“How did he die?”
Everard’s face turned grim. “It was exactly as you said. He came home to find his wife murdered and his son stolen. For months he went to the teahouse, watched Derog, and plotted his revenge. Reynald was always a careful man. He calculated his risks. Had Derog left the house, he might have cornered him on the streets, but the slaver never stepped foot outside of it. Reynald didn’t know for certain how many people were inside the estate, if they had children that could’ve been taken hostage, or if Matheo was still in there.”
That did sound like Reynald.
“He dug around and found that Derog had paid bribes to the right people. He was protected. They wouldn’t stick their necks out for Derog, but they wouldn’t make a move against him either. An official complaint would be useless, and a direct assault by himself was impossible. Reynald needed to borrow someone’s power and resources to enter the place.”
“And he sought to borrow yours?”
Everard nodded. “He could’ve have just written, but it was the kind of favor he wanted to ask for in person. He left the city and was on his way to me when Striver collapsed.”
How could that have happened? “Did someone shoot at them?”
“No.”
“Do horses just die like that?”
“Sometimes.”
I hugged myself.
“There was no sign of foul play,” he said, his voice suffused with sadness. “The stallion was old, and his heart had simply stopped. Striver was a Jekran warhorse, loyal to a fault. They will run themselves to death for the sake of their riders. Reynald’s mind was on Matheo and what he would say to me. He hadn’t noticed anything was wrong until Striver went down. He’d fallen badly, hit his head, and the stallion’s bulk pinned him to the ground. A random, stupid twist of fate.”
So he just lay there, pinned down and hurt? “Did anyone find him?”
“Eventually. He had set out before sunrise, and it wasn’t a well-traveled road. They brought Reynald to the nearest village, two hours from Kair Toren. He knew the end was near, so from his deathbed he bundled his possessions into a pack, found a willing courier, and told them he was one of my men and I was expecting the package. His sword would be the proof I needed. The courier happened to work for the Shears, and he took it straight to Solentine.”
“How long did Reynald linger?”
“Three days.”
Why did it happen? Reynald wasn’t supposed to die for another nine months. He hadn’t suffered the way he had in the books, but still, it wasn’t a good death. He had survived every battle, fought in every war, made it through the plagues, the sieges, and the storming seas, and that’s how it had ended. Alone among strangers, not knowing if his final request would ever make it to Everard. Not sure if his son was suffering or even if he was still alive. How could life be so monstrously unfair?
My eyes were watering. I swiped the tears away.
“I made it in time to watch him pass,” Everard said.
What? How? Selva was a ten-day hard ride from Kair Toren. Even if Solentine had sent a message by bird or some magical means, Everard would have still had to physically get there. Was there some long-range version of morr beads I didn’t know about?
“I sat by his side as he faded, and I swore to him that I would find his son and when I did, Matheo would become my ward. He died in peace, Maggie. Or at least as much peace as was humanly possible to find considering what I had to work with.”
Everard leaned back in his chair, his expression mournful and tired.
When he said he’d sworn to rescue Matheo, he’d actually meant it. He’d made a vow to a man he considered a friend so Reynald could let go knowing his son would be looked after.
“Before I got Reynald’s message, I’d been considering coming down to Kair Toren. The rebellion was flaring up, and Solentine’s messages betrayed a growing frustration with the state of things. Once Reynald passed, I took his body into the city so he could be buried next to his wife.”
The cart. Oh my god. When I saw him in the city that night, there were three riders and a cart. Reynald’s body must’ve been in that cart. It had rolled by me, and I’d had no idea. When Everard had given me those coins, he wasn’t just feeling charitable. It wasn’t mere money; it was funeral alms offered to me in memory of a man who once saved him. He gave it to me because that’s what Reynald would’ve done.
I tried to keep my voice casual. “When did Striver fall? What day?”
“The third of Planter. Early in the morning, sometime shortly after sunrise. The rain was heavy that day.”
Goosebumps crawled up my arms.
On the third of Planter, I woke up naked in a muddy ditch, choking on rainwater. I had been pulled into Kair Toren on the morning Striver collapsed. Probably at that exact instant. There was no limit to coincidences in the world, but that one was a stretch.
What did that mean? Did the timeline go wrong at that moment, and was I supposed to put it back on its rightful course? But how? I couldn’t resurrect Reynald. I didn’t have the power to bring the dead to life. I knew that for a fact because I had tried it when I was looking at the thief. I had stood there and wished with everything I had to undo Hreban’s grisly handiwork, and nothing had happened.
