“What’s the matter, Wadestaff? Can’t handle roughing it a bit?” Damia says, glancing over her shoulder with a sly look.
“When given the option, I always think one should choose pleasure over practicality, Lady Rhymis,” he says, and Damia’s cheeks darken. I doubt I’m the only one aware of their constant flirtation, but even Alastor has the sense not to mention it.
“Quite right,” Alastor agrees instead. “And Duke Ribold has the nicest estate this side of Vastamae. So kind of him to host us.”
Stratton snorts. “What else was he going to do when thekingaskedhim?” I smile at Stratton joining in on the conversation. He’s been quieter since his injury in Elmere. It’s almost completely healed now, but as we suspected, it’s left a deep, jagged scar running across his sculpted features. I only hope he’s starting to accept the change.
We approach a town, and beyond it, a mansion looms into view. There are pretty gardens out front leading to an arched entrance of yellow stone. I count about thirty windows overlooked by a tapered roof of blue slate. It’s grand without being ostentatious. Homely while still impressive.
I find my heart lifting a little. I’m also grateful for the promise of comfort. On our last trip to Filusia, we either camped or stayed in the sorts of rundown inns where everyone was careful not to pay anyone any attention. It’s nice to be able to travel and rest without secrecy for a change.
“Your Highnesses,” Duke Ribold bows to both of us in quick succession when he meets us at the doors to his home. He has a large, gingery mustache shot through with gray. Unlike Velrir, it suits him.
“This is a wonderful honor,” the duke beams. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“It is you we owe thanks to,” Leon shrugs. “And perhaps my brother for strong-arming you into opening your home to us.”
“Not at all,” the duke shakes his head. “I was so saddened I couldn’t make it to his coronation, so I was delighted to receive his letter. It’s an exciting new age for Filusia, I’m sure.”
“He doesn’t seem too upset about the change in leadership,”I observe across the mooring.“Or is he just being diplomatic?”
“I believe he actually means it. The duke and my grandfather never got on,”Leon says as the rest of the group introduce themselves.“Respen thought he was too soft.”
As the duke shows us around his estate and we meet his wife, I can kind of see why. He’s not pretentious or intimidating like some of the fae nobles I’ve met. Instead, he has a friendly warmth I can’t see being valued by someone like Respen.
“But I’ve kept you from rest for too long,” Duke Ribold says. “There’ll be food in the dining room at seven, but before and after that, please take the time to relax in your quarters.”
“I see why Fairon picked this place,” Tira says, admiring the sprawling hallways of Ribold’s home. “There can’t be that many places outside the palace big enough to give us all our own rooms.”
Tira’s right. We’re quite a crowd. I watch my friend’s face carefully, trying to hear any note of regret when she mentions Fairon’s name.
“Will you miss it? The palace?” I ask.
Tira laughs. “You think I’ve gotten so used to luxury the Crossed Keys won’t cut it anymore?”
I shrug. “It’s not all bad, living like a princess.”
“I think you’re a little biased,” she says wryly, then narrows her eyes. “What are you really getting at anyway?”
“Nothing,” I say, quickly changing the subject. “Will you look out for Lafia for me on this trip? I worry we all forget how young she is sometimes, and this must be overwhelming for her.”
“Sure,” Tira says. “We new members of the Hand have to stick together. Any news of Harman?”
“Damia’s been in contact with him.” Apparently, Barb was annoyed she wasn’t allowed to eat the geostri-sent bat that kept turning up at Damia’s window with messages, despite the fact it was twice her size. “He says Deedus and Esther will meet us at the border. It’s a good sign. It means they probably have news, something Harman turned up in his research about Leon’s parents. Something they didn’t want to put in a message.”
Thanks to our warm welcome and the news from the Hand, I settle into a restful sleep that night. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Leon.
“Get me out. Release me.”
The words come to me from across the mooring in the early hours. The shout is loud enough that it jerks me from sleep. There’s anger in it, but an edge of panic that I recognize from the first night Leon found himself trapped in his dreams.
“Leon, Leon wake up. Come back to me.”
I call to him like I did then. Watching his body twist and turn in the bed beside me, I gently place a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe his movements. But I know touch alone won’t wake him—he’s too deep in the dream world for that.
There’s a click and the sound of wood brushing against carpet. It’s quiet and slow, as if someone’s trying to move without being heard. My gut clenches. Even over Leon’s thrashing, I know our bedroom door has just been opened.
And now someone’s coming into the room.
