Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(82)

Swathed in gray predawn light, we make our way straight to Abethell Castle’s stables, not bothering to stop back in our rooms, leaving Lysander waiting at the entrance. His hired thugs all dead or wounded, we might’ve ruined Hadrien’s plans for now, but we need to return to Grenwyr at once to learn what he’s planning next and where he’s hidden the king.

If we still have a king, and he isn’t already a monster.

Taking a deep breath, I shove the thought to the back of my mind, where it’ll have to stay for now. Buried, along with my grief for Master Cymbre. The one person I need most right now, who can never again tell me what to do or rush to my aid.

I’m on my own. I have to figure out a way to stop these attacks myself. And if I mess up, no one will swoop in to save me this time.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” Meredy murmurs as she chooses a chestnut horse and slips into its stall. She spits. “I can still taste his blood.”

I’m halfway through saddling a white horse when a shadow blocks the torchlight, forcing me to pause and turn. Baroness Abethell, in a long robe and slippers, stands at the stall door, watching me with a frown. She must have entered the row of stalls from the far side, as there’s no way she could have marched past Lysander.

“There’s no time to explain,” I mutter as I tighten the horse’s girth and adjust the stirrups. “We’ll pay you back for the horses when we’re able.”

“Consider the horses another gift from the people of Elsinor,” the baroness says. “You killed a Shade for us, after all. No one in the castle will forget that anytime soon. But are you sure you have to leave like this?”

I blink at her.

“Why not stay for a nice breakfast before you go on your way? The cooks will have it ready in just a few hours.”

The baroness’s forced pleasantness reminds me of the day she took us on a tour of the surrounding valleys. Yesterday, I realize. Everything’s a blur without sleep. Still, there’s something off about the overly hospitable baroness, and I doubt my feelings would change even after a long nap.

“Why don’t you want us to leave?” I demand as I ready my horse.

But the baroness is staring at Meredy, and when she finally shifts her gaze to me, she looks just as stunned. “Is that blood on your faces, dears?” she stammers. “I can call a healer . . .”

“We’re leaving. Now,” I grit out, touching the hilt of my sword. I’m willing to bet I look as feral as Meredy did, with my bloodshot eyes and tangled hair. “There aren’t any more Shades coming for your people right now, if that’s what you’re worried about. But there will be if you don’t let us get back to Grenwyr to find and stop a madman.”

“A madman? What—?”

“Tell me why you don’t want us to leave!” I snap, cutting her off.

The baroness sucks in a breath and pales.

“You’d better answer her,” Meredy snarls, and Lysander echoes her with a distant growl. “If you’re interested in getting out of here in one piece. The bear is hungry.”

The baroness braces herself against the stall door, and the horse I’m saddling whinnies happily. Baroness Abethell strokes the horse’s soft nose with a trembling hand as she says quietly, “I was just following Prince Hadrien’s orders. I can show you his letter. He asked me to keep you delayed and entertained in Abethell until he sent for you. And not to breathe a word about it to anyone. Not even my guards.” She frowns as she gazes from me to Meredy and back. “Has something happened? Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“You have no idea,” Meredy murmurs.

“Am I in trouble, too?” The baroness glances between us, still pale. “Is this about the Shade attacks . . . ?”

“Kind of.” I push open the stall door, leading my horse into the wide aisle with Meredy’s. The baroness makes no move to stop me. “There’s no time to explain now, but you’re not in any immediate danger. We just need to hurry. Prince Hadrien . . .” I swallow hard, the name sticking in my throat. “The prince urgently needs us back in Grenwyr. We received a raven in the dead of night ordering our return.”

“Safe journey, then,” Baroness Abethell says softly, looking uncertain but like she’ll be glad to see the back of Lysander.

As Meredy and I ride out of Elsinor, back up the mountain path where charred remnants of our wagon still litter the ground, my eyes are on the grizzly scouting the road ahead. But my thoughts are with Hadrien.

I picture the bruise on his face where Vane punched him and wish I could give him a few more bruises. Scenes of the Shade attacks in Elsinor—attacks that Hadrien ordered—flash mercilessly through my mind, death and misery on the grandest scale I’ve ever seen.

Then I remember the way his eyes lit up whenever he spotted me at the palace. The way he seemed so protective of Valoria and his younger siblings. The way he looked up to King Wylding as though he were Vaia the Five-Faced God himself. Was it all an act?

“I’ve been so stupid,” I mutter, mostly to myself, though Meredy turns in her saddle to glance at me. “I should’ve taken you at your word when you told me your suspicions in the wagon instead of trying to pick a fight with you.”

Meredy narrows her eyes and says nothing, evidently lost in thought.