Lowering her voice, she shuffled closer to the falcon. “What are you doing, Berol?”
The falcon’s wings were splayed, head bowed. Her posture, along with the long string of chirps she uttered made her seem anxious. Upset. Then Cora noted the scroll of parchment in one talon. The falcon hopped closer, disturbing the line of salt on the sill.
Cora frowned, eying the paper. “Is that…for me?” A spark of hope flitted in her chest. Perhaps Teryn had sent her a sweet letter and, instead of disturbing her with his presence, he’d sent Berol. She extended her hand toward the falcon. Berol uncurled her talon and dropped the scroll onto her inked palm.
Cora quickly unrolled the paper and found it was a short letter. Her eyes dipped to the bottom to find the sender’s name. It was from Teryn’s brother, King Larylis.
Teryn,
I hope this note finds you well. Berol delivered me something that looked like a scrap of your shirt, and it worried me. Please send her back with a reply letting me know if you’re all right.
—Larylis
Cora cocked her head to the side. “Why didn’t you deliver this to Teryn?”
Berol, of course, gave her no answer. Even when she tried to connect with the falcon’s mind, it gave her nothing like the connection she could form with Valorre. Instead, all she felt was unease, agitation.
“Highness,” came her guard’s voice again, edged with a note of urgency. Berol took off from the sill, sending a gust of salt and rosemary in her wake.
Cora tucked the note in her apron pocket and turned toward the door. “Yes?”
A pause. Then, “Something has happened, Princess. Master Arther is here to escort you to speak with the king’s council at once.”
Cora’s heartwas in her throat by the time she made it to the bottom of the tower stairwell where Master Arther awaited. After Berol’s strange behavior and the letter she’d delivered, Cora couldn’t help but think the worst. Something must have happened to Teryn. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning. Had he returned home without saying goodbye? Had he been hurt or injured on his way? Even so, how had Berol had enough time to make it to Dermaine Palace and back? She supposed falcons were fast, but still…
“What happened?” she asked Master Arther, her voice both sharp and trembling.
The old steward wrung his gloved hands. “It’s best you hear it from the council?—”
“No, I will not take a single step farther until you tell me what happened.”
Arther glanced around, but the hall was empty. Thankfully, the wing beneath the North Tower Library was rarely frequented by anyone but the guards. He released a sigh, and Cora braced herself for the worst.
Please don’t say Teryn is…that he’s…
“It’s about His Majesty the King.”
Her mind went blank. “What? Not Prince Teryn?”
Master Arther grimaced. “Well, it’s about him too, Highness.”
Her pulse hammered, setting her mind back to racing. “Please just tell me at once.”
“You really should speak with the king’s councilmen?—”
“They are not your monarchs,” she said, voice rising to a shout. “Tell me or I’ll find someone else who will. And another steward while I’m at it.”
She was too anxious to feel guilty for her sharp words. While she’d never made such an imperious threat, she was going out of her mind. Her mental shields were already beginning to fray, inviting in Arther’s apprehension, and the curiosity of the stairwell guard behind them.
“Very well,” he mumbled, folding his hands behind his back. “Highness, His Majesty attacked Prince Teryn. He drew a dagger on the prince inside the Godskeep during one of his…” The steward cleared his throat. “Moments.”
Cora pulled her head back, unable to believe his words. “What? How could that…how would he…”
“Lord Kevan will tell you the details. The council has assembled and awaits your presence.”
“Where is my brother?”
“He’s in his room under guard?—”
