“You caught me.” Mari yawned. “I must surrender to bed. Between the carriage ride and Cyrus’s arm, I’m completely beat.”

“Need me to carry you?” Stasia asked.

“Seems like your hands are already full to me.”

It was not often Rayan saw Stasia blush, but her cheeks burned a bright red. Leave it to sisters to know exactly where and how to poke at each other. Before the door had even closed from Mari’s exit, Stasia lurched to her feet. She hoisted Clarissa up with her, easily cradling her in her arms.

“Mari may joke, but she wasn’t wrong, and at this point I feel like accepting it as a challenge.”

Clarissa waved at them while feigning helplessness.

“I guess this is good night,” she said, her giggles made all the louder by the amount of ale she had consumed. Rayan wished them well, and he found mild amusement in the blush that came over Cyrus’s face. Ah, to be so young and easily embarrassed. Meanwhile, Thorda vanished into the adjoining room and returned holding a tall glass of white wine. He sipped it while settling more comfortably into his chair beside the roaring fire.

“Forgive the directness, Rayan,” he said. “But you have failed to broach the subject at your own discretion, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Why have you come? The ride here is too long, and your need in Vallessau too great, for you to arrive without a reason. The night is deep, and the fire warm. Share it.”

Rayan took a moment to recollect the contents of the note.

“I’ve a distant aunt who retreated to North Cape after the island’s invasion,” he began. “But she had retired from her service in the castle many years before then. It took time for me to find her, but once I did, I asked her if she might have knowledge that might benefit our resistance, knowledge perhaps forgotten or hidden. Her answer arrived in a letter, and it was more than I could have hoped for. There’s a secret entrance into the castle, meant to be an escape tunnel should it be besieged.”

Both Thorda and Cyrus snapped to attention.

“Tell me,” Thorda said. “Spare not a single detail.”

Rayan did so, starting with the location of a home with a secret door within its cellar. Thorda slowly pinched his lip as he listened, his eyes glazed and thoughtful. When Rayan was finished, Thorda had him repeat the instructions so he might fully commit them to memory.

“Are you certain this entrance exists?” he asked finally. “Her mind has not withered in age?”

“If you could read the writing, you’d know her mind is sharp as ever. I believe the passage real.”

Cyrus burst up from his chair to his feet.

“Then we have to attack,” he said. “We can assassinate the Usurper King!”

“Absolutely not,” Thorda said. “Not until the time is right.”