“None reported,” the attendant answered.
“I might want another patrol, just to be safe.”
“If you think it is wise,” the knight said tiredly and trudged off. Eira wondered just how many patrols he’d been sent on while Deneya was stalling.
Olivin reached out his toe, tapping the back of Deneya’s foot lightly.
“Thank you again for your diligence.” Deneya gave a nod to the attendant and opened the door.
At the same time, Olivin yanked Eira close. He exchanged her hand from his right to his left without breaking contact. The glyph that swirled around his left palm now encircled hers as well and, for a brief second, Eira fantasized that she, at long last, had Lightspinning. Olivin’s right hand slid down her back, pulling her even closer.
Walking through the door felt almost like a dance.
They were in a small room that had nothing but another door on the opposite side. The attendant closed the first one before opening the second. Within the second were knights. Olivin skillfully maneuvered them around the people, following closely behind Deneya as she headed in the opposite direction as the attendant and Olivin stayed in step. Through two more rooms and they emerged into the center hallway of the arena that Eira recognized as the same one that rounded the whole perimeter—if she continued one way, she’d find the cleric’s offices and then the intersection with the village’s tunnel. If she went the other, she’d go underneath the royals’ box and toward the gardens they had their little soiree within.
“Tell me you made it and that I didn’t just let in a Pillar,” Deneya whispered.
“Both of us,” Olivin replied.
Deneya breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve seen this wing cleared. Stay silent and at the ready, but you can drop your illusion, for now.”
Olivin released Eira, his glyph unraveling. Eira met Deneya’s eyes. It was the first time they’d been face-to-face since the start of the tournament and, given all Eira had done, the tension was palpable. Eira remembered desperately trying to save the woman as keenly as she remembered Deneya being ready to use her as bait and dismiss her information on Ulvarth.
“I hear you’ve been hard at work,” Deneya said, at long last.
“I keep myself busy.”
“Even when I’ve asked you not to.”
“Unfortunately for you, you do not control me,” Eira replied.
Deneya seemed almost amused. Almost. There was a time she would’ve been. But Eira had lost that love from her former mentor and that reminder was more painful, even still, than she wanted it to be.
“I taught you all you know.” Before Eira could object, Deneya began walking. “Let’s see if you put it to good use.”
Deneya led them through the torchlit hall. One door was the same as any other. The only deviations to the endless, smooth stone were the patched cracks, the still drying mortar bulging and lumpy. The runes of strength were drawn over them and pulsed faintly with magic, bleeding into the surrounding stone. Her senses must still be heightened after finding Olivin to sense the magic without trying.
Eira tried to use the patching to keep track of where she was in the coliseum—it seemed to get worse the longer they went. They came to a stop before one of the many closed doors, this one as unassuming as any other, but behind this one was an office where Vi Solaris was waiting.
34
“I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Vi said to Eira. The princess lounged in the chair, her feet up on the desk that Taavin was leaning against. She exuded effortless power and confidence. Her betrothed did the same. The two were the vision of strength.
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“How have you been since the ball?” The question sounded genuine, which only added another layer of confusion to the image of Vi that Eira was painting in her mind. This was the same woman who had come up with the idea of using her to bait Ferro. But also the same woman who had offered to give her assistance—or anything else she desired—after she’d killed Ferro.
“I’ve been all right.”A gross overstatement. “Yourself?”
“Trying to keep a treaty that could save all our lives—or at least spare us the horrors of war—together with prayers and hair-thin ties while people are trying to rattle the foundations it’s laid upon.” Vi smiled thinly. “So, also all right.”
“Is it that tenuous?”
“The treaty or my mental and emotional state?”
Eira bit back laughter at the retort. “The treaty.”
“Any peace is tenuous,” Taavin answered, somewhat dejectedly. “Especially one built on so much history.” And not all good history, as Eira had learned.
