Page 121 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

Chapter 26

I took the garden’s greenway back to the palace and ran out of the atrium and into the queen’s tower. Captain Vara, of course, wasn’t there, nor were her fellow soldiers. They had more important things to worry about at the moment.

I tried not to look out the windows as I rushed through the tower, searching for Yvaine. Outside was ruin and smoke, a ravaged city. When Ankaret had engulfed Kilraith and driven him away, she had also put out the fires started by his lightning. But every glance outside showed me toppled buildings, dark swaths of destruction carved through the streets like new roads.

By the time I found Yvaine, my heart was pounding so hard that I felt sick. She was hurrying down one of the great corridors outside her tower with a huddle of her advisers around her and a passel of guards around them, all bustling to the palace proper. This was the state I had expected the Citadel to be in when Ryder and I had arrived that morning—absolute chaos, servants scrambling, the city guard lieutenants shouting orders at their squadrons. The air was thick with confused terror.

I pushed through it all, keeping the queen’s entourage in mysights. “Yvaine,” I cried out, so relieved that she was alive that I forgot all decorum.

She stopped at the sound of my voice and came to me at once, waving aside her tutting advisers and frowning guards. I saw Captain Vara among them; she calmed her charges, bade them lower their weapons. I shot her a grateful look as I rushed toward Yvaine. How useful it would be, came the distracted thought, to be able to send a feeling toward a person, as Talan could do.

But I was only me, human and limping, my throat raw from smoke and song. The best I could do was hold Yvaine tightly to me and try not to cry into her hair.

“What’s happened?” she said, her voice cool and unafraid. She wore a structured gown of charcoal gray, the iridescent fabric flashing purple in the light. Her abundant white hair was pulled back into a neat bun. Gone was my friend asking about love in the Green House. In her place stood the high queen of Edyn.

“Ryder’s gone,” I rasped, my throat burning. I realized as I said it how foolish I sounded—the queen’s friend, crying to her about her lost love while an entire city smoldered. But Ryder wasn’t just anyone; Yvaine had said so herself weeks ago. The six of us—Ryder, Gemma, Talan, Mara, Gareth, and I—we were important. Among Yvaine’s many gifts was one of seeing, of prophecy, and she had seen that much. We all had roles to play in what was to come.

I refused to consider that whatever Yvaine had seen was just another oddity her tired mind had conjured, some symptom of the Middlemist’s illness that couldn’t be trusted. If it meant nothing, then Ryder was simply gone, like so many others.

But I couldn’t believe that was true. Kilraith had held me in his shadowy grip; I’d stared into the lightning of his eyes.I know you, he’d said.

“It was Kilraith,” I told her, keenly aware of the attention I wasdrawing to us—the staring servants, the annoyed Thirsk. “That storm was him, or some form of him. I used my power against him—I sang, tried to make him stop. But he was too strong, or maybe I should’ve tried a different command, I don’t know.” I sounded crazed, but I needed to tell her. “Whatever I did, it was enough to attract his attention. He grabbed me, he was going to kill me. Heknewme. I think he remembered me from when we fought him to free Talan. And then…she came. Ankaret.”

Yvaine’s brow furrowed. She was listening hard. “Ankaret?” Then understanding illuminated her face. “The firebird? We saw her from here.”

“Yes, that’s her. She’s…I don’t know what she is or where she came from, but she’s a friend, and she fought him. She saved me. I came to tell you that. Whatever she is, we can trust her. If and when she comes back, don’t be afraid of her.” I hesitated, considered telling her about the feather, and decided against it. Tears pricked my eyes; I couldn’t stop seeing Ryder’s boots in my mind. “How many more people have been taken?” I whispered.

Yvaine’s expression was grim. “So far, a dozen from here in the Citadel, but I’m sure we’ll soon hear reports of more. Lady Goff is one of them.”

I glanced past her at the waiting circle of advisers. A chill raced through me when I saw them—Thirsk, Bethan, Jarvis. Three of the queen’s closest advisers, her councilors, her confidantes. And now one of them was gone, presumably in Kilraith’s grasp.

“What can I do?” I dragged my gaze back to her. “Tell me what I can do to help you. I can take Goff’s place, or sing comfort to the wounded while the healers tend to them—”

“The best thing you can do is return to Ivyhill,” Yvaine said, “and open your doors to anyone who might need sanctuary. There are many frightened people out there, and your family will be a comfort to them.”

She glanced around at the panicked servants rushing past, the battalions of soldiers and teams of robed elementals and beguilers, all hurrying out into the city with their weapons at the ready, roaring wakes of magic trailing after them. Her gold and violet eyes flashed with anger. She looked invigorated, mighty, more herself than she had in months. Even the scar on her forehead looked healthier, its normal rosy pink. I allowed myself a brief moment of gladness at the sight.

“Will you send for me if I can be of help here?” I asked her.

She softened, squeezing my hands in hers. “I always will. And don’t fear for Ryder,” she added with a gentle smile. “He’s stubborn and strong, just like you are. In that way, and in many others, you’re perfectly suited to each other. Take comfort in that. Won’t you, darling?”

I nodded miserably, attempting a brave smile of my own. Then Yvaine released my hands and hurried back to her entourage. Thirsk shot me a final exasperated look and bustled after her. I let the palace’s chaos rush past me and watched Yvaine glide swiftly away down the grand corridor. Her distant head gleamed silver in the warm torchlight glinting off the walls. Something nagged at me as I watched her go, a feeling I couldn’t name that kept me rooted to the polished marble floor.

A harried-looking healer’s apprentice with an armful of supplies jostled me as she ran past, shaking me from my daze. I turned and left for home.

***

Under a canopy of cheerful distant stars, I trudged across Ivyhill’s great lawn from the greenway that connected our land to the capital. I made my way up the front steps, feeling utterly wrung out, every breath catching in my throat like silk on thorns.Ryder.I held his nameon my tongue, in the cradle of my lungs.Ryder, don’t be afraid. I love you. I’ll find you. I love you.

Sick with worry, body and heart aching, I stepped through the front doors of Ivyhill and almost ran right into Gilroy.

“Gilroy, good.” I took hold of his sleeve, so thankful he hadn’t been taken that the tears I’d successfully stifled threatened to return. I blinked them back hard and walked with him toward the dining room. “We’ll need to send messages to Derryndell, Tullacross, Summer’s Amble,” I told him. Giving instructions was a relief. Never mind godly power and giant malevolent storms; this I knew how to tackle.

“The capital has been attacked,” I continued, “and people were abducted from the Citadel. It’s possible many others around the country have been taken, too, and that there have been other attacks. We’ll open up Ivyhill to anyone who needs shelter or medical attention, or to anyone who would simply feel safer here on the grounds. We’ll need to be organized about it. We don’t want a mad rush. Tell Madam Moreen and Bili to convert the Blue Ballroom into an infirmary, and have Mrs. Seffwyck lay out beds and supplies in the Green Ballroom and make up all the spare rooms we have. Mr. Carbreigh and his crew will need to constantly patrol the estate’s perimeter, reinforce the wards without rest. Tell him he may recruit any of the tenant farmers and their hands to help. They’ll be happy to, they’re always asking to study under him—”

I broke off, realizing suddenly that Gilroy was tottering after me in a daze, a piece of paper in his hand. His face was ashen, his forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. Instantly I was on alert, fear prickling my skin.

“Gilroy? What is it?” I took the paper from him. It was fine as silk in my hands, thin, shimmering silver. Gorgeous lettering swooped across the page.

---