Rorin nods. "To raise that many undead requires time and considerable resources."
I sigh. "Teorin is too calculating to spend either on something this indirect."
Colsar frowns.
Rorin is not finished. "There is something else," he says. "While we were in the pass, I saw creatures I have never seen before."
"Morraks," Colsar says immediately.
"I am familiar with Morraks, Majesty." Something in Rorin's voice does not waver. "These were not Morraks. I could not tell during the attack whether they were trying to kill us or the undead. Only that they were unlike anything I have encountered."
"Morraks have black wings," Colsar says. "That is what you saw."
Rorin holds his gaze. "No, Majesty." A pause. "I am certain. These creatures did not have black wings."
The silence stretches.
"Their wings were red."
No one speaks. The courtyard moves around us, entirely unaware.
Colsar looks at me. I look back at him.
"We do not have time to investigate this before we move," Colsar says finally.
"No," Rorin agrees. "But I thought you should know before you ride into Veynar."
We leave it there. There is nothing else to do with it today. But as we walk I turn it over, piece by piece, following each thread until it leads where I do not want it to go. The dinners I sat through with Sevrin. The hunger. The loneliness. The days without sunlight. Mysin and his friends with their knives. The nights I did not know if he would ever return. If any part of that was arranged, if I was made to endure it by design…
If Teorin orchestrated any part of this, I decide quietly, I will not wait for Colsar to act. I will kill him myself.
And thanks to him, I know exactly how to do it.
CHAPTER 70
The Journey Begins
The weeks that followed were spent in preparation. The men recovered. We trained. We waited for Solaryn. Days were spent planning, poring over maps. Some evenings I would find myself at a table with Enovar and Kentan and the Avanki, losing at dice while Enovar held court with increasingly outrageous tales. Trophi and Wyn would catch my eye from across the table and say nothing, which told me everything. Those nights made me miss Syle and Uralish and even Aunt Petunis, and I found myself wondering whether Syle had managed to figure out what Aunt Jularin had been planning.
When I returned each night, the routine was the same. Colsar would be in the chair beside the bed, just back from his run. We would draw a bath and wash each other without speaking, and when it was done he would lean into me and say, “Tell me everything.” I would work soap through his hair and recount whoever had cheated at dice that evening. He would tell me about the trees and foliage he had seen, though nothing he encountered compared to the Silver Ash in Veynar, which I still longed to see at first frost.
“There are so many more things to bring when traveling with children,” Colsar said.
I held up the tiny sweater in my hands. “Matron Oramin made me knit this when I first came to Veynar. She was convinced we would be pregnant within the year.”
“She was right,” he said, laughing.
I frowned. “I prefer sewing to knitting, and I have not made them much myself. Maybe I will pack less and make some items for them when we arrive.”
“Perhaps when we arrive you will be lucky enough to be invited to one of Lady Esmeraldis’s sewing events,” Colsar said dryly.
I threw a pillow at him. “She can stay in the capital.”
He laughed loudly at that.
His tone turned more serious. “I spoke to my father today. Everything is in order. A council member will remain here while we’re gone.
"Arabar cannot stay. We need him."
