Page 66 of Court of Vipers (The Lady of Innislee)

“You know how headstrong Riona is,” he said with a weak smile. “Do youhonestlythink you could have stopped her?”

She let out a soft, hiccuping sound—half laugh, half sob. The prince held her close until she finally leaned back, drying her tears with a sleeve. “Are we doing the right thing?” she asked, her voice so quiet that Auberon had to strain to make it out. “Must Riona lose her home and her family for the sake of some political alliance?”

“Amaris—”

“You could find a way for her to stay,” she insisted. “Convince your father to provide Duke Valerian military aid. Guarantee Eamon’s father trade and resources as repayment for the loss of the duchy. End the war with Erduria.”

“I’ve tried to speak with him, but he won’t listen,” the prince growled. “He refuses to take my counsel, or that of any of his advisors. He believes we’ve all been swayed by their honeyed words and deep coffers.”

“You are his son, and you will sit on the throne. The decisions he makes now will shape your rule before you ever wear the crown. Make him see reason.”

Domhnall shook his head. “This is right. In time, Riona will understand why this marriage is necessary.”

Amaris turned away. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore. Go back to the banquet. I’ll join you once I’ve composed myself.”

As the prince watched her, clearly debating whether to press the issue further, Auberon returned to the banquet hall and waited until Prince Domhnall emerged. Once he slipped into conversation with one of the nobles at the edge of the dance floor, Auberon stepped back into the corridor.

Amaris was still sitting on the bench, her face buried in her hands, when he stepped into the courtyard. “I know the king wants me to return to the banquet,” she murmured when she heard his soft footsteps, “but I just need a minute.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we have much time to spare.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice, her cheeks stained with tears. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Prince Domhnall isn’t going to search for Riona,” Auberon said, not bothering to hide the fact that he’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. “I’ll find her and bring her back to Innislee, but I need you to tell me everything you can about the night she left. Do you know who sent the note?”

“…I have my suspicions. Riona has a…friend among the castle staff named Aeron. I went to speak with him, but his flat was empty. One of the neighbors told me he hadn’t been there in days, and the castle staff said they hadn’t seen him lately, either. I don’t know where else to look for him.”

Auberon offered her a hand up from the bench. “I’m sure we can manage something. Come with me.”

ChapterForty-Five

The Lady

Riona had heard stories about the dangers of the Howling Mountains, but nothing that compared to standing before them. Wind and water had carved the limestone into labyrinthine tunnels and narrow crevasses. Every so often, a freestanding pillar rose from the ground like the trunk of a tree, a silent sentinel guarding the realm of the Rennox. A breeze shot through the tunnels, creating a high-pitched, keening wail that scraped down Riona’s spine. Her palm began to sweat around the handle of Auberon’s dagger.

Standing before the Howling Mountains, Riona felt very, verysmall.

The entrance of the mine was bracketed with two tall, flat stones, their faces worn smooth by weather and age. As she passed between them, Riona reached up with her free hand and closed her fingers around the eudorite pendant at her throat. She had never given much thought to the necklace, always considering the answer of its origin lost along with her mother when her ship sank, but now it taunted her. Had her mother known about the mines?

A tunnel stretched out before her. Lanterns hung from the ceiling at even intervals, linked with a series of thin tubes that kept the oil at a constant level. Riona removed her cloak and set it by the entrance, along with a lantern she had bought in one of Crafford’s markets. The tunnels were well lit, and it would only get in her way if she had to fight her way out. She stalked down the tunnel, a hand running over the uneven stone, and listened for the sounds of men working the mine.

All was quiet save for the shrieking wind.

She kept walking. Other tunnels branched off the main one, each lit with the same series of suspended lanterns, but she stuck to the largest, hoping that it would lead her to the heart of the mine. Every few yards, she marked the wall with a stick of charcoal she’d bought in the market. It would be all too easy to lose her bearings. Everything looked the same; it was all gray stone, occasionally pitted in places where miners had extracted veins of eudorite ore. Some of the depressions in the wall were longer than her arm—long enough for a blade.

This war will not end until the Tranquil Sea runs red with Erdurian blood.

Eventually, the sound of scraping drifted to her from somewhere up ahead, where the tunnel split. She cautiously approached the fork and froze when she saw a lone figure crouching in the tunnel to her right. His hair was lank and scraggly, hanging in limp knots around his narrow, bony shoulders. A threadbare pair of pants hung from his hips. He was facing away from her, muttering to himself as he scratched at the wall with his bare fingers. Blood was crusted on the stone from his torn fingernails.

Unsettled, Riona took a step back, and her boot scuffed against a loose chunk of stone. At once, the man whirled around. He stood slowly, revealing the sharp lines of his ribcage, and studied her through the curtain of hair hanging over his gaunt face.

Then, without a word, he launched himself at her.

Riona’s heart leapt into her throat as she spun and raced down the other tunnel. The wind rose to a high-pitched scream, and her pursuer let out an eerie, bloodcurdling wail in answer. It filled the tunnel and burrowed into Riona’s bones, the sound neither human nor animal.

Riona pushed herself faster, her grip tightening on the emerald-hilted dagger.The dagger!She should have stood her ground and fended the man off, but the thought of plunging the blade into his flesh and watching the light fade from his eyes made her feel sick. If she ran fast enough, she could lose him. She didn’t have to kill an unarmed man.

She raced through the tunnels, making a mental note of each turn. Everything looked the same—a blur of pitted gray stone, tinged a pale orange by the light of the lanterns. Pounding footfalls reverberated through the tunnels, echoing and distorting around her. No matter what turns she took, no matter how fast she ran, the man chasing her did not relent. She would have to turn back and face him. She would have to—

---