Page 102 of Hearts Lost

“Of course,” she answers. “What gave him away?”

“Her, actually,” I reply, then fall silent.

How can I explain? Just like all of my recent suspicions, this one hinges on a gut feeling with absolutely no evidence. I haven’t even mentioned it to Galan. I feel like a kid jumping at shadows.

“It was—” I begin, then stop. “It was the way she smiled at me,” I finally say. “She’s coordinating Orryen and Elanerill’s wedding, of course, and totally overjoyed with the whole damn thing. Well, I had to meet with her to finalize arrangements for the ball, and she said I was to be introduced with the family Ravadithas.”

“Your family?” Arryn asks.

“They were,” I answer. “They… are. It’s complicated.”

Arryn makes a sort of murmur low in her throat, and my shoulders relax. Arryn was part of the royal court, after all. She understands.

“It was the way she smiled when she said Ravadithas,” I say, struggling to explain the almost predatory expression that had settled on her lips. She’d met my eyes with something like a nod, a sort of I understand gesture that had made me go cold.

But of course, that isn’t evidence. And the people who’ve been working with the dragon Rensivar have been very, very careful about cleaning up their evidence. The warm lights of the World’s End pub flicker from behind the screen of dead trees ahead of us, and I start to walk faster. My feet already feel like chunks of ice; I’m more than ready to be done with the Outer Ring for the day.

“So, are you?” Arryn asks. “Going to be introduced with the family Ravadithas?”

“No,” I snap.

Arryn makes a diplomatic little cough.

“I said I’d be… bringing someone,” I grit out from behind my clenched jaw.

I don’t need to mention the scandalized expression the social coordinator had given me in response, or how her tone had heavily implied that my choice of guest might ruin the entire event. As if the glory of the throne and the future happiness of His Highness’ chosen heir rested solely on my choice of wedding guest.

“Ah,” Arryn replies, in a voice that lets me know she understands all the words I haven’t spoken. “And does Ithronel know she’s going to be formally introduced with you?” she asks.

I bring my hand to the bridge of my nose and sigh. Yes, Arryn understands, of course. She’s probably been to her fair share of these royal balls; she grasped the implications immediately. Arryn makes that sound again, low in her throat, the one that’s almost an imitation of a laugh. It reminds me of Rowan in a way that’s like nails scraping across rough stone.

“Sounds like you have a busy day ahead of you, then,” Arryn says.

I look up and see that she’s smiling at me. Some part of me marvels at the utter absurdity of the friendship that’s grown between us in the past weeks, as I’ve traveled to the Outer Ring every morning to keep the madwoman informed. I’ve gone from having one friend in this underworld to having three, although I suppose Ithronel counts as more than just a friend. Still, it’s a bit disorienting, all this friendship. All these people I suddenly care for.

“It sounds like I do,” I agree. “Do you want to come with me?” I ask, just like I’ve asked every single day since Lythienne’s last portal exploded after swallowing Phaedron.

“No,” Arryn replies, just like she has every single day. “But thanks for the offer.”

The sounds of an amateur musician plunking away at an off-key piano drift through the woods from the dingy little inn. We’re almost to the place where the path branches, one spur taking me back to the teleportation stones and one spur taking Arryn to the rest of her rounds as the World’s End’s lone sentry.

“Stay warm,” I say, offering her my mitten-clad hand.

“You too,” she replies.

We shake hands through our mittens and it occurs to me, not for the first time, what a damn fine member of the Royal Guard Lady Arryn would have made. In another world, perhaps.

“Come in if you need to,” I say, as she turns away.

Arryn looks back over her shoulder with that little sort-of smile. “I will,” she says.

And then she’s gone, back into the shadows beneath the trees. I stomp my feet, rub my mittened hands together, and turn toward the teleportation stones.

Because Arryn’s right. I do have a busy day ahead of me.

* * *

I knowthere’s absolutely no reason to worry, but still, I can’t help the twinge of fear that twists inside my chest as I push open the door to the magician’s study. I also can’t help the relief that floods my body when I see Ithronel sitting at the table beside Lythienne, just where I expected to find her. Not tied up in my parents’ basement. Not locked in Rensivar’s dungeon.