I barely feel the wind or the snow as Argo flies us back to the village, but by the time he lands and steps back into the Perch, I’m frozen through. When I slip off the saddle and land at his side, I give him a scratch on his muzzle, and he nudges my arm for another. “Good beast,” I murmur.
Although I no longer feel like a dam about to burst, shoving out that much power at one time is debilitating. I do my best not to look as drained as I feel while I start to unsaddle Argo. Just as I’m doing the first buckle, the caretaker, Selby, hurries over, though I hadn’t even noticed him in here. “I’ve got it, Sire. Just brought in a fresh feast for them as well. He’ll be eating good tonight.”
With a grateful nod, I start to walk out, but his voice stops me. “Did Captain Lu or Captain Judd find you, then?”
Slowly, I turn back around. “Find me?”
A confused look crosses his face. “Oh, beg your pardon, Sire. They saddled a couple of timberwings just a minute or so ago. I thought they’d gone to meet up with you.”
Dread fills my stomach, and I don’t even answer him before I turn and sprint from the cave. They wouldn’t have gone out in this storm to look for me unless something was wrong. My steps slip and slide as I rush downhill, but I don’t stop until I make it to the Grotto, with fear and worry biting at my heels.
Hojat nearly barrels into me as soon as I step inside, his brown eyes wide, scarred face gone pale. “Thank Divine you’re back.”
A shot of adrenaline surges through me, spikes ready to burst through my back. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Lady Auren.”
Panic drives through the center of my heart.
I knew I shouldn’t have fucking left.
“Is she awake?” I demand, already stalking down the hallway.
“Not her,” he calls after me, making me stop in my tracks to pin him with a fierce gaze. “It’s her gold.”
CHAPTER 11
QUEEN KAILA
At the very heart of Ranhold City, there’s a gleaming white building with a portico two stories high. The pillars are the width of a tree, solid and presumptuous, though the building itself isn’t as impressive looking. It’s here that the funeral processions take place for every monarch of Fifth Kingdom who has ever died, which is why I find myself standing with my brother on the second level, overlooking the gathering below.
From my spot on the pillared balcony, I have a spectacular view of the city itself, plus the castle’s turrets just beyond the wall. On the ground level, Fifth Kingdom’s advisors are carrying out the passing rites for the deceased Prince Niven.
Citizens from all throughout the city have gathered in droves to spectate, though most of them can’t see a thing since they’re too far away. Still, they’ve come, their figures buried beneath mounds of purple tapestries with Fifth’s sigil of jagged icicles embroidered on them, erected like awnings up and down the streets. I don’t believe they even realize the symbolism of the royal crests casting them in shadows.
Beside me, I feel my brother, Manu, shiver. “Why in the Divine do the people of Fifth Kingdom have to hold their passing rites outside?” he whispers between the teeth he has clenched to keep from chattering.
“I do believe that we are simply less acclimated to the weather here.”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “And yet here you sit, not shivering in the least.”
On the contrary, my skin is raised with chills even beneath the thick layers of my gown and cloak, but I would never shiver in public. Even something so small as that innocent gesture could be taken as a sign of weakness when it comes to a widowed queen.
Looking to my left, I catch the eye of a few Fifth nobles, one of whom keeps pretending to dab her eyes with her handkerchief anytime she hears the rite bell toll from below. There are six rows of benches, all of them full, where the nobles are sitting straight-backed as they try to catch a glimpse of the proceedings in the promenade where Prince Niven’s body is set upon a sarcophagus.
But in the front row with us, sitting a few paces down, is Hagan Fulke. Only twenty years old, with a pudgy face and washed-out blond hair, the man keeps yanking on the front of his high-necked collar, obviously unused to wearing such formal garments. Though he might not look like much, he’s the first kin of the late king, and heir to the throne.
Well, he is now.
We had to get rid of his father first—the king’s cousin once removed—but that wasn’t much of a hardship. Based on Manu’s reports, he was a stodgy, set-in-his-ways old man. Not a good candidate for us.