The following day passed in a blur. Garrin stayed in his room all morning, despite a summons from Senjay to continue his training and an invitation to a luncheon hosted by his mother. In the afternoon he got the idea to ask Elonie if she had heard from Arya and if she might know where she’d gone, but the soldier confessed ignorance of the situation. When he mentioned finding Dellon, Elonie told him that her brother was busy moving his things to the Sage’s guild in Gillesport.

“He doesn’t need to,” she said when Garrin looked surprised. “They haven’t dismissed him from the castle. But Dellon thinks he’ll be able to do better work in town than here.”

That made sense, but the Sage’s absence made him feel even lonelier. Garrin returned to his room and tried to distract himself with his harp, but his mind wasn’t on the music. How could Arya just leave? Without saying goodbye? Without saying anything? He didn’t necessarily think he was entitled to more than a goodbye, but she could have at least told him in person. A letter was so... so...

Well, fitting, if this was a romantic ballad instead of real life. That was exactly how a tragic hero would receive the news that his love had left him. But Arya wasn’t his love, she was just his betrothed. She’d made that clear enough the day before.

So why did he feel like he’d lost something more?

After a while, he gave up on doing anything productive and laid down to rest instead, but the snapping of the fireplace sounded like explosions to his frazzled mind, and he couldn’t relax. Finally, having nothing else to distract him, Garrin returned to Arya’s letter.

Garrin,

I’ve thought about the things you told me earlier, and I think it’s best if we part ways. I can clearly not serve as this country’s queen. I have neither the qualifications nor the temperance to serve in such a capacity. The one we spoke to this morning was right. It will be best for everyone if I simply leave and make my own way in the world. I hope you find the kind of adventure you’re looking for. It might be closer than you think.

Arya

He frowned. “Neither the qualifications nor the temperance?” he muttered aloud. “She has the exact qualifications. There is no one who has better qualifications.” Who else knew the entire history of the kingdom? The maps of every region on the continent? The details of the economy, the intricacies of court workings—Arya had more knowledge than any single person alive. And she knew it. And he knew it.

So why pretend otherwise?

“The one we spoke to this morning,” he read on. That had to be Talys, but why not just say that? She’d written the letter to Garrin and left it in her own room, so there was no risk of anyone else reading it.

Unless...

The one we spoke to this morning was right. About what? Renton? About the dangers to Garrin? What if those dangers had extended to Arya as well—what if they made her leave? Maybe she’d written the letter not as a goodbye, but as a warning?

But then where did she go?

There were too many questions, and Garrin could prove none of them. It was far more likely that he was succumbing to wishful thinking than that Arya had written him a secret message, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

He needed more information.

For the next hour, Garrin studied Arya’s room with a thoroughness that would have impressed even the strictest tutor. He searched her wardrobe, her shelves, her chests and trunks, and anywhere else she might have hidden something. Most of what he found was useless, though he noted that none of her clothes seemed to be missing. If she had left the castle, wouldn’t she have packed clothing? Or a change of shoes? She might even have taken some of her jewelry to sell once she got to town in order to fund the rest of her journey, but every item was right where it belonged.

Stolen novel; please report.

He was about to give up his search when his gaze fell on the rug beneath her bed. One corner was folded over itself, like it had been kicked or scuffed by the last person to tread on it. He kneeled beside it, feeling over the thick fabric, then pulling it back to check underneath. Nothing. He leaned down and peered under the bed, but when he couldn’t see anything he reached his hand into the darkness and felt along the floor.

His fingers touched something cold and firm. Curious, he grabbed the object and withdrew it, then held it up for inspection. It was a book, thin and leather-bound, unmarked by any title or image. He opened the front page and found rows of neat handwriting, which went on for a dozen pages before stopping mid-sentence. He flipped back to the first page and scanned it, frowning.

It is my first night, not just as a princess, but as a person. I know that much, and a thousand other things, but everything feels so new and strange. I know it shouldn’t—I know that for most people it is just another night—but I feel it unfair that I must face it alone. I wish he would have come to me so I would not have to go to him.

Garrin closed the book, his face burning. He shouldn’t be reading this, not without Arya’s permission. But what else could he do? If it held any clues to her whereabouts, he had to continue. He had to know what had happened to her.

He flipped to a page toward the end of the entries and skimmed it, but paused when he read his name.

Garrin offered to release me today. He said I deserved to make my own decisions about my future. The very thing I’ve been able to hold against him, the last barrier against these ridiculous, illogical feelings—and now it is gone as well. I fear I will not recover from such an offer. How can I go, knowing that he would have to face the oncoming obstacles alone? Isn’t this my purpose? If not this, then what?

Then... she didn’t want to go. She’d decided to stay and help him against Renton, and to serve out her duties as a princess. The rest... ridiculous, illogical feelings... He didn’t have time to ponder that now. He had to find out what had happened to her, if she hadn’t left on her own.

But he didn’t have to pry more than that. Resolutely, he turned to the last entry and read.

WW passage: SR. R arrived first. Second person arrived 10 minutes later.

R- You’re late.

SP- I thought I was being followed.

R- Then you were right to be cautious. What have you found out? Why is Garrin spending more time with Prince Senjay?

SP- Senjay is training Garrin to fight.

R- For what purpose?

SP- He didn’t say. But he must know about our plans. Why else would he seek to protect himself?

R- If he knew, why would he risk training in the open as he has? No, if he suspects, he does not know the full truth. We have time yet.

SP- Not enough. I will be leaving in a few days. If we do not act soon, we will miss our chance.

Beside that line, Arya had written Royal? and circled it twice. Garrin paused and reread the page, puzzling over her abbreviations. R had to be Renton, and SP was apparently “second person”. Then “WW passage: SR” probably stood for “west wing” and “storage room”, where Arya had eavesdropped on Renton the first time. Her note meant that she suspected the second person of being a royal, someone who’d come for the betrothal ceremony and would leave within the week. Which meant Renton had a deadline for doing whatever it was he was planning on doing.

Which was what, exactly? Garrin read on.

R- We can’t rush this. It’s been decades in the planning—it will work the way we’ve discussed. As long as you do your part.

SP- I’m ready. With Senjay training your prince, things will only be easier. All I will have to do is lure him to our chambers under the guise of a training session, and

The writing stopped. Garrin flipped desperately through the next few pages, but the rest of the book was blank. If Arya had been writing while she was listening, it could only mean one thing—Renton had discovered her. Then she hadn’t left, not of her own choice. She’d been forced to go.

Or worse.

Garrin stared at the last words Arya had written, frowning. How had the journal gotten back here? He doubted Renton would have allowed Arya to return to her room and hide the book under her bed for Garrin to find later. No, it was more likely that he’d forced her to write a letter explaining her disappearance, and she’d dropped the journal and kicked it under the bed when he wasn’t looking.

And Garrin had found it. Against all obstacles, he’d found the clues Arya had left behind.

Now he just had to find her.