“Be prepared, ladies,” Taggart said. “There aren’t enough of you to go around. You’ll be dancing all night.”

“That’s fine by me,” Vilah said. The other women chimed in with agreement.

“You too, Your Highness,” Captain Hague said, lifting his glass to me.

This prompted another round of toasting, this time to dancing. Soon the conversation turned elsewhere and I became lost in my own thoughts, as detached from the party plans as Rafe seemed to be. I fingered the bone in my pocket, feeling a strange emptiness that a party wasn’t able to fill. I had accumulated a small pile of bones back in my tent. It was a habit I couldn’t let go of: the jingling tokens of remembrance and worry for those I had left behind. I feared the cruelties they would suffer at the hands of the Komizar, and worried for the greater needs that still lay ahead. Morrighan could be extinguished—snuffed from memory with only a few broken memorials to prove we were ever there.

Shouts jostled me from my thoughts. Everyone startled, looking toward the door. An angry scuffle was going on outside on the veranda. The door slivered open, and a soldier entered, apologizing profusely for the interruption. “We found one, Your Majesty, just like you said. Caught him lurking around the back wall. He’s a small one, but wild. He slashed one of our guards on the arm before we could tackle him. He’s demanding to see, er—” He looked down briefly as if embarrassed. “He wants to see the princess. He says he knows her?”

Rafe, Kaden, Griz, and I were all on our feet.

“Bring him in,” Rafe said.

We heard more yelling, then two guards stumbled in trying to control their prisoner.

“Hold your place before I knock your head into the next world!” one guard growled.

The prisoner locked eyes with me, and my heart stopped.

It was Eben.

Though I knew better than to fawn over him, I couldn’t stop myself and ran, pulling him from the guard’s grip. Kaden and Griz were right behind me.

“Eben!” I drew him into my arms. “Thank the gods you’re alive!”

His arms circled around me, unashamed, and I felt all the ribs and angles of his thin body. I pushed back an arm’s length to look at him. His cheekbones were sharp, and his eyes hollow and circled with shadows. He was half starved and looked more like a wild animal than a boy. Dried spattered blood covered his clothing.

I saw emotion well in Griz’s and Kaden’s faces. Kaden stepped forward, grabbed fistfuls of Eben’s shirt, and pulled him roughly into his arms. “Drazhone.”

Brother.

Eben was their comrade. A Rahtan in training.

Griz did the same, then checked a scrape on Eben’s cheek. When I turned from our tight-knit circle, I saw Rafe watching us, not with curiosity like everyone else, but with dark scrutiny. Kaden’s shoulder brushed up against mine, and I stepped away, creating some distance between us.

Eben’s attention shot to Rafe, and he eyed him suspiciously. He had only known Rafe as Dalbreck’s emissary, and I realized he probably still didn’t know Rafe’s true position here. His gaze shifted to Jeb, once a filthy Vendan patty clapper, hardly recognizable now with his neatly combed hair and pristine clothing. Next he looked at Sven, the one-time governor of Arleston, who now wore a high-ranking officer’s uniform, and then Orrin, the governor’s mute guard, also in Dalbreck uniform, drinking from a crystal goblet.

Orrin grinned. “Surprise,” he said lifting his glass toward Eben.

I made introductions.

“Fikatande chimentras,” Eben said under his breath.

I looked at Rafe, wondering just how many of the choice Vendan words he knew.

“Yes, we’re liars,” Rafe said, answering my question. He leaned forward, aiming a frigid stare at Eben. “We lied to save the princess’s life. Do you object to that?”

Eben’s chin lifted, defiant, but then he shook his head.

Rafe sat back in his chair. “Good. Now, someone bring the boy some food. We have talking to do.”

Colonel Bodeen suggested it was a good time for the officers and their wives to retire for the evening. They all left except for Captain Hague.

It was more like an interrogation than talking. Rafe, Kaden, Griz, Tavish, Sven, and I all took turns asking questions as Eben wolfed down food.

He had barely escaped with his life. He had been in the far eastern paddock with Spirit when they came for him. His voice wobbled when he mentioned the name of the young foal that he had to leave behind. He was oblivious to what had happened back on the Sanctum terrace, but he saw Trahern, Iver, and Syrus—one of the tower guards—kill a paddy clapper without a word. He knew something was wrong, and when they caught sight of him, he knew he was next. He ran, hiding in stalls, barns, between stacks of hay, wherever he could as they chased him down. Finally Syrus cornered him in a loft. Eben killed him with a pitchfork in his chest. He spent the rest of the day moving from one hiding place to the next, finally ending up in an abandoned room in the South Tower, where he was trapped for two days. That was where he pieced together what had happened. Because of his close association with Griz, he had been targeted. Anyone who was known to have been intimately speaking with the princess, Griz, Kaden, or Faiwel was suspected as a traitor and systematically hunted down. He heard the screams of the slaughtered. He closed his eyes, and I thought he might not open them again. When he did, his lids were heavy and his eyes swam in his head. It wasn’t terror but exhaustion undoing him. His head lolled briefly to the side. With a full stomach, he was barely able to stay conscious.

“Where did you stay in the South Tower?” Kaden asked.

Tags: Mary E. Pearson The Remnant Chronicles Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net