Page 49 of A Court of Bones & Sorrow

I glanced at the large, upright clock that rested between my book cases. Thirty minutes to go. Draven’s meeting would be wrapping up soon, and Kieran was waiting to intercept him and get him out of our way for a while. I still wasn’t thrilled about that plan, but if Kieran said he could handle it, then I trusted him.

A few scenarios of just how Kieran could keep the prince distracted flashed through my mind. Great. Now I was anxious and horny.

Then again, they would probably just ride around theproperty. Kieran was really pissed off at Draven. As much as he wanted him, I wasn’t sure if he’d be willing to let anything happen between them. Once again, concern for Kier bloomed in my chest. I didn’t want him to get hurt, and Draven had already caused him such pain.

“What the fuck are you up to, Drav?” I muttered.

We knew he was working with the wraiths—whether he was only doing so because he was being forced was still something we had to figure out. But that didn’t explain why he’d treated Kieran the way he had. I’d known Drav for most of my life, and while he could occasionally be short with people and was excellent at delivering well-crafted insults, I’d never known him to be cruel.

And what he’d done to Kieran had absolutely been cruel. Once again, I wondered if I was letting my attraction to him and our past friendship blind me to the truth.

My gaze fell on the memory ball still resting on the table in my sitting area. What memory had he planted in it? I glanced at the clock . . . I did still have time. And I could always pull out if it was taking too long.

Before I could second guess myself, I strode over to the table and picked up the glass sphere before plopping down on the settee. I leaned back and rested the ball in one palm with the other lying across the top. Memory balls like this one weren’t exactly common, but all the Houses had at least a few in their possession. None of them contained Fae memories, but they were useful for recording meetings and other information.

Typically, we locked those memories to our blood so no one else could access them. But I could feel Draven’s memory floating inside this one, trying to tug me under. He’d deliberately left it unlocked so I could access it without him.

I closed my eyes and let myself be pulled into it.

“When I said I wanted to escape the party for a while and you said you knew just the place, this wasn’t what I was expecting.” I held awarning finger up at the chestnut stallion, who laid his ears back in the stall on the left. The horse snorted like he wasn’t the least bit impressed before trying to bite me.

No. Not me. Draven. I was seeing this memory from Draven’s point of view. Well, this was a bit disorientating. Normally, when we used memory balls, we just recorded our voices. But Draven had included so much more than that. I could make out some of his thoughts—although many were muddled and I couldn’t understand them. But I could get a sense of what he was feeling.

Longing and confliction. Some contentment. He enjoyed my company. But also . . . fear.

Why had he chosen this memory? And why was he afraid?

I tuned back in, letting myself fall back into the echo of Draven’s psyche.

“Quit antagonizing him.” Samara held up a warning finger in the same way I had just done to the stallion. When I snapped my teeth at her, she laughed and spun away, sending her dark hair flying. That moonsdamned laugh stole my breath. Hearing it was like coming home after being lost in a storm for weeks.

She’d be married to that asshole from House Laurent in a few weeks. Truthfully, I didn’t actually know much about him. Only that Samara was too good for him. But it’s not like I could marry her. Samara had no idea how I truly felt about her and Demetri . . . Demetri was the safer option.

“I’m just saying”—I followed after where Samara had moved deeper into the stables—“we could have swiped a bottle of wine and been up on the roof right now.”

“We can do that after,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I wanted to see them first.”

“Them?”

Samara stopped in front of a stall and leaned over the door. “Them,” she said in a soft voice.

I stepped up beside her, letting my arm graze hers briefly before restingit on the door. A black mare eyed us warily but didn’t move from where she was standing over two identical dark bay foals. Both were passed out and sprawled across the straw bedding.

“One of the servants told me about them earlier,” Samara whispered, her dark purple eyes full of wonder. “It’s a miracle they survived.”

“They look very small. Ranger mounts have to be strong and robust. The weak don’t survive.” A hint of bitterness crept into my voice, and I winced. Samara loved horses—I should let her have this moment of happiness instead of bringing my dreariness into it.

“So they’ll be quick and resilient,” Samara shot back. “There’s more than one way to survive in Lunaria. Don’t count them out yet.”

I smiled. “You’re right of course.”

She slid me a cocky glance. “I know.”

We both backed away from the door to let the foals sleep in peace. Samara went to each stall, giving every horse a scratch behind the ears—even the ornery chestnut stallion, who was more than willing to let Samara pet him while giving me the evil eye.

“Would you like one of the foals?” I blurted out.

Samara looked over her shoulder at me, dark eyebrows raised. “I would never separate them. And even if you gave me both, it’ll be years before they’re old enough to ride.” A hint of sadness crept into her expression. “I’ll be in need of a mount sooner than that. Mine passed away last year from old age. He had a good, long life, but I miss him. I’ve been using temporary ones, but I’ll need to figure out a more regular solution when I move to House Laurent.” Something flickered across her face—too fast for me to catch what it had been—then she shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll have something there that will work.”

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