Chapter 17 River
River
River had been at the pub they’d designated as the planned meeting spot. She was nursing an ale, only half paying attention
to the Realm Chalice. All the stadium’s surrounding pubs were conjurating the match for viewing, so she couldn’t escape it
fully, but the truth was, she didn’t much care for horseball. She kept up with it because it was an easy shorthand to reach
for, something that often let her converse with people she needed a connection with—people with whom she’d usually have nothing
to discuss. Today, she’d had much bigger things on her mind. Celine had indeed published her piece on the Deathrose Guild.
She cared more about her scribely integrity than she did about River’s personal feelings. So what if River had told her to
go ahead and do it? She’d obviously not meant it. It was just something she’d said.
Damned words. Damned feelings.
River had entirely too many of them, and she’d wanted a chance to sort through them in peace. Here she was in Vestriya, knee-deep
in the business of royals from both realms, fighting feelings for a woman she could never have—a woman with secrets she wouldn’t
share—when all River had ever intended to do was her job. A job that no longer existed, for a guild she no longer seemed to
understand.
Then Galwell threw that ball at Prince Ezio.
Considering her line of business, River often thought it was impossible to shock her. That had done it.
Was it finally proof that the guild had been right all along? Was Galwell an evil, murderous man?
River teleported to Celine, landing squarely in front of her in the press box beside the playing field. It was getting to
be a bit tedious the way they kept ending up with their bodies smashed together, as if River’s magic were playing an extended
cruel joke.
“Sorry,” River said, creating immediate distance. “I just . . . I figured you knew more about what was going on.”
“The match won’t be happening. They’ll be announcing it soon. They think Ezio is dead,” Celine whispered, her face pale. “And
suddenly the scribes down here are saying Ario was harmed, too?”
“What?” River could not hide her shock. Not that snail-loving, terrible poet of a prince.
“We need to find Galwell,” they both said in unison.
It felt good to have a task to share, something that didn’t involve their personal drama. Feelings only ever complicated matters,
made secrets feel like weapons. River worked best when she didn’t have to focus on any of that.
Celine grabbed hold of River’s arm as River visualized Galwell’s billowing hair and immense, muscular frame. She tried her
best to not let her emotions cloud the image, but it was difficult. She’d really believed Galwell was good to his core. But
he’d fooled her. Fooled everyone, really.
Yet again, River had been wrong to place her faith in someone. It bothered her in ways she hardly knew how to express. She
figured she’d try all the same. Perhaps she’d use her fists. Even though Galwell had magicked strength, she would be fueled
by betrayal, which she felt to be more powerful in the end.
They teleported to the very top of the stadium, where wide, empty walkways surrounded the nosebleeds—the seats were so high above the action that the horseball players looked more like bugs than people, and the spectators often wore special glasses to see the action.
Galwell stood with one foot propped up on a bench and his lips wrapped around a gryphon shankfry. A glop of oil was dripping
down the corner of his mouth, and he didn’t even seem to notice, for he was too busy contemplating the expansive Vestriyan
hillside.
River had imagined they’d be teleported to the tunnels under the field. That was where she presumed he’d have run to, considering
the location of his actions. Finding Galwell alone at the highest point in the stadium threw all her previous plans into question.
Had he already eliminated an entire team of people tasked with keeping him from causing more harm? Was he up here basking
in his evil glory?
“What have you done?” River cried out.
“Forgive me!” Galwell said, startled. “I did not hear you arrive.” He looked down at his tunic, where the oil had dripped
a trail that traveled all the way to his shoes. “I believe I took too large a bite.”
“You’ve just killed Prince Ezio,” Celine said. Her composure soothed River, who typically reacted to dangerous figures with
violence. When in doubt, knock the person unconscious until you have a clearer picture of the situation.
Then again, considering what had happened at the Grotto, Celine clearly had her own secrets. Perhaps River was being deceived
everywhere she went.
Galwell looked to his gryphon shank in horror. “Has . . . has Ezio shape-shifted into my food? I swear I did not know that
was his magical gift.” He threw the last of the fry onto the ground, then fell to his knees with his hands clasped together.
“Ghosts forgive me. I never meant for this to happen.”
His brand of evil was not one River had ever encountered before.
For him to openly mock Prince Ezio like this .
. . It actually scared her. This was the kind of villain she did not know how to fight, because his intentions were so well disguised by his performance of sincerity that she couldn’t figure out how to play to his sensibilities enough to get the truth out of him.
“He is not in your fried gryphon,” Celine said calmly. “It happened on the field. You threw a ball at his head with such force
it knocked him out. All the scribes believe he is now dead, and that Ario has been grievously harmed as well.”
Galwell rose up, holding out his hands to show he had no weapons on him.
“That does us no good,” River said. “You have the gift of strength. We just watched you use it to deadly effect. You are the weapon.”
She exchanged a look with Celine. The very line her parents had once said to her—the one that had driven her to the guild—she’d
just spoken to Galwell of all people.
“I swear to you on the honor of Mythria that I know nothing of what you speak. I heard uproar and assumed it was because the
game had begun.” He kneeled. “I have been up here completely alone, reflecting upon the events of my personal life.”
“Everyone in Vestriya watched you do it. This could very well be the start of a war between our realms, and you mean to tell
us we all suffered a collective hallucination?” Celine probed.
“I mean to tell you nothing except that I would never cause harm to Prince Ezio, and I wouldn’t hurt Ario, either,” Galwell
said. “If I were to suggest how this could have happened, I might point toward an impersonator. It’s a popular custom in Mythria.
Clare has an entire annual convention in his honor. Perhaps some Galwells have traveled to Vestriya.”
“But no one has strength like you in any realm. It’s a very famous part of your legend,” Celine said.
“That is true.” Galwell was still kneeling. The man absolutely loved to kneel, and he looked good doing it. River had to give him that.
“Even if it wasn’t you, everyone else thinks it was,” River said, though she had no idea why. Perhaps the kneeling had done it. Perhaps she
was playing right into his hands. But there was a part of her that needed to believe in his goodness. She desperately wanted
one thing in her life to be exactly what it was, no catches involved.
“They will still paint you as a villain,” Celine said. “I already heard the other scribes discussing it. They are preparing
their stories as we speak.”
“And they will publish them, no matter who resists,” River added, chancing a look at Celine.
“Because the people deserve to know the truth,” Celine replied.
“Even when that truth could cost you your life?” River asked. “And speaking of truths, there’s something you’re very clearly
keeping from me. Something that’s made you avoid me ever since the harpies chose you in the Grotto.”
“Aren’t you the one who said you were dangerous? Who made a big point about how I shouldn’t trust you?”
“Pardon me, but I believe we’ve strayed from the original point,” Galwell interjected. “I’d love it if we could revisit the
possibility that my life’s honor has very recently been compromised.” The devastation on his face was plain. If it was indeed
a performance, then he’d chosen the wrong calling. He could’ve been a star of shadow plays.
“If what you say is true, I will teleport to the impersonator and handle this myself.” River closed her eyes and thought of the
terrifying focus she’d seen in Galwell’s expression before he’d thrown the pitch.
When she opened them again, she had teleported. Only she’d gone about three irons west of where she’d already been standing.
“Not a very compelling case for this being the work of someone other than you,” she said.
“I swear not just on the honor of Mythria but on the life of my sister and my parents that I did not kill Prince Ezio,” Galwell
told her.
River tried again to teleport. This time, she landed on the railing that surrounded the top of the stadium. Thank Ghosts she
had good balance. She hopped down, arching an eyebrow at Galwell, who was—unbelievably—still kneeling.
“Galwell, I cannot find an impersonator anywhere in this stadium. If there really is a duplicate of you running around and
tarnishing your legacy, you’ll need to go into hiding until this is resolved, because his work is so convincing that even
my magic cannot differentiate between the two of you. Wherever you go, keep it a secret from Celine, or she’s sure to write
about it.”
“River, please,” Celine said. “It needed to be written. The public must know about what the guild is doing, especially now
that they’re targeting innocent people.”
“The public also deserves to know what you’re hiding from us,” River replied. It didn’t quite work, so she did her best to revise the sentiment on the fly. “The public being our group. All of us who are working together.
We can’t keep things from each other.”