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“No,” he said without meaning to, and took a step backward.

“Take it,” she told him.

The door opened abruptly.

“I don’t want to go alone,” Alenda Lanaklin said as she and his sister, Lenare, entered. The two women were also dressed in dark conservative gowns. Lenare carried a plate of food, and Alenda a cup. “It’s awkward. I don’t even know him. Oh-” They both stopped.

Mauvin hastily took the bundle from his mother. He did not look at it and quickly moved toward the door.

“I’m sorry,” Alenda said. She was staring at him, her face troubled.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Mauvin muttered, and walked past them. He kept his eyes focused on the floor as he went.

“Mauvin?” Alenda called down the hallway.

He heard her steps behind him and stopped, but he did not turn.

He felt her touch his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“That was for interrupting.”

He felt her press against him, and she kissed his cheek.

“Thank you.” He watched as she worked hard to force a smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Your mother hasn’t eaten. She hardly even leaves the room. Lenare and I went to get her something.”

“That’s very kind.”

“Are you all right?”

“I should be asking you that. I lost a father, but you lost a father and two brothers as well.”

She nodded and sniffled. “I’ve been trying not to think about it. There’s so much-too much. Everyone has lost someone. You can’t have a conversation anymore without people crying their eyes out.” She half laughed, half cried. “See?”

He reached up and wiped her tears. Her cheeks were amazingly soft; the wetness made them shine.

“What were you and Lenare talking about?” he asked.

“Oh, that?” she said, sounding embarrassed. “It will sound foolish.”

“Perhaps foolishness is needed right now.” He made a face and winked at her.

She smiled, this time more easily.

“Com’on,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her with him down the hall. “Tell me this terrible secret.”

“It’s not a secret. I just wanted Lenare to come with me when I meet my brother.”

“Myron?”

She nodded. “I’m a little nervous about it-frightened, actually. How do I explain why I never bothered to see him?”

“Why didn’t you?”

She shrugged self-consciously. “I should have. I just-He was a stranger. If only my father had taken me, but he didn’t. He seemed like he wanted to forget Myron existed. I think he was ashamed of him and some of that rubbed off on me, I guess.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of him.”

“You’re scared of Myron?” He started to chuckle, but he stopped abruptly when he saw the seriousness in her eyes.

“I knew you’d think me foolish!”

“It’s just that we’re talking about Myron and-”

“He’s the marquis now!” she exclaimed. “He’s the head of my house. By law, I have to do as he says, go where he orders, marry whom he chooses. What if he hates me? What if he decides to punish me for the hardships he has had to endure? I’ve lived in a castle with servants who dressed, fed, and bathed me. I’ve attended feasts and tournaments, galas and picnics. I’ve worn silk, lace, finely embroidered gowns, and jewelry. While he-” She stopped. “Since the age of four, Myron has been sequestered at the Winds Abbey. He has been forced to work with his hands in the dirt, worn coarse wool, and never gone anywhere or seen anyone-not even his family. Now they are all dead, except for me. Of course he hates me. Why wouldn’t he? He’ll curse me and I’ll be the target of all his pain and frustration. He’ll deny me, just as we denied him. He’ll send me away, strip me of my title, and leave me penniless. And… and… I can’t even blame him.”

She looked up at Mauvin’s face, confused. “What? What?”

C HAPTER 4

FALL THE WALL

How is Royce?” Arista asked Hadrian as they took seats next to each other near the end of the table. There were no place cards, and Hadrian had no clue where they might want him to sit. He looked to the princess for guidance, but all she offered was a shrug.

“Not great, but who is these days?” He glanced at Alric, who was taking a seat across from Arista, then at Mauvin, who sat next to his king. “I was sorry to hear about your father,” he offered.

Mauvin replied with an almost imperceptible nod. Arista stood, reached across the table, and took Mauvin’s hand. She did not say a word but merely looked into his eyes, offering a weak smile.

“See, that’s the difference,” Mauvin said. “I suffer a loss and people console me. Royce suffers a loss and whole towns evacuate.” He offered a sad smile. “I’m fine, really. My father led a good life, married the most beautiful woman in the realm, raised four children, outlived one, and died in battle defending his home. I should hope to do half as well.”

“It’s hard to imagine that anyone could break through Royce’s shell,” King Alric said.

Only a few years had passed since Hadrian had first met Alric. He, Royce, and later Myron spent three days roaming the hills of Melengar with the prince just after King Amrath’s death. It seemed like only yesterday, but Alric appeared decades older. His eyes showed a maturity and his boyish face was gone-hidden behind a full beard. He looked more like his father now, brooding and withered. The small white scar on his forehead was still there-a ghostly reminder of that day he nearly died, when his face was pushed into the dirt.

“She was a remarkable woman,” Hadrian explained.

“I wish I had met her,” Arista said, sitting back down.

“You would have liked Gwen, and I know she thought highly of you. She was”-Hadrian paused-“unique.”

They gathered in the great hall, the largest chamber in the palace. Four stone hearths filled the room with warmth and a ruddy-orange glow. Above each massive fireplace, arrays of steel shields and glimmering swords were displayed as a sign of power. Thirty-two banners displaying the emblems of all the noble houses of Avryn hung from the ceiling in two rows along the length of the room. Five had been added since the last time Hadrian had sat there. The banners of the House of Lanaklin of Glouston, the House of Hestle of Bernum, the House of Exeter, the House of Pickering of Galilin, and the gold crowned falcon on a red field of the House of Essendon of Melengar-all restored to their rightful places.

The table where they waited was the only one in the room. Placed in the center of the hall, it was longer than the bar at The Rose and Thorn, and nine chairs lined each side, along with one at the end. This was the same room where Hadrian spent his first feast masquerading as a noble. He felt as out of place now as he had then as the room filled with the other invited guests-each noble.

He knew most of the faces that entered. Armand, King of Alburn, claimed a seat near the head of the table, his son, Prince Rudolf, at his right hand. Not to be outdone, Fredrick, King of Galeannon, sat across from him. King Vincent of Maranon chose to sit two chairs down from Fredrick, making Hadrian wonder if there was an issue between the two bordering kingdoms. Not everyone was a royal. Sir Elgar, Sir Murthas, and Sir Gilbert, as well as Sir Breckton, who wore the gold sash of his new office as imperial high marshal, entered together.

Stewards began pouring wine while seven seats remained open, including the one at the head of the table, where no one dared sit. Hadrian took a sip from the goblet before him and grimaced.

“That’s right,” Arista mentioned. “You aren’t a wine drinker, are you?”

Hadrian set the goblet back down and continued to sneer at it. “It’s probably very good,” he said. “It just tastes like spoiled grape juice to me, but you have to remember I was raised on Armigil’s beer.”