Chapter 12
Three days passed, and I saw very little of Gareth.
Whenever I felt the sting of guilt about my behavior in the training yard, I reminded myself that I had done us both a great favor. I kept thinking of Crellin—her lifeless eyes, the pool of blood beneath her head, the long nights I’d spent crying over a broken heart.
No, life in the Order was not suitable for romance. I had learned that the hard way, as had so many Roses before me.
Gareth Fontaine was my partner in war, nothing more. Someday he would realize what I’d done and thank me.
I was pulling on my boots, preparing for an evening patrol, when Danesh burst into my room wearing a dark gray tunic and brown trousers, her ash-blond hair pulled back into a sweaty bun. Clearly she had just returned from an afternoon patrol.
“The Warden wants us in her office immediately,” she said, her gray eyes alight with excitement. “Your fae friend brought us something useful for once.”
I let the dig at Posey slide and followed Danesh upstairs to the Warden’s office, where Gareth and two of his colleagues—Fiacra and Geddings—were already waiting.
Gareth glanced up at me as we entered. The weight of his gaze made me hot all over, but I resisted the urge to meet it and instead focused on Posey, who stood before the Warden’s desk in dusty travel clothes. I hadn’t seen her since our confrontation in the stables, and I was glad she didn’t look at me now. If she did, I might see in her eyes the same judgment I’d seen that day.I heard about the mission to Sablemire.
You’re not who I thought you were.
I pushed past the memory and looked beyond Posey to where one of my fellow squadron captains stood—Lorna, thirty years old, her brown skin riddled with scars, one eye missing. A sentinel like me. She gave me a brief nod, which I returned.
The Warden sat at her desk, hands folded atop it. “Speak, Lorna.”
“Per your orders, Posey accompanied us on our intelligence mission to the northeast territories.” Lorna paused, then glanced at Gareth and his colleagues. “An Olden region with ore and precious gems, constantly fought over by fae clans, who want the treasure, and titans, who often disagree about land rights.”
Gareth nodded. “I’m familiar. The Emerald Fields, the Iron Mountains. Very near the westernmost border of fae country.”
Lorna raised an eyebrow, impressed. “We stayed for a few days in the village of Oriak, near Brightfell, and used that as a base for scouting and surveillance.” She glanced once more at Gareth. “The geography of these lands is constantly changing, especially over the past few weeks. We have to keep our maps as current as possible.”
“Especially since the area is so rich in resources,” Gareth added.
“Which we trade for when we can.”
Geddings, one of the younger librarians on Gareth’s team, cleared his throat. “And steal when you can’t?”
Lorna blinked at him. “If necessary. Some of these substances are too dangerous to allow Oldens to claim.”
“Starstone, for example,” Gareth added. “If harvested and processed properly, it can be forged into weapons that absorb whatever magic is nearby. And the northeast territories are flush with it.”
Before I could think better of it, I chimed in to add, “And better for us to have control over such a resource than, say, fae sympathetic to Kilraith’s cause.”
Again I felt Gareth’s eyes on me. Again I stared stonily ahead, cursing myself for jumping in on the tail of his words like that, as if we were partners used to finishing each other’s sentences.
Danesh blew out a scornful breath. “Kilraith’s cause. The cause of human extermination, you mean.”
Posey didn’t take the bait, ignoring Danesh’s pointed glare.
“On a surveillance mission,” Lorna continued, “Posey met one of her contacts and obtained intelligence I believe is worth pursuing.”
Lorna looked to Posey, and she stepped forward. Her long silver braids fell to her hips, and even though I had grown used to her presence, her beauty still sometimes struck me anew, as it did now. She was so obviously not human—too beautiful for it, and too strange, with her green skin and pointed ears, her lissome grace.
“My contact is a young knight from the Cirrinoc clan,” she began. “They are distant cousins of my own clan, the Frinthians. He said there have been whispers about a powerful object held in Cirrinoc. A great prize belonging to Lady Ifanna, Queen of the Veil, from a city where the only light is that of the moon.”
At once my eyes flew to Gareth, who had gone very still.
“Cirrinoc,” murmured Geddings. “Isn’t that the Court of Shadows?”
Posey nodded solemnly.
