She hadn’t eaten all day and the food was delicious, the room warm and peaceful as the men concentrated on their dinner. Tristan’s thigh pressed reassuringly against hers, and she felt genuinely accepted by the Hawks. But she still couldn’t settle.
Her thoughts were in a blur, her emotions a strange swirling combination of fluttering butterflies every time she looked up and saw Tristan watching her, the hot pulse of remembering what they’d done, and a cold underlay of fear for her brother, Tor, and the men around her. Trepidation about the night ahead. And a strange, painful uncertainty.
Tristan was like a dream, a beautiful dream that she had longed for all her life but had also known could never really come true. She’d heard what he’d said—that she was his—but she also knew that every time things had turned difficult, his first instinct was to walk away.
And who could blame him? His own mother had abandoned him, leaving him with an abusive bastard of a father. The king had banished him without a second thought. He had never trusted anyone except Val… and look how that had turned out.
And, on top of that, just a few short days ago, she had been building herself up to hate Tristan for how he’d abandoned her brother.
Val. Gods. Did he imagine anyone would come for him? Or did he think he was completely alone? It had been weeks since he’d been taken prisoner; she couldn’t even imagine what it had done to him.
Her appetite fled, and she pushed away her plate. Tristan glared at her and pushed it closer again. She scowled and pushed it away once more. His glare deepened, and he leaned over and put his lips against her ear. “Eat. We don’t know what will happen or when there will be food again.”
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Please. It… does something to me. I need you to try.”
She sighed and put a forkful of meat into her mouth, chewing dramatically while he watched with one raised eyebrow.
She managed a few more bites and then really couldn’t stomach any more. She pushed the plate away to the other side of the table, daring him to try and get it back. He just shook his head and then glared at Jos when he sniggered.
She didn’t want to eat. She wanted to get to Val.
Finally, the food was finished and the plates cleared. Everyone leaned back in their chairs while Jeremiel walked over and locked the door to the rest of the inn.
Tristan turned to Mathos. “Report.”
“Tor is being moved to inside the palace walls tonight. I’ve bribed the guards with a promise of more coin tomorrow if he gets there in one piece.”
“Do we know anything about exactly where in the palace he’ll be going?” Garet asked.
“Most likely the new cells.”
Tristan looked to Reece, the squad’s engineer. “Tell me about the changes to the layout.”
“I’ve taken a walk around and spoken to some of the local builders,” Reece explained. “Ballanor has had teams working on defenses round the clock since we left. Two rings of walls are being added, with the old towers at their corners. He used the Tamasa to flood the gardens, which are now completely underwater, forming a massive moat. Tower Gate was submerged when they built the moat, so now the only access is through Court Gate.”
Jos whistled. “That’s not a palace; it’s a fortress.”
“And where are the cells?” Tristan asked.
“The Constable’s Tower has been fortified and cells added. That’s where we expect them to take Tor.”
“And is that where Val is?” Nim asked, working hard to keep the worry out of her voice.
Mathos shook his head, giving her a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Nim. I asked around, and Tristan was right, Val is shackled to the wall inside the great hall.”
“How long?” she tried to ask, but it came out as a rasp. Somehow, she had convinced herself that it wasn’t real. That no one, however depraved, would genuinely hang another person on a wall. She cleared her throat and tried again, “How long has he been there?”
Mathos looked away, like he didn’t want to answer, but she stared at him, resolute, until he turned back and faced her. “Several days.”
Her mind flooded with images of Val. Playing together in the stream next to their house. Val teaching her how to fly. Collecting blackberries in the autumn and carrying them back for their Mama. Val lifting her onto horseback. Val’s face, pale and drawn, his spine stiff, as he stood beside Mama’s bed and said goodbye to her for the last time. A boy trying to be a man.
Val leaving after his last visit, his face as grim and bleak as if he was going back to war. Val insisting that he had to return to the palace, that his honor demanded it.
Val shackled to a wall. Val starving. Being tortured. In pain and all alone.
She pushed her chair back and stood, suddenly overwhelmed.
