Reine was baffled by all of this.
When a finely suited servant rang a silver bell, announcing that dinner would be served, Freädherich's hand tightened upon the sill's edge beneath Reine's. She watched his frantic eyes race about as everyone flowed toward the doors. Then he fixed upon someone across the chamber.
Reine's cousin, Prince Edelard, offered his arm to one lady in their group. Prince Leäfrich did the same for his sister, Âthelthryth.
Freädherich looked down at Reine.
At first, she thought he might spin around, fleeing to the safety of his window view—but he did not. She kept her eyes on his until he calmed and lifted his arm for her. And she took it. They sat together at dinner, talking little throughout the meal—which consisted of more courses than Reine cared for. Afterward, Freädherich grew agitated and nervous again.
"Take me on a tour of the castle," she said.
Without a word, he got up, gripping her chair to slide it out. Reine quickly covered for him, making their excuses. Neither the king nor the queen questioned this and were more than obliging. Uncle Jac appeared pleased, and Reine shot him a cold glare before she took Freädherich's arm and they left. As they wandered through the maze of the castle, coming upon a gallery of family portraits, she had to finally ask.
"Freädherich … is something wrong?"
"You should call me Frey," he said, ignoring the question. "That's what Âthel and Lee call me."
Such nicknames were a little amusing compared to how formal the Âreskynna were with outsiders, but she wouldn't be put off so easily.
"I meant, you seem somewhat beside yourself … elsewhere," she insisted.
Again, her quiet directness startled him. This time he recovered more quickly.
"The ride," he whispered. "Father insists that I go."
That wasn't what was really on his mind, though it obviously bothered him as well. At another evasion, Reine chose not to press him into whatever more uncomfortable thoughts he wouldn't share.
"You don't wish to go?" she asked.
Freädherich—Frey—looked at the floor.
"I don't like horses," he said flatly. "I prefer to sail."
Reine was a bit stunned. Coming from a nation of horse people, she'd never met anyone who feared those proud animals. Then again, perhaps he'd never met anyone afraid of the sea … the endless ocean. Why was she so drawn to protect this strange young man?
On the edge of the next dawn, Reine secretly slipped out to meet him at the stables.
Frey was waiting outside and wouldn't enter until she pulled him in. She showed him the tall mounts her uncle brought in their entourage, but he wouldn't step near even one. When she came to her own three—Cinnamon, Nettle, and Peony—she made him stay put as she led out the latter gentle and dappled mare.
By the time Felisien came searching for her, Reine had already gotten Frey to mount. To her surprise, he learned quickly. And she later learned that he'd been forced onto a soldier's stallion by his elder brother at too early an age. But he'd never been taught in proper fashion to work with a horse. Peony took to him well.
By afternoon, the Weardas and a contingent of cavalry prepared to escort all the royals out for their tour. Reine was mounted atop Cinnamon, her muscular stallion. Frey, still atop Peony, remained at ease so long as he had Reine in his sight.
He worked easily with the calm mare, or rather she with him, even cantering past his father twice, much to everyone's shock. But Frey seldom left Reine's side. If he did, she kept watch on him. When Felisien tried to goad her into a round of tag-arrows on horseback, wheeling his mount in her way, she booted him in the rump. She wasn't about to panic Frey with the sight of such a wild game.
By the time the tour ended, and they'd returned to the castle, Reine decided that she would put off leaving when her family headed home. Something inside her didn't wish to abandon Frey—or that was how she viewed it. Three days later, she went to see off her cousins … her uncle. She hadn't spoken to him since the night of the first banquet.
Uncle Jac, mounted on his plains-bred stallion, looked sternly down at Reine.
"This was only for hope of your happiness," he said, and then added with emphasis, "nothing more. The rest is up to you … and him."
Was all of this truly only seven years ago?
Metal grating upon stone wrenched Reine into the present. She turned about as the iron doors split down their center seam. They slowly parted, sliding into the walls. A second pair began to separate as well, and then a third.
There was Cinder-Shard, on the doors' other side, standing dead center in the widening portal. Reine hadn't even seen him enter.
At his brief wave, the remaining Stonewalkers passed by, bearing Hammer-Stag's body into the chamber. Cinder-Shard turned away out of sight to the portal's left.
"Time to go," Chuillyon said from behind her.
All Reine saw between the chamber's inner rounded walls was an opening in the center of its stone floor. It looked like a shaft as wide as a bailey gate.
Filled with blackness in the low light, that hole seemed to drop straight into the mountain's bowels. She could swear she caught the scent of seawater filling the chamber, perhaps rising from the shaft. It wasn't possible, though she shivered again.
"My lady," Chuillyon said, "did you hear me?"
Reine looked up into his triangular, tan elven faced lined softly with age.
"Pardon?" she said.
"It is time," he answered softly. But as he took a step to lead her on, he paused and became still.
"What?" she asked.
Chuillyon blinked, pivoting his head quickly, and gazed down the outer passage. Reine turned, wondering if they'd been followed. Chuillyon's feathery eyebrows twisted, one cocking higher than the other. With pursed lips, he suddenly smiled and shook his head.
"I'm just getting too old," he muttered. "The mind wanders, I suppose."
Yes, old Chuillyon was becoming a bit odd at times.
Reine forced down all feeling, hardening herself. She stepped through with him, not glancing back as the triple iron doors closed behind her.
"We can't follow yet!" Wynn whispered. "Not without Shade."
Chane scowled down at her.
It was difficult to speak without being overheard. The stands were emptying as the public filed up and out of the amphitheater, but handfuls of dwarves were now carrying tables and benches onto the floor for the impending wake. Wynn tried to keep out of their way as she looked about for Shade.
She couldn't stop thinking of Hammer-Stag's pale face. It hinted too much about how he had died. Unless some other Noble Dead, another vampire other than Chane, were here among the dwarves …
"Who was that woman?" Chane asked.
"A royal of Malourné!" Wynn took a breath and tried to calm herself. "The duchess—I mean, Princess Reine, widow of Prince Freädherich. She did everything possible to hinder Captain Rodian's investigation—and to keep Premin Sykion in control of the texts. If she sees me here …"
Wynn trailed off at Chane's frown.
This was difficult to explain. He hadn't been in the middle of the murder investigation, as she had. More than once she'd run into the blockades set by the duchess for her family, keeping Wynn from getting anywhere near the texts.
What was the duchess doing here? And where had Shade gone?
"Coming through!" a young dwarf called, holding one end of a heavy table over his head.
Wynn hopped aside, tugging Chane out of the way. Had Shade picked up something in her thoughts, some rising memory? Had she gone looking for the Stonewalkers on her own? If so, which way had she gone?