Bryn stopped short, feeling a terrible chill. “What?”
“He fought against his attacker,” the mage continued. “There were cuts and bruises beneath his clothes. The lamp wick was cold, implying the attack happened in the dark. Presumably, the murderer was waiting for him to return to the chamber. By all we can tell, Trei fought well. But the murderer had the advantage of surprise.”
“Oh, Trei,” Bryn said, pressing a hand to her mouth.
The Wedding Tour,of course, was canceled.
Once word spread of Trei’s passing, the entire castle sank into mourning. A dark shadow fell over the faces of all the residents who had loved their eldest prince dearly. Most of them had either watched him grow up or grown up alongside him, singing fishing shanties together, letting him settle their disputes, dancing with him at the gatherings. King Aleth had sent riders out only a few days before to the outer villages to proclaim the good news about the marriage, and now he was forced to send another team of messengers with the terrible news that their prince would not be coming to visit them after all.
Bryn remained cloistered in the mage chambers for her private mourning. Fortunately, Calista and Ren gave her all the space she needed. It was one of the few places within the castle where servants didn’t enter, and Bryn reveled in the privacy. Even the guards remained stationed at the outer door.
“Where is she? Where is Lady Bryn?” A tearful voice suddenly called from the hallway, though the soldiers stopped the person before entering.
Bryn came out of her room only to stop stiffly when she saw Saraj being held back by a guard. Tears stained the falconer’s face. Saraj had looked sallow and miserable for days, and now she looked even more like a hollowed out shell of a person.
When Saraj caught sight of Bryn, she clenched her jaw. “I must speak with you.”
Apprehensive, Bryn nodded for the guards to let Saraj in, though they checked her first for any possible hidden weapons. As soon as Saraj was in the main workroom, the two women regarded each other for some time, and a million different thoughts tumbled through Bryn’s mind. Had Saraj come to berate her? To accuse her of not watching out for Trei?
But then Saraj let out a sob and threw her arms around Bryn. “Gods, Bryn. He’s gone.”
Bryn clutched Saraj with all her strength. She hadn’t realized until that point how badly she’d needed a friend. With Trei gone and Rangar in the dungeon, Valenden was the closest thing she had to a friend, but after their tumultuous history, she’d always felt the need to keep herself at a distance.
The two women held one another while letting the tears come, and once their grief had finally worn them out, they sank onto the bench. Ren appeared from the back room with two cups of fortifying mint tea, which he silently set on the table for them and retreated again.
After some time, Saraj finally spoke. “You were the one who found him. I’d like to hear exactly what happened.”
Bryn explained about coming home from the feast, finding the room dark, and then the gruesome discovery. As much as she wanted to leave out the part about Rangar’s knife, she had to tell Saraj everything.
“I know it wasn’t Rangar,” Bryn insisted. “You must believe me. Even in the throes of his worst temper, he would never kill Trei.”
Saraj sipped her tea, then set it down with shaking hands and said, “The castle is torn: half the residents believe Rangar did it, and the other half swear he wouldn’t. It didn’t help that he publicly threatened Trei.”
Bryn let out an exasperated sigh. “Everyone thinks Rangar has the most obvious motivation, but they’re ignoring the fact that we’re at the brink of war with Captain Carr’s spies in our midst. When I married Trei, it took the target off my back and put it on his.”
Saraj’s eyes flashed. “You think a Mir spy killed him?”
Bryn nodded. “I’ve heard the guards outside whispering about it, too, so I know that King Aleth and Mage Marna also suspect it as a possibility. But they refuse to let Rangar out of the dungeon unless they’re certain.”
“How will they prove the murder was a spy unless the spy is caught?”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Bryn said, anxiously toying with the handle of her mug. “What if they don’t catch him? Will Rangar stay locked up forever?”
Saraj glanced at the doorway where the soldiers were standing, and then the opposite direction toward the inner mage chambers, where Ren had disappeared to. She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “Have you spoken with Rangar?”
“They won’t let me see him.”
“Has Val?”
“Yes, he’s gone to the dungeon to speak with Rangar a few times. He says Rangar denies the murder, of course. That he was shocked and heartbroken to learn the news.” Bryn set down her mug, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach to think of Rangar alone in the dungeon. It was a portion of the castle she’d never visited, so she couldn’t speak to the conditions, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture it as a windowless, dank, uncomfortable place. Rangar was there alone mourning the passing of a brother.
She felt the urge to cry but wiped her nose, pulling herself together, and said, “He claims he hadn’t seen that knife since he gave it to me before we even came to the Baersladen. He doesn’t know where it’s been all this time.”
Saraj let out a long breath, looking worn through.
Bryn confessed, “Perhaps it doesn’t matter now, but Trei and I . . . Well, we never consummated the marriage. We were both in love with someone else.” She reached out to take the falconer’s hand. “He loved you so much. He played the part of a dutiful husband, but I assure you that he was a wreck behind closed doors. It tore him apart to have lost you.”
She thought Saraj might cry again, but instead, Saraj only stared down at her tea and eventually whispered, “Thank you, Bryn. For telling me.”
