“I didn’t see. She was quite out-numbered.” Evain hesitates. “Coira believes she’s alive, but the rest of us aren’t so optimistic.”
“Has Coira been able to contact her through the Twins?” Ronan asks.
Evain shakes his head.
“You don’t know she’s dead.” Karis leaps to his feet. “Wouldn’t they want to keep her alive? They don’t want her, they want all of you. All of us.”
There’s that gleam of determination in his eyes again. A week ago, that look would have thrilled Ronan. Now, it terrifies him. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warns. His voice comes out sharper than he intends—he’s been having more and more trouble controlling himself since Melody. He looks between them both, Evain deadly serious and Karis with his dangerous excitement. If Karis had been killed instead of Melanne…
Ronan has known Karis less than two months, and he’s already far too tangled up in him. The thought of him meeting harm is shattering. He’s losing his rationality. He’s losing his focus. He’s going to geteveryonekilled, if he continues like this.
“I need to talk to Evain alone,” Ronan says, feigning calm as well as he can. He ignores Karis’s hurt frown and pulls Evain into the other room.
A dice roll muffles the door, in case of freckled eavesdroppers.
Evain drops into a chair and props a booted heel up on the table. “What’s going on with the two of you? When you let him on the romantic mission for two, I assumed you were going to fuck him, not fight with him.”
Ronan leans next to the window. Slices of stableyard are visible through the curtains and shutters. “Who do those horses belong to?”
“Oh, no.” Evain covers his mouth, pretending to hide his laughter. “You fuckedandfought with him. Do you need help coaxing him back?”
Ronan doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need help coaxing Karis; he could do that easily. He knows exactly how he’s estranged the young man over the past few days, and he could fix it with an apology. An explanation. A promise. A month’s proof that he’ll stop distancing himself, stop shutting Karis out of his plans.
What he needs is help driving Karis further away. Because he can’t finish his job if Karis is in danger, and he has to finish this job. Everyone has given up far too much already.
Evain sighs and gestures towards the window. “Varans,” he says. “I got here yesterday, and a troop of Varans rode in today. I love a good coincidence, but I wouldn’t bet my life that this is one. Your life, maybe. But not mine.”
Ronan isn’t surprised. He’d recognized the tack. He frowns and leans away from the window, a plan coalescing. When he turns it over in his mind, the edges draw blood. “We’ll leave after nightfall. Where are the others? The relics?”
“All together in the Veiled Rose.” Evain smirks at Ronan’s raised eyebrow. “We assumed the Dravans would be able to connect Melanne to the base, if they identify her. The manor’s still in their family’s name. All the other safe houses are too far out of Ostaris, and I happen to have a very good relationship with the proprietor at the Veiled Rose. She values discretion perhaps even more than we do.”
“You have the Dravansword, the Crown of Vara, all of them, in a brothel?” Despite everything, Ronan can’t help but laugh.
Evain sighs happily. “You should have seen the sword-witch’s face when I suggested it. And even better, when Dansa agreed.”
“I bet.” Ronan glances out the window again. The paladins’ horses have all been put away, and the evening sky is deepening. Ronan’s running out of time if he wants to fix things. Ruin things. He’s not sure of anything anymore, except he can’t continue like this, the threat of a single arrow haunting his every dream. “All right, we have an hour until sunset. Do you have a pen and paper?”
“Sure.” Evain unwinds himself from the chair and rummages through a bag on the bed. “What for?”
Ronan’s heart feels bloodied and frozen in his chest. If he breathes too hard, he’ll choke on the shards. But he says calmly, “I need you to take a letter to the front desk for me.”
This will be a kindness, he tells himself. Better to drive the knife in now, than let Karis think Ronan Vizia is worth his trust.
***
In the other room, he finds Karis sitting on the bed again, his eyes glazed over with that distant expression he sometimes gets. The room’s darker now, but Karis hasn’t turned on the lamps. He doesn’t react until Ronan’s standing right in front of him, and then he wakes like a lantern himself, wick suddenly ablaze.
“Ronan.” Karis jumps up and grabs Ronan’s hand, and Ronan doesn’t have the heart or the reflexes to avoid him. “I have an idea to rescue Melanne.” His eyes gleam bright even in the shadows.
Ronan squeezes his hand in return. “We can’t rescue her. Even if she’s alive,” which Ronan doubts, grief barely held at bay, “we’d need more information.”
“She has to be alive,” Karis says fiercely. “And we don’t need information. We need power. We have it already.”
It’s so tempting to get drawn into his brilliance. “Karis.”
“The Crown of Vara. Let me wield it, and we’ll be able to break into the cathedral or Fort Tarhaeg or anywhere she’s being held.” Karis’s voice is high with excitement, his eyes bright with conviction. Ronan’s pulse quickens in response, and for a moment he wants to stop Evain from delivering the letter. Take Karis by the arm and whisk him away from here, then follow him wherever he wants to go. He wants to lose himself in Karis’s light.
“With my magic and the Crown of Vara, no one in Ostaris will be able to stop me,” Karis says, with such confidence that Ronan almost believes him.
