Page 66 of Hearts Lost

“Of course not,” Rowan replies, with a grin. “I think we poke a few more holes in the barrier instead. Just enough to bring a handful of people through, at first. Maybe we can find a better place to settle everyone, somewhere away from the Kingdom of the Summer.”

“Like the Silver City,” Arryn adds.

Lythienne purses her lips together like she’s considering something, then raps her knuckles against the desk.

“All right, all right,” Lythienne declares. “The first question in all of this is how? So, come over here, Ithronel, and explain how those damned weapons worked.”

“Language!” Rowan gasps.

Rowan and Lythienne exchange a grin as I sit down at the table. By the time it occurs to me to realize that my apology must have been accepted, that I’m now apparently a member of whatever group this is, the day is almost over and Rowan and Arryn are making preparations to leave.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay with us?” Lythienne asks as Rowan hands a heavy traveling cloak to Arryn.

“Now, don’t take it personally,” Rowan replies. “We’ve got to get back to Phaedron.”

I have enough time to wonder who or what Phaedron is, and then we’re all heading toward the door. Elanerill asks if I want to walk to the palace gates with them; I nod even as I try to strangle the stray thought that Aloserin might be taking his leave in some other part of the palace, some part we might walk past.

But of course, that’s not the case. We pass through a large, formal garden with rows of neatly trimmed evergreens, marble statues, and strangely ominous urns, then through a series of smaller, wilder gardens and courtyards, until finally, we’re standing at the palace portcullis. There’s a flurry of handshaking, and for some reason both Rowan and Arryn hug me, and then the crowd dissipates and it takes me a moment to realize I’ve been left alone. Unescorted.

I trail my eyes over the courtyard, watching as someone pulls a cart full of what looks like squash toward a loading door. There’s a row of training dummies in the corner, and my chest tightens as someone opens a narrow door in the wall beyond, but the man who walks through is too tall and lanky to be Aloserin.

Stars, I’m an idiot. Aloserin’s on personal leave, Elanerill said. Why would he still be in the palace? And would he want to run into me? I’m damned sure he knows exactly where to find me. I squeeze my hands into fists and decide I’m ready to trace my way back to the tower where I’m staying in the cat’s room.

Someone whispers my name.

A shiver traces its way up my spine as I turn. There’s a man standing just inside the portcullis, and he’s so pale and slender inside his dark hood that he looks almost skeletal.

“Ithronel,” the man says again. His voice reminds me of dry leaves rattling in the wind. “The family Ravadithas requests the honor of your presence.”

“Uh, what?” I stammer, certain I’ve misheard him.

Annoyance flickers across his gaunt features, there and then suddenly gone.

“The family Ravadithas,” he repeats. “As in, the family of Aloserin Ravadithas.”

My heart trips over itself inside my chest, and my cheeks burn. Aloserin Ravadithas? How is it possible that I knew so much about him and yet I never knew his last name?

Or perhaps I never knew that much about Aloserin Ravadithas to begin with, I think with a bitter little twist. He’d said he hated every hour he spent in his family’s estate, but now here he is, on leave. And apparently back in his family’s estate. Where he’s sent someone to request the honor of my presence.

Something hot and angry pulls tight inside my chest. I could say no. I could tell this man that I have nothing at all to say to Aloserin Ravadithas and that I respectfully decline his invitation. But a memory from this morning surfaces in my mind and stills my tongue. Ten days, Elanerill said in the staircase. Aloserin carried me for ten days.

“Fine,” I say.

Another flicker of annoyance crosses the man’s face. I catch myself.

“I mean, thank you very much,” I say. “I would be honored to join the family Ravadithas.”

The man smiles, showing a row of very white teeth. The expression makes him look even more like a skeleton.

“If you would just follow me,” he says, sweeping an arm across the open palace gates.

I half expect the man standing guard in the palace’s portcullis to stop me, but he only tips his head as I follow the strange, pale man in the dark cloak beneath the gates, and soon the twisting streets of the Crystal City swallow us both.