“Everyone stay out of my way!” Farilane shouted as she ran down the deserted corridors of the palace. “I’m going to my chambers! Anyone who can hear me, tell the First Minister—on pain of death—that no one is to enter the throne room except me! Do you understand? No one!” She hoped someone heard, believed they did, but with so much on the line, the difference between certain and almost so was a wide gulf.

There ought to be a host of palace guards here by now. All seven legions should have been jammed into that wide corridor lined with ancient frescoes. The emperor was just murdered, and no one has shown up to so much as offer condolences.

There was a reason.

Of course there’s a reason. There’s a reason for everything!

Two jumped out at her, volunteering to be the most obvious. Either everyone knew exactly what was going on and the palace had been evacuated for safety or everyone was dead—and not just in some normal slit-throat manner. The lack of blood and bodies meant that they had been erased, as Mawyndulë had so ominously put it. He might have snapped his fingers, and poof no more anyone.

Is that possible?

A month ago, she would have said no. Prior to entering the Mystic Wood, Farilane’s response—if she were honest with herself—would have been a gut-busting guffaw followed by several minutes of lighter laughter, a bit of harmless ridicule, and the occasional giggle. After seeing Ethan crushed by stone blocks, Farilane wasn’t certain she’d ever laugh again.

Now the hourglass is running out for Kolby—and here I am, walking as slowly as possible.

She took a breath, trying to get a hold of herself. The princess didn’t know how knowledgeable Mawyndulë was with the layout of the palace, but she took no chances and followed the direct route to her rooms.

I’m all out of ideas . . . except one.

Reaching the door, she flung it wide, dashed in, then slammed it shut.

Mawyndulë lost sight of Farilane the moment she entered her chamber.

While frustrating, her disappearance wasn’t alarming. The princess had obviously lined her personal chambers in Orinfar markings just as she had lined the throne room. Anyone with half her intelligence would have taken that precaution. Just knowing he had the ability to pry into her bedroom with the Art should have prompted her to put up the dwarven drapes. Such a thing didn’t constitute a breach of trust. Also, her personal chambers were the most sensible place for her to have hidden the horn. While concerning, her beeline didn’t shout betrayal like rushing to the Teshlor Guildhall or summoning the palace guard. All she did was go to her room.

He continued to watch the door and listen, but he heard nothing beyond some shuffling coming from the far side.