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A knocking came from next door—on Garrin’s door. He stuffed Arya’s journal into his pocket and stood, freezing as he wrestled over whether it would be better to answer from Arya’s room or his own. He settled on his own and hurried back through the passage behind the tapestry, pausing to smooth the wrinkles in his clothes and make sure he looked presentable. Then he took a breath, patted the hidden journal, and opened the door.

“Lliane,” he said, hoping his voice came out sounding casual.

“I wanted to check on you,” she said, folding her hands behind her back. Her hair was swept up in a casual braid, and the dress she wore was a simple, creamy white. Not as elegant as the ones she’d worn throughout her visit so far—as if she was making a point to show that she was here as a friend, not a princess.

Arya’s notes flickered through his mind: The second person might be a royal. “I’m fine,” he said.

She tilted her head. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’m a little tired,” he hedged. “But it’s nothing serious.”

“Garrin.” She studied him, shrewd eyes prying into his as if they could flush out his secrets. “It’s me. You can tell me anything.”

Could he? Or was this a trick to get him to confess what he knew? Much as he’d always liked her, it had been a long time since they’d last seen each other. He couldn’t think of any reason she would want to betray him, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. He couldn’t confide in her, not without proof that she was on his side.

“I caught a chill yesterday,” he said at last. “Nothing serious, but I haven’t been feeling well.”

“You’re sure this has nothing to do with Arya?” she pressed.

Garrin shook his head. “She’s made up her mind. If she wants to leave, I already told her I wouldn’t stop her.”

“Then... have you thought about what I said earlier?”

A warning bell chimed in his head. Would Lliane work with Renton to get Garrin’s throne? But why, when she had her own? She would become queen of Eiliad when she married. It would be no different if she married Garrin—in fact, she’d have even less power in Fyrest than in her own kingdom. So what did she have to gain?

She was watching him, waiting for an answer he couldn’t compose. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea,” he said at last.

Was that disappointment on her face? Because she wanted to marry him, or because he was disrupting her plans? “I shouldn’t pressure you,” she said, looking away. “I just got so excited by the idea of solving my own problem and not having to marry any of the awful men my parents have found. I should have realized you didn’t feel the same.”

“It’s not about feeling,” Garrin started.

She smiled. “But you don’t. Maybe I don’t either. I certainly like you, but love? Maybe we’d grow into it eventually, but that’s not what you’re looking for, is it?” When he remained silent, she patted his arm. “I’m starting to think you don’t know what you’re looking for. Have you thought about why you’ve been so upset since Arya left?”

Worry, guilt, envy—there were a dozen reasons, and none of which he could share with her. “I’m just—”

“You’re not tired,” Lliane interrupted. “Or sick. At least, not physically sick.”

“What do you mean?” he asked uncomfortably.

“Well I’m not going to tell you if you can’t figure it out yourself,” Lliane said. “You’re a reasonably smart man. What would you think of a pair of characters in one of your poems, if they were in the same situation as you and Arya?”

“Even I know poetry isn’t the same as real life,” Garrin grumbled.

Lliane chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder. But I’ll leave you mope until you can come up with an answer. And I meant what I said before,” she added, backing out of the door. “You can talk to me about anything. I’ve always considered us friends.”

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“So have I,” he said.

She smiled and turned away. “Don’t take too long to figure it out,” she called over her shoulder. “Arya won’t wait forever.”

If he couldn’t find her, she might. Lliane had spoken as if she believed Arya had left of her own will, but Garrin couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t pretending. He needed more evidence, or proof against someone else that would take the suspicion from Lliane.

He needed Arya.

The journal poked at his skin through the pocket, an insistent reminder that he should be doing something else. He had to find out what had happened to Arya. Renton would know, but Garrin wasn’t confident in his abilities to draw the information out of the marshal without giving himself away. He would have to find her on his own.

Or with the help of the only other person in the castle that he might be able to trust. He couldn’t go to a royal, but he could seek out someone who wanted to prove herself, someone who would be just as worried about Arya’s safety as he was.

He practically ran to the training field, mumbling a prayer to the goddess Fyelle that Elonie would be there. He didn’t know where else to search for her—the soldier’s barracks? In Gillesport, helping her brother? Perhaps she lived outside the castle, in one of the surrounding villages or hamlets, and he’d have to hunt through each one before he could find her. His thoughts spiraled uselessly, each moment finding a more horrible alternative to the problem before, until at last he reached the yard and heard the comforting cacophony of soldiers sparring.

And the goddess was with him. When he neared the training field, one soldier broke off from the rest and jogged to meet him.

“Elonie,” Garrin said. “I need your help.”

Her expression sharpened. “Of course, Your Highness. Anything. What can I do?”

He beckoned her to follow and led her away from the field, back toward the castle and into the servants’ exit Arya had taken him through on their first trip to Gillesport. Once inside, he faced her in the darkness and let out a low sigh. “I need your word that you will keep everything I am about to tell you to yourself.”

“I swear it, sire,” Elonie said.

He told her everything. He’d meant to focus mostly on Arya’s disappearance, but that led to their suspicions about Renton and his involvement in keeping the king weak. That led to Arya’s journal and the fact that she had been eavesdropping on him, and her suspicion that the other conspirator was a royal. The words spilled out of him faster than he could think them through, and Elonie listened to it all in silence. When he’d finished, she maintained a thoughtful quiet that stretched on and made him want to demand her thoughts, until at last she folded her arms and said, “She has to still be within the castle. The gate guards are my friends—I’d have heard if she left.”

“But where?” Garrin asked.

Elonie drummed her fingers along her forearm. “If I wanted to keep someone hidden, I’d use the dungeons.”

“We don’t have any dungeons,” Garrin said. “They were repurposed a century ago because they were never used. Now it’s just kitchen storage, and it gets far too much use for Renton to risk keeping her there.”

But Elonie was shaking her head before Garrin finished. “They aren’t using all of them. My father told me about more rooms beneath the storage, cells that were too difficult to use as anything else. Dellon and I snuck into them once when we were children. There are only half a dozen cells, and most of them are rusted, but there’s no way to get out of the lower level from below. It would be the perfect place to hide someone.”

Cold dread seeped into his chest. If that’s where Arya was, it meant she’d already spent a night alone in the darkness—alone with her deepest fear.

There was no time to lose. “Where’s the dungeon?” he demanded. “I have to—”

“We can’t just charge in without a plan,” Elonie interrupted. Garrin broke off and waited for her to say more, but she blushed and fumbled, “Y-you’re Highness. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“You’re right,” Garrin said. “Don’t lose your nerve now. We’ll need it if we’re going to challenge Renton.”

She nodded, though her face remained flushed. “He’s sure to have a guard near the dungeons. We’ll need to lure them away.”

“How?”

“It will depend on who it is,” she answered. “And whether they know who they’re guarding.”

“Can you handle them?” Garrin asked.

Elonie gave another hesitant nod. “I can talk to them. Give them some excuse to leave, or at least distract them so you can get past.”

“That’s all I’ll need,” Garrin said. He held her gaze, willing his pounding heart to quiet. He wanted to be strong and firm and brave like the heroes in his stories, but a flush of fear was already working its way over his skin. If he was wrong about this... if he was caught, or if he got Elonie caught... he didn’t want to think about what Renton might do. What fate he might be leading Elonie to.

What might have already happened to Arya.

He swallowed and did his best to keep his voice even. “Elonie, before we do this, I need you to understand what kind of risk you’re taking. Even if everything works according to plan, there’s a significant chance you may not be able to return to your position as a guard. And if things don’t go to plan...”

“I understand,” she said. After a moment, she gave a small chuckle. “I wanted a chance to prove myself. What better way is there than this?”

He reached out his hand. At first she only stared at it, uncertainty and surprise mingling on her face, but then she smiled and put her palm in his. “Thank you,” he said solemnly. She squeezed his hand in response.

“Then if you’re ready,” he said, taking a long, slow breath. “Let’s go save Arya.”