I decide to lean on my warrior training and do some reconnaissance. Grabbing a book from a nearby shelf, I find a reading nook by a window and scoot myself into the corner. Hopefully, I won’t be seen at all, but if I am, I can pass for a bored palace girl. I open to a random page, keeping my eyes and ears open.

On the levels above me comes the rolling of a cart and a pair of voices. They pass directly overhead, but I catch sight of a green healer’s uniform reflecting in a mirror. Okay, so healers are up there. That means the sick children might be, too. A moment later, I swear I catch the sound of crying. I swallow nervously, returning my eyes to the borrowed book when a tall figure rounds the corner.

“Rowan?”

My heart jumps to my throat, but as I look up, it’s not my sister or a guard who’s caught me. It’s Callen’s father.

“I thought that was you,” he says. “Looks like I can still get some things right in my old age.”

He says the last words with spite. In truth, the former general isn’t that old, but he looks it. A sallow sadness has taken hold of his formerly commanding gaze, and he’s gained some weight since I last saw him.

“Sir,” I say, hastily setting the book aside. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” he says, but it’s just a formality. I can sense the question of what in the skies I’m doing here coming, so I beat him to the punch.

“I’m looking for my sister,” I say. “She hasn’t answered any of my birds.” Or she wouldn’t have, if I’d sent any. “It’s a … personal matter. I hoped she’d hear it from me but I haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”

“The sentinels have to put the king and royal family before their own,” he responds. “I’m sure it can wait.”

Sweat builds under my arms as I try and fail to think of another lie. Breathe, I think. Make whatever you say believable. “You’re right,” I say. “I’ll just leave her a note, then. One of the scholars downstairs will have parchment and ink. Thank you.”

Before he can say anything else, I hurry down the stairs. There’s so much more I could say to him, like, “Why didn’t you ask me about your son?” but now’s not the time. Once out of sight, I follow through on my words and ask a nearby trainee scholar to borrow some of her writing materials. Once Callen’s father’s shadow disappears, I hastily hand them back.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ve changed my mind. Thanks, though.”