Page 93 of A Reign of Roses
“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” Ryder pressed his face into his palms.
“For now, it’s good.”
“And when Kane tracks her down eventually?”
I tried to imagine Kane greeting his old friend in a warm embrace. All that came to mind was a vision of a pitch-black dragon, satiated and stuffed full, with wisps of long white hair hanging from his maw. “We’ll handle that when the time comes.”
“I won’t say good luck,” he joked with an exhale. “Didn’t count for much the last time. But…be safe, Arwen. With the faux ledger and the Scarlet Queen. I’ll be here, with the tykes. And Barney. My husband.”
“Ryder.” I frowned. “Do you want to come with us?”
I wasn’t really sure why I’d offered. I knew he didn’t, and that none of us—Kane and Griffin tied for least of all—wanted him to join, either.
“I don’t,” he answered, a little morose. “I’m so gratefulnotto be going. How’s that for a burgeoning soldier? Brave as ever, I am.”
I stood to leave, but an errant thought pulled me back. “Can I offer you some unsolicited advice?”
Ryder cocked one brow at me but I took his silence for approval and plowed onward. “Try not to think so much about who you were supposed to be back then, or who you want to be one day, or what will impress which princess or librarian, and maybe just try to be…you. Today.”
“That’s very corny,” he said after some time, though his eyes were elsewhere.
I shrugged. “I’m not as good at this as Dagan.”
The Quartz of Rose wasmore industrial than any other kingdom I’d been to, but the steel and scaffolding didn’t hinder its beauty one bit. I’d been surprised, during our flight over, to find myself comparing the kingdom’s elegant homes to Willowridge’s, or the capital city of Revue’s busy streets to Azurine’s. Surprised by my own knowledge of Evendell—my understanding of the nuances of different cities, different ecosystems, different social and political strata.
I’d been right, when I returned to Shadowhold, to fear that I’d changed. I had.
But the woman I was now—walking past wrought-iron fences wreathed in greenery and corner taverns adorned with flowerpots—this woman was all the things I’d hoped one day I would be: a little more worldly, a little less afraid to ask for what I wanted, sympathetic to the ambiguities of life and the complicated choices we all faced. Not necessarily brave, but aware of the fact that it was courageous just to get up each day when there was so much to fear…Maybe most importantly—this womanlikedherself.
An issue I hadn’t even realized might have been the worst offense of all and the most deep-seated.
The streets in Revue were replete with both monolithic factories pumping hot black smoke and vivid open-air markets. Warehouses with men slathered in dark oil and coal right beside antique-looking bookstores—The Rosecomb, Under the Cover. Beside bespectacled women pushing carts piled high with tools were poets reading to one another on storm-gray building stoops.
While Willowridge had a gothic, almost dreamy darkness to it,Revue was vibrant. Bustling, and more sensual. More aggressive, too, and dirtier. People walked faster and with more purpose. The handrails and curbs were not polished clean like in Kane’s capital. The air smelled of tobacco—though the pipes here were long and skinny rather than fat and curved like Ryder’s.
Despite the chilly winter night and all the snow crunching underfoot, the women around us wore clothing I’d never dare to. Shimmery, shining dresses with long fur coats. Plunging necklines. Shorter hems than some of my nightdresses. My cheeks flushed at the sight of a sheer bodice with exposed boning worn as a top of its own, with nothing but a feathered scarf to keep its wearer warm.
I was so overwhelmed by the sights and wild display of skin I almost missed Mari as she ducked after Kane and Griffin into the inn. The sign out front read “The Empty Inkwell” in industrial block lettering, and I followed after them.
For better or worse, the reclusive bookmaker lived in a small neighborhood in the eastern hills of Revue. Better: once we had our fake, we were only minutes from Ethera’s doorstep—after we’d devised our plot, we’d sent a raven and scheduled an audience with the queen for tomorrow afternoon. Worse: we’d have to keep a very low profile. If Ethera found out we’d met with the historian, our only bargaining chip would be wasted, and she’d never align her army with ours.
Which meant staying the night in this musty, unremarkable inn in the city center with a shoddy chandelier that hung so low Griffin had to hunch the entire time we stood, clustered inside. Twangy music that sounded a little metallic and filtered emanated from somewhere deeper inside. I wondered what kind of musicians wandered the halls of lodgings like this one.
“We only have the one room available, I’m afraid.”
Mari shook her head. “There are four of us. I’m sure you can see why that won’t do.”
“And there aretwobeds,” the innkeeper rebutted, pressing pointed spectacles that had slid down her nose back up the elongated ridge.
“And we arepaying customerswith quite a lot of coin.” Mari was turning a bit red. “Can you please look once more?”
The woman’s unmoving stare rivaled a brick wall. “I don’t think so.”
Mari placed an elbow on the wood counter and leaned close. “I’m not sure I like your tone. For your information, we are—”
“Very sorry to have bothered you,” I jumped in. “The double will be fine.”
Mari sighed like a horse and I swore a low chuckle rumbled from Griffin beside me. But when I turned my face up to his, the expression I found there was as stoic as usual.
