Page 46 of The Prince and the Ice King

Slowing his steps and glancing behind to be sure no one else was nearby, Reardon flattened himself to the wall before continuing. When he peered to see how far she had gone, he saw her disappearing down another hallway. Hurrying after her, quiet but swift, he peered around the next corner—but saw no sign of her.

“Spying,Prince Reardon?”

Reardon jumped a clean foot off the ground and spun to find her behind him.

How?

“Well?” Caitlin crossed her arms, clothed simply like everyone in the castle but with deep hues to her dark blue kirtle over a silvery-gray smock. She wore her long brunette hair down, with only the front few strands pinned back. She was a lovely woman but painted over with a sheen of severity.

“No.” Reardon straightened. “I was just hoping to talk to you, since you seem so set on not talking to me.”

“Do we have something to talk about?” Her words dripped scorn that would have deflated Reardon if he hadn’t accomplished so much today.

“You must hate me greatly, but I was only a boy when you were sent here. Let me understand—”

“Your father was not a boy. He was king, and he made a choice to follow the will of the people, despite my pleading.” The ice in her expression was indeed as piercing as the king’s, even with brown eyes, but she seemed to calm herself as she finished, “He was grieving, I understand, but so was I.”

“You were grieving?” Reardon looked through her veiled expression, realizing that the bitter cold was to shield a broken heart. “Of course. That you’re a widow precedes you.”

Her arms dropped, and she huffed a dejected sigh. “You lost your mother, and that same night, I lost my husband.”

“The same night?”

“That fact only condemned me further. General Lombard stormed my home, found my potions and teachings unsanctioned by alchemy, and called me a witch. They assumed I killed my husband and your mother, but they had no evidence other than magic in me.”

Reardon hadn’t understood how the offerings worked back then, but he remembered whispers of a witch—of many witches, then and in all the years since. “They’ve condemned others for my mother’s death, never sure, just speculation. I’m sorry that while you suffered your own loss, you had to suffer being blamed for it too.” It did not even occur to Reardon that either accusation could be true. “May I ask… who was your husband?”

She hesitated, keeping her distance from him. “Stephen, a guard in the castle. I called him Stevie.”

“Stevie?” Reardon exclaimed. “I remember him! I knew he was married but not to who. I didn’t learn he died for months. They sent so many soldiers away after my mother’s death. He was a serious soldier, but when no one was looking, he would smile or wink at me or even crouch to play.”

The barest twitch of a smile touched Caitlin’s lips. “He always had kind words for your parents and fondness for you too. When I confessed my fears about starting a family, knowing our child could inherit my magic, he used you as a reason that it would be all right, saying the kingdom was in good hands.

“Maybe I was wrong to cling stubbornly to thinking otherwise…,” she said quietly, only for her expression to harden again. “But you haven’t changed Emerald yet, and actions speak louder than empty promises.”

“My promises are not empty,” Reardon swore.

She stared at him for some time, and then nodded.

He would have accepted that as a truce and let her pass, but the knowledge of Stevie’s death plagued him. Caitlin was young—or had been when she was sent here. Stevie had been the same, midtwenties, he remembered, not much older than Reardon now.

“Stevie dying the same night as my mother can’t be a coincidence. Do you know how he died?”

“He died as your mother did, the very same way.”

“What?” Reardon’s stomach roiled. “You know how my mother died? Was it magic as everyone feared? Please, I—”

“No.” Her hard eyes turned sympathetic, but she held out a hand to halt him. “There were components missing from my home. The High Alchemist reported some missing from his shop too. Science killed your mother, with elements taken from various sources to cover the killer’s tracks.

“Stevie must have seen them or caught them in the act, and they forced him to drink or be doused in whatever substance they used. I tried telling all this to Lombard, to your father when he questioned me, to anyone who would listen, but I was just a witch in their eyes, easy to condemn and dismiss.”

“But whatexactlywas it?” Reardon pressed. “What potion did the killer make? What did they steal to do it?”

“Wormwood and rose petals were missing from the High Alchemist. Wormwood can be a poison, but Lombard would have detected it on its own. He said the bodies had no trace of anything, that only magic could be blamed, but I know it is more complicated than that.”

“What did they take from you?”

“Dried spider’s eye and wraith’s teeth.”

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