The Queen's Rising(80)

Cautiously, I went to answer it, finding my chambermaid standing at the threshold with an envelope.

“One of the mistresses of music has invited you to join her in the library this evening,” the girl said, dutifully handing me the letter.

I took it, fully aware that the guard beside me was watching. “Thank you.”

The chambermaid was off before I could shut my door. I knew Merei wanted to discuss what had happened this morning, that this was her attempt to let me explain myself.

I eased the envelope open; a square of parchment slipped out.

My heart swelled when I recognized her handwriting:

Meet with me?

I hesitated, wanting nothing more than to go to her. But before I could make up my mind, I watched as Merei’s elegant penmanship began to slide around on the paper. My breath caught as it slithered about like a black snake, eventually resting on the paper in slanted Dairine.

Meet with me.

Tristan’s memory unexpectedly captured me. I was too late to save myself from succumbing this time, and I sighed, watching as his hand crumpled the message, as he strode to the fire blazing in his hearth and tossed the parchment to the flames.

He had been waiting two days for her to finally send him this message.

Tristan had invited Princess Norah Kavanagh to Damhan under the pretense of loyal hospitality. She had agreed to stay at his castle, and both of them knew it was only to make plans about stealing the Stone of Eventide from her mother, the queen, before war was unleashed on western Maevana.

Tristan slipped from the chamber. The corridor was quiet, dark. Only a few sconces continued to burn, casting monstrous light on the walls as he began to walk.

He had wondered how the queen’s magic would corrupt in battle. He had read only one story about it, a story Liadan had ensured was passed down as it described what battle magic had done. Uncontrollable storms, unearthly creatures that rose up from the shadows, swords that stole sight when they pierced flesh, arrows that multiplied and returned to their archers . . .

He shuddered, hoping that Norah was ready to do what he suggested, that she would obtain the Stone of Eventide before the war came.

Tristan ascended the stairs to the third floor, silently padded down a narrow hallway to the door that led out to the northern parapet.

He stepped outside on the parapet walk, easing into the cold night.

His lands were drowning in moonlight. Everything looked so small, a quilt of dark greens and umbers and steel blues knit together with celestial light. The moon was swollen with gold, full and generous, the stars scattered about her as sugar spilled over black velvet.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow shift, and he knew it was her.

“Shouldn’t we find a better place to meet?” he asked.

“And why would I meet with you?” A man’s voice.

Tristan’s heart plummeted; he turned to look closer at the moving shadow. It was Norah’s face, her dark hair streaming loose around her shoulders. And her mouth was moving—she was saying something—and he couldn’t hear her. . . .

“Answer me,” Norah snapped, but it was a masculine, suspicious voice that was shaped by her lips. And that was when the princess’s face split down the middle, leaving Rian Allenach behind in her dust.





TWENTY-FIVE


THE WARNING



“What are you doing here?” Rian snarled.

For a moment, all I could do was gape at him as my ears popped, as a shiver pulled over my skin, as horror rooted in my heart. Tristan had completely disintegrated, leaving me behind to mend this disaster.

“I . . . I am sorry,” I panted, pulling my shawl tighter about my shoulders. “I was exploring and I—”

“Who were you exploring with?”

I swallowed, the suspicions in his dark gaze piercing me. “One of the musicians. We thought it would be nice to see a castle view.”

“You don’t have castles in Valenia?”

I stared at Rian, trying not to flinch when he stepped closer to me.

“Why don’t you and I wait together for your friend to arrive,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side as his eyes roamed over me.

I wanted to turn and flee. I almost did, my right foot beginning to slide on the stone floor when Rian moved to purposely block the path to the door.

“This will give us a good chance to get to know each other,” he continued, crossing his arms. “Because ever since you arrived here, my father has been all out of sorts.”

“Wh-what?” My pulse was wild, pounding like a drum in my ears.

“You heard me, Amadine Jourdain.”

I took a step back, to put some space between us. The parapet wall jarred into my back, the mortar picking at my dress.

“Why have you come here?” Rian questioned.

Before the words could crumble in my throat, I said, “I came here for MacQuinn.”

He smiled down at me—we were close to the same height, and yet I felt small in his shadow. It was evident my fear was like wine to him.

“Let’s play a little game.” He withdrew a sheathed dirk from his belt.

“I don’t want to play,” I rasped and tried to slip away.

His arm extended, his hand resting on the wall to keep me standing before him. “I’m not going to hurt you . . . unless you lie. In fact, we’ll play the game equally. If I lie, you get to wield the blade. But if you lie . . .”