Ericen laughed mirthlessly. “What else would I do? Where would I go? She’d hunt me clear into the Eastern Wastelands.”
“You could come to Rhodaire. With me.” Even as I said the words, I marveled at them. How had we gotten here? “We could protect you.”
Doubt flickered across his face, drawing forth a spurt of indignation into my chest, though I understood. He didn’t know what I did about Res or the alliances being formed against his kingdom.
He didn’t respond. I could see his indecision, see him thinking maybe I’d said those things because I felt the same way he did. I felt something for him, something that made me want to get him out of here for his own sake as much as mine, but it wasn’t the same thing I had experienced with Caylus.
“I’ve worked my entire life to become a Vykryn,” he said.
“Your people don’t give you the respect you deserve.”
“They see the way my mother dismisses me, and they do the same. If I win the Centerian, I can earn her respect.” His hands tightened on the table edge. “I shouldn’t even react to it. I shouldn’t care. It’s half the reason people look at me the way they do.”
I pushed off the table, stepping in front him. “You don’t deserve it. You can make another choice.”
He met my gaze, holding it like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. His eyes searched mine, looking for something that wasn’t there. He looked away.
Shouting echoed in from the courtyard. Ericen’s eyes snapped to a spot above my head, and he pushed off the table, hurrying to open the door. I darted to his side in time to see Shearen at the front of a small formation of soldiers.
“Kiran, Seina, Raelynn.” Shearen eyed each soldier as he named them.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“He’s forming a team for something.” Ericen stepped into the courtyard, and I followed.
“Marin,” Shearen continued. Then his head jerked up, eyes falling on us. A cruel smile spread across his lips. “Ericen.”
Ericen stiffened, and I almost screamed. He’d been listening. He’d been about to say yes!
“Her Majesty has informed me a servant by the name of Auma is actually a rebel spy,” Shearen said. “We’ve been tasked with retrieving her. Any questions?”
“No, sir!” the soldiers said in unison, save for Ericen.
“Then move out.”
My mouth had gone dry, my throat rough as sand. That was why Auma had stolen the letter for me—she was a rebel, working against Razel for years. Had she run because Razel found her out?
I found Ericen’s eyes. “Don’t go.”
He hesitated, his expression fraught. This was the end of our conversation. This was his decision.
“I have to.” He didn’t look back as he joined the group of selected soldiers gathering beside Shearen.
I watched the team leave the training grounds, the rest of the soldiers dispersing. I didn’t move. A weight slowly settled on my chest. Then everyone was gone.
Twenty-Nine
You’re going to wear a hole in the rug,” Kiva warned halfheartedly from the couch in our room. Razel had canceled dinner, and the riders still hadn’t returned with news of Auma. Food had been brought to us, and the remains of it sat on the table by the fire. We’d barely touched it. “Do something useful and mix the acid.”
“I can’t. Not right now.” I was too anxious, too overwrought to keep my hands steady, and this was one mixture I didn’t want to spill. Was this what it was like for Caylus? Unable to do the thing he loved because his body wouldn’t comply? Except I didn’t love what I was about to do. I was making liquid fire to burn off a lock so we could sneak into a secret room full of magic.
I looked at my hands, clad in the gloves Ericen had given me, then out toward the open window. Our room faced the front castle yard, the rain pelting stone and glass the only sound. I hoped I’d hear the thunder of hooves at any moment.
“It’s been over two hours, and they’re not back yet,” Kiva said. “That’s a good sign, especially considering they took dogs with them. If they haven’t found her by now, they probably never will.”
I’d told myself the same thing several times, but the words fell flat. Until the team returned empty-handed—until Ericen returned empty-handed—I wouldn’t be able to relax. I doubted Kiva even believed her words, but I didn’t challenge her. This was how she handled things. She stayed calm. Logical. Freaking out was my job.
Another hour passed, during which Kiva convinced me to sit. I complied only because I knew my anxiety made hers worse. I might have been the one pacing, but Kiva’s hands were clenched in fists so tight, the knuckles were white. As we waited, I focused on the thrum of the cord with Res as he slept, letting it center me.
