“Are we really going to the Citadel?”
“Yes. It’s our first stop.”
“So, there’s a second stop?”
“Yes.” Warning Eliarde was important, but the second stop was even more so.
Lute’s eyebrows crept up. “Where?”
“Old Town.”
“Does ‘Reynald’ know?”
I smiled. “No. And I don’t want him to.”
If I explained my plan to Everard, he would lose his shit and lock me in the house.
We crossed the street and turned west, walking along the river on the street that would eventually bring us to the Ashen Bridge.
“You asked me to be straight with you. If Everard finds out where we are going, a little bit of that iron control might slip. If you want to go back to get his permission, now is your chance.”
Lute shook his head. “I don’t believe I will.”
“Oh good. Because we have another forty-five minutes of walking, and my feet already hurt.”
CHAPTER25
At its southern border, Kair Toren ran into a ridge of hills that stretched southwest to the ocean. The city streets climbed up onto the rises, and below them the Dokkon’s numerous tributaries carved their way toward the center of Kair Toren to join the wider river. One of those lesser rivers formed a tight horseshoe loop around a stone crag. A man-made channel, equipped with floodgates, bridged the loop, turning the bend of the river into a ring of water that hugged an oblong island.
The Defender Citadel sprouted from that island like a king trumpet mushroom, taking up all available space. Built with the trademark Kair Toren stone, the castle walls soared fifteen stories high, unified at the bottom, then widening into a collection of fortifications that would allow archers to rain arrows on any approaching attackers.
The Citadel was connected to the rest of the city by a sloping bridge, wide enough to allow six knights to ride abreast. The bridge spanned the open air between the castle and the nearest hill, and at the foot of the bridge, where it touched the street, a fortified gatehouse blocked the way, flanked by two towers and equipped with a heavy gate and portcullis. Right now, the portcullis was up, and the gate stood open, revealing a passageway that led through the barbican and up to the bridge.
Two knights in the beautiful pale armor and white-and-gold tabards of the Defenders kept watch by the gate.
I took my hood down, revealing my spectacular hair arrangement, and approached the knight on the left.
“Greetings, my lady,” the knight said.
“Greetings.”
I pulled Berengur’s crest out of my sleeve and showed it to the knight.
He examined it carefully, brushed his finger over it, checking for something, and nodded to me. “A moment.”
He flicked his fingers. A young teenage girl in a plain blue tunic ran out of the passageway and set a small stool in front of me. A boy of about the same age in an identical outfit ran to the bridge.
“Please wait here, my lady,” the knight said. “Would you like some refreshments?”
“No, thank you.”
I sat on the stool. Lute loomed behind me, projecting his willingness to do bodily harm to anyone who approached.
Minutes crawled by.
Finally, a young knight in armor emerged from the tunnel, stopped a few feet before us, and bowed his head. “Please follow me.”
Berengur was back. Yes! I might have a shot.
