Chapter 309: We’re A Lot To Be Around

She stopped.

"He is here for two more days. His men are here. Every move we make is watched. If you leave now, with twelve riders and a map, he will know it within the hour." His thumbs moved across her collarbones. "And he will follow. Or he will send someone ahead. And we will have led him straight to the door."

Her mouth opened. She closed it.

"He wants you to go," said Thorne, from the desk.

She turned her head.

"That is the other half of what he said. Your mother is ill. You must be so anxious to see her." His voice was dry, and grave. "He has hung your mother in a window like a lamp, and he is waiting to see whether you will fly to it like a moth."

She pressed her lips together.

Thorne was right. She knew it. She felt it settle in her, cold and heavy and true.

"I hate this," she whispered.

"I know."

"I hate that he’s clever."

"So do I," said Draeven.

"I hate that I can’t just....." She drew a ragged breath. "Go."

"You will go." His hands tightened. "I promise it. When Carrick is gone, and the road is clear, and I can send you with an escort worth the name. You will see her. You will hold her hand. You will tell her everything she needs to hear." His eyes were very bright. "I give you my word."

She looked into his face.

She had known him a month. She had known him, truly, for perhaps a day. And yet she found that she believed him, completely, in a way that she could not have explained.

"Soon?" she whispered.

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Three days. Four. As soon as the road is safe."

She nodded.

It was a small, shaky nod. She felt tears start in her eyes again and blinked them back. Draeven’s thumb brushed once, briefly, at the corner of her eye.

"In the meantime," he said, "she will not be alone. Rhen’s men will be at her door in a day. And I will send word by the fastest rider we have, so that she will know, before they arrive, that you are well and thinking of her."

"She’ll be frightened."

"Then I will write to her. In your name."

"In my...."

"If you’ll let me. If you will tell me what to say."

She stared at him.

It was such a small, plain, kind thing to offer that she thought for a moment her chest might break. She put her hand over her mouth. She nodded.

"Yes," she said, behind her fingers. "Yes. Please."

"Then it is done."

Rhen cleared his throat, gently.

"My lord. If I may. I will go at once."

"Go."

"And Majesty....." His scarred face did not change, but his voice was gruff. "My lady. I will see to it myself that no harm comes to lady Elara. I give my word as well."

"Thank you, Captain," whispered Morgana.

He bowed, once, deeply. He gathered the map. He went out. The door shut behind him, and she heard his boots ring away down the stair.

Silence settled again.

"One more thing," said Thorne.

They looked at him.

He was standing by the window, in the bars of fading light, with his hands behind his back. His face was in profile. When he spoke, his voice was calm, and very cold.

"The clerk. Pell."

"Yes," said Draeven.

"The seal. The summons. The man who vanished before dawn." Thorne’s dark eyes flicked to Kaelen. "That was not a coincidence."

"No."

"Someone in this palace wanted the gallery empty. Someone knew Carrick’s speech was coming. Someone knew when." He turned. "And someone fetched Astraea an hour before the council, with a lie."

"A grey robe," said Kaelen.

"A grey sleeve."

"The usher."

"One of them."

"They’re the same man," said Morgana.

They looked at her.

"I don’t know that." She frowned, faintly. "But it’s the same grey. The man at the pillar. The usher by the wall. Pell. I think it’s all the same thing. A hand. Someone’s hand. Someone who isn’t any of them."

Thorne’s mouth moved. It was nearly a smile.

"That," he said, "is what I think, too."

"Then who?"

"I do not know." His voice was quiet. "But I intend to."

"We will say nothing to the council," said Draeven.

"Agreed."

"Not Cedric. Not yet. If the mole is in the council, it is in Cedric’s trap, and I will not spring it for a guess." His voice was even. "We will watch. We will wait. And when the hand reaches again, we will be ready."

"And in the meantime?" said Kaelen.

"In the meantime," said Draeven, "we protect what we have."

He looked at Morgana.

It was a long, steady, golden look. It did not ask anything of her. It only said, plainly, in a way that she could feel in her bones, you are not alone.

She lowered her eyes.

"I’d like to rest," she said, very quietly.

"Of course."

"I’d like to go back to my room."

"I will walk you," said Kaelen.

"I would rather go with Rowan."

He stopped.

It was a small, honest, difficult thing to say. She saw the flicker in his face, the faint hurt, quickly folded away. She reached out and touched his sleeve.

"Not because I don’t want you," she said. "Only because I think I need a friend. Someone who doesn’t...." She searched for the word. "Who isn’t a king."

Kaelen’s mouth twitched.

"That’s fair," he said.

"Is it?"

"We’re a lot to be around."

"You are."

"Go. Be with her." He covered her hand with his. "I’ll come in the morning. If you want me."

"I do."

"Good."

He kissed her forehead.

It was a brief, fierce, gentle touch, and then he let go. She turned. She found Thorne at her other side, and he did not kiss her. But he put out his hand, and she took it, and he squeezed once, very lightly.

Draeven opened the door for her.

"Corin will escort you," he said.

"Thank you."

"And Morgana."

She paused on the threshold.

He did not speak at once. He stood in the lamplit doorway, tall and dark and still, with the gold of his eyes burning low. She saw his throat move.

"When you wish to speak," he said, "I will be here."