It wasn’t just the healer who haunted her dreams. She still heard Tova’s screams.
Will scanned her face, his gray eyes cloudy with some emotion she couldn’t place. ‘I am not your enemy,’ he said softly.
‘You have donenothingbut try to take away everything I have ever loved,’ she snapped, her hands gripping the edge of the table.
Her position in the Dyminara. Her bonded. Her best friend.
‘Tell me,’ she bit out through gritted teeth, ‘that doesn’t make you my enemy.’
A muscle in his jaw worked as he bit back a retort before shaking his head and ducking out the door, leaving her to trek back to the palace alone.
31
Aya didn’t bother going back. Instead, she found herself wandering through the Old Town, which was crowded with people on their way to an early dinner.
She kept her pace slow, her hands shoved into the pockets of her white linen pants as she took in the various restaurants and shops around her. Cerulean paint across the square caught her eye. She was back in the plaza Aidon had shown them on their tour.
Aya glanced at the townspeople milling around. They gave the restaurant a wide berth, as though it was dangerous to even be near it. She picked her way across the plaza and slipped down the narrow street that ran alongside the building. A battered side door hung open, as if no one could be bothered with security after the vandalism.
Aya peered over her shoulder before ducking inside.
She found herself in a small kitchen, its counters utterly pristine except for a fine layer of dust that had settled over them, which she swiped a finger through as she wandered further into the building. The attack must have come after-hours, then, when everyone had gone home. A small mercy.
She stepped into the main dining area, careful to stay in the shadows as her gaze swept the room. The space was small, and had it not been for the upturned tables and chairs, it would have been inviting. Aya frowned at the splintered wood on the ground. Some of the furniture had been destroyed completely. She crouched down, her fingers trailing the chips of wood.
‘Horrible, isn’t it?’
Aya whipped her head around, her gaze landing on the tall figure standing in the short hallway to the kitchen.
‘Aidon,’ she breathed, her hand coming to her chest. ‘Gods. You scared me.’
‘Imagine that –youdon’t like people sneaking around.’ The prince’s teasing grin didn’t quite meet his eyes.
Aya stood and dusted off her palms. ‘I didn’t mean to overstep,’ she winced. ‘Force of habit.’
‘By all means.’ Aidon gestured to the room. ‘Maybe you’ll find something I didn’t.’
She spun in a small circle, her arms crossed as her eyes scanned the space. ‘The City Guard didn’t hear any of this?’
He shook his head. ‘The guards patrol a wide circuit. By the time one crossed the plaza, the Bellare were gone.’ His brow furrowed as he watched her. ‘Why?’
‘Between the damage to the furniture and the lack of sound – a Zeluus and Caeli had to be involved at least. Unless …’ Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she hesitated.
‘Unless?’
‘Unless the Diaforaté have made it to Trahir.’ She watched as Aidon stiffened, the warmth that usually filled his gaze absent as he considered her. ‘It’s just a theory,’ she said placatingly. ‘But either way, I have a hard time believing that a guard wouldn’t hear or see such destruction until after it happened.’
The prince’s sigh was heavy as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘It’s something we should consider. I’ll bring it to the Guard.’
Aya nodded once, stepping over a pile of debris as she made her way to his side.
‘I suspect your uncle won’t enjoy the theory.’
Aidon grinned, his hand finding the small of her back as he guided her toward the side door. ‘I can handle him.’
She was nearly asleep by the time she heard Will’s footsteps in the hall. Aya rolled over, her eyes squinting to see the clock on her wall in the dying Incend light. Two hours after midnight.
His quiet knock on her door had her gritting her teeth, but she knew better than to ignore him. He’d do something foolish, like break in. Aya shucked the covers off and grabbed the emerald silk robe that hung by her bedside, throwing it over her white slip as she stalked to the door.
