Ruen . . . come find me . . .
Chapter 40
Ruenen
He finally created a polite way to escape the cloud of young ladies and mothers. There was only so much giggling and fawning he could take. A few months ago he would have enjoyed such company, but now he was used to all the mysteries and complexities of Marai. She made those girls seem dull, lackluster.
Ruenen returned to the high table and took a sip of sparkling wine, scanning the room for Marai.
“Where has Lady Marai gone?” he asked Holfast, who stood nearby with Fenir and several noblemen in conversation.
“I’m not certain, Your Grace,” said Holfast, with an air of avoidance, as Fenir’s eyes widened.
“I saw you talking to her moments ago. She didn’t seem particularly pleased.”
Holfast pursed his lips. He made a quick excuse to the nobles and pulled Ruenen aside. “I merely told her what she needed to hear, Your Grace.”
“Which was?”
“That Nevandia must come first, and that you’ll do what’s right by your kingdom.”
Ruenen’s eyes narrowed. “By marrying someone you choose for me, correct?”
“A woman whom the Witan deems the most beneficial and suitable, yes.”
Irritation ignited in his blood. “You had no right to discuss those matters with Lady Marai, especially before talking with me.”
No wonder Marai had looked so upset. Did she truly believe Ruenen would listen to those orders? He had to tell Marai that she was the only woman he wanted to be with. Perhaps she’d gone upstairs to her room . . .
Ruenen stormed off through the reveling hall, past crowing nobles and inebriated dancers. Thora and Raife were nose to nose, laughing on the dance floor, effortlessly, freely in love. Aresti and Nosficio were engaged in a flirtatious conversation with Nieve, all coy smiles and steamy eyes, their heads bowed together in a corner of the hall.
Once in the entryway, Ruenen turned to the guards by the main hall doors.
“Have you seen Lady Marai?”
“She went outside, Your Grace,” said Elmar.
Ruenen thanked the young guard, and ventured into the courtyard.
All the air left his lungs at the sight.
Ten soldiers, Nevandian and Greltan, lay motionless on the ground. Four bodies lay outside the portcullis. Two packs of belongings had been left in the middle of the courtyard. It was completely silent. An eerie chill, far too cold for spring, hovered in the air; Ruenen’s fur cape couldn’t block the chill from seeping into his bones.
Ruenen rushed to the nearest soldier, placing his fingers on the man’s neck. A heartbeat, sure and steady.
He checked the next one. Unconscious, but alive. Relief washed over him, pushing aside the chill.
“Guards,” shouted Ruenen inside the castle. “Call Commander Avilyard!”
Within minutes, Avilyard and a slew of guards burst into the courtyard from the feast. Raife and Aresti were with them; Thora trailed nervously behind.
“What happened?” Avilyard asked, trying to rouse one of the unconscious guards. It was Nyle.
Thora rushed forward and took Nyle’s hand. “He’s ice cold.”
Magic spilled from her hands onto Nyle. The boy’s eyes fluttered open. He bolted upright, gasping for air as if he’d been drowning.
“You’re alright,” Thora said, rubbing his back. She then moved on to the next one. “I can feel the residue of magic on their skin.”
Magic? Dread rose the hair on Ruenen’s arms. Why was it so bloody cold?
Someone sniffed the air, loud as a wolf. Ruenen nearly jumped to see Nosficio standing in the middle of the courtyard, having appeared out of nowhere.
“She’s right,” the vampire said, eyes darkening. “I smell strange magic. And something else . . . something chemical.”
Chemical? What the fuck is going on?
“What happened, Sir Nyle?” Ruenen asked the only conscious man.
Avilyard handed him a flask. Nyle took a long drink, then his body heaved with a hacking cough.
“I can’t remember . . .” the young knight said weakly. He chugged more of whatever was in Avilyard’s flask.
“I can smell the Butcher,” Nosficio said, prowling around the courtyard as Thora continued waking the other guards and revelers outside the portcullis. “And the fae councilman, Keshel. And someone else.”
“Marai was out here?” pressed Ruenen.
“Yes,” came a new, weak voice. Ruenen turned to another conscious guard; this one in silver Greltan armor. “She was speaking with the long haired fae on the council.”
