‘Oh, there isfault,’ the King seethed, navy eyes like churning tides as he locked them squarely on Raiden. ‘You are my son’s protector, not his friend. You are his protector, and you have failed him in your duty. Just as you have failed your King.’

Raiden flinched like he’d been slapped, eyes dropping to the floor.

Cahra started, ‘Now, wait just a second—’

But King Royce flashed her a look that would have silenced a noble twice her size. ‘Enough.’

She ceased her pacing at the room’s rear, looking down at King Royce at the head of his fancy wartime table, questioning, ‘You’d silence me?’

To her shock, he swallowed then shook his head. The acknowledgment was slight, but it was there.

Cahra had just rebuked a King of the sister kingdoms. To hisface.

She sat, trying to stop her body shaking, and went on. ‘Something obviously happened to Thierre either before – in which case, you’ve got a problem – or after he passed through the gatehouse at the entrance to the kingdom.’ Cahra turned to Tyne. ‘So which is it?’

The Commander’s lip curled. ‘After. One of the guards on rotation knew that Thierre was approved to enter and exit the gate, so the Prince used the man to slip through.’

Cahra nodded at Raiden and Siarl. ‘What did you learn in the caves?’

But Raiden seemed not to have heard her, his crestfallen eyes trained on the floor.

Siarl responded in lieu of her Captain. ‘That Kolyath and Ozumbre have our Prince.’ Her deep brown eyes creased, pained by the words.

Thierre’s parents stiffened, their worst fears confirmed. Queen Avenais gripped her husband’s hand, her lashes dampening with tears.

But Raiden lifted his head to Tyne. ‘It’s worse.’

King Royce looked positively murderous. ‘How could it possibly be worse?’

‘The longsword is gone. I believe Thierre took it.’

By the Seers…

Cahra knew what anyone with knowledge of the prophecy would think upon seeing that sword. She closed her eyes, remembering Jarett’s ugly threats to Lumsden:

‘If you do not hand over that brat, I will make short work of you… Who was this weapon commissioned for?!’

And the fear in the little master blacksmith, not for himself, but for her. Cahra’s stomach twisted, like it was caught in a clamp back in the smithy.

Then something else occurred to her. Raiden was right, it was so much worse.

‘Raiden,’ Cahra said, ‘Thierre has been to Ozumbre before, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Raiden conceded. ‘He has.’

‘And did he use the same identity as in Kolyath?’

Raiden breathed his next word. ‘No.’

Commander Tyne caught on. ‘So,’ the man began through gritted teeth, ‘if Thierre’s in joint custody of our enemies with the sword, at best they’ll think he’s the omen-bringer. And at worst…’ He rubbed his furrowed face with both hands. ‘He’s a tri-kingdom spy.’

Though she knew the room had fallen silent, Cahra couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears.

Sylvie, who’d secreted herself in a corner, arms folded across her silver breastplate, pushed off from the shelves she was leaning against and strode for the room’s strategy table.

‘Thierre was taken outside our walls. That’s no small job. If it were me, I’d send my finest.’ The General glowered at the map as if she might terrify its pieces into talking. ‘That means Kolyath’s Commander Sullian, or Ozumbre’s Commander Diabolus, and their elite units.’ Sylvie began cross-checking reports with the map’s red and grey figures. ‘I will find them,’ she growled, brows as ferocious as her father’s.

A pause, before Wyldaern finally ventured, ‘And yet, Thierre is not the omen-bringer.’ She exchanged a glance with Thierre’s sister, then looked to Thelaema.