“As if I don’t already know.” She tried to smooth out wrinkles in her dress, and she winced at the flecks of blood that stained the blue fabric. A bitter curse slipped from her lips. “Why bother with this wig and paint and squeeze myself into a dress if this is all it gets me?”

The woman reached for her wig, and Rayan settled his hand atop hers before she could withdraw it.

“Because Lycaena asks it of us,” he said. “We walk a world flooded with color, and sing in joy at the cornucopia Thanet offers. My brethren and I cherish beauty, and see it in every blade of grass and every painted smile. I see that same beauty in you, too. This world is cruel, I know that, but we cannot surrender to it. We cannot let Thanet wither to ash and dust so all that remains is a sea of gray. That’s worth fighting for.”

His words had meant to inspire her, and comfort her, but they had the exact opposite effect.

“I bleed so you get your colorful world.” The crossed-woman shoved her wig into the interior of her coat. “Damn you, paladin. What good are you, then?”

She left behind her sea green shoes with raised heels. Rayan knelt down and retrieved one of them. His fingers caressed the shoe absently, and he wished he knew better words, and possessed a stronger faith to believe them, when he spoke.

A bored-looking man waited for Rayan at his house, a dock worker based on his clothes and the plentiful mud upon them.

“Fisher brought this by boat,” he said as explanation when Rayan asked his purpose for a visit. From one of his deep pockets he pulled out a tightly folded scrap of paper. “It’s for your eyes only, paladin.”

Rayan accepted the scrap and wished him well. Once inside, he sat in his favorite chair, and with a cup of boiled tea, he unfolded it. He expected a note from Thorda Ahlai, who had exited Vallessau three months ago to begin training the young prince. Instead, he found it addressed to him by a distant aunt, one who had retreated to the farthest northern reaches of the island when the royal family fell.

Dearest Rayan, every lifelong servant knows secrets of the castle, it began. But mine was greater still, afforded by my friendship with then-princess Berniss. There are more ways into the castle than the front gates…

Rayan read the note four times, committing every detail to memory, and then tossed it upon the fire. It was too dangerous to keep on his person, and the guards at the city gates were known to perform random searches.

“Well, Cyrus,” he said, planning the trip in his mind. Such information must be given to Thorda, and in person. “Perhaps it is time I see how your training fares.”

CHAPTER 10

RAYAN