses into the courtyard.
Far too tall to be human. I stare at the long, delicate taper of his ears, and every story I’ve ever heard about wicked elves locking their enemies underground or leading innocent maidens into the forest floods my mind.
And then another story rises in my mind. I remember sitting in the sunlight in the old hunting lodge, my brother in his bed, propped up on pillows. And Zarek in front of him, telling his story in a low, soft voice.
Zarek said something came out of the mountain’s heart. The stone melted like wax, he said, and someone stepped through. Someone who wasn’t a man. An elf, tall and cruel. Zarek described the death of the man in the white robes before Gerard interrupted to call him insane.
And Gerard was right; his story was insane. I trusted Zarek. Hells, I saw the body of the man in white at the bottom of the Dragon Mine. But still, I didn’t truly accept what he said about the elf who walked through the mountain. It was just too much to believe.
But I believe it now.
I step away from the window, my hands twisting together at my waist. Another fragment of conversation rises in my mind.
We were sitting in the gardens of the Vsenrog palace, Anura and I, next to the big fountain with the fox on top.
Light from the palace windows spilled across the grass but didn’t quite reach us.
I’d asked Anura to tell my brother not to risk a visit to Vsenrog. She hesitated, like she wanted to tell me something, and now I realize she must have been weighing whether or not she could trust me with the secret of their marriage. She must have decided she couldn’t.
But that wasn’t all she said that night. I frown at the window, remembering words that made no sense at the time. I said Vsenrog wanted the Dragon Mine, and Anura replied that she’d heard something about a weapon. A weapon buried in the Dragon Mine.
The Dragon Mine still hasn’t produced any gold.
No, the only thing that’s come out of that mountain is the tall elf now standing in the middle of Ethiria’s courtyard.
I shiver, then step back. I can’t see the elf anymore, thank the gods. I feel like a child, closing my eyes and thinking that makes me invisible. That the monsters won’t find me if I can’t see them.
Someone in the courtyard plays a trumpet, a loud, long burst of sound. I start to tremble.
It’s the same melody the crier played at every town Zarek and I visited on our unity tour. It’s a royal flourish, declaring the presence of nobility. I step toward the window and stare into the sun-washed courtyard. My fingers twist together until my hands ache.
And Malrik, the king of Vsenrog, rides into the courtyard of Ethiria’s castle.