Chapter Twenty · The Ametrine Keystone

A guard burst into the Citadel’s great hall and dropped to one knee.

“My Lord, Vespergnaw has been taken.”

A hand heavy with five rings lifted.

The music cut off. Silence swept the hall.

Diamonds on the rings threw hard light.

The guard blinked and bowed lower.

“Two girls from the Mining Town brought him in. Three more are with him, bound at the gate.”

“Hmm. Two girls?” The High Lord of Gemariel set his fork down. Before him, a long table held dozens of dishes on gold plates, the scent of butter and honey still hanging in the air.

“Take them to the side hall. Warm milk.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The guard hurried out to carry the order.

The girls were brought to the side hall within moments. They had been awake all night.

Lyra stood straight despite her exhaustion. Sion dropped to the floor against the wall, chin to chest, asleep almost the moment she had drained a few cups of milk.

Tall columns banded in gold rose around them, reminding Lyra of the Royal Palace.

She looked around.

In this Citadel... would anyone know of the Awakening Spring?

“High Lord.”

A guard called.

Sion jerked awake, wiping at the corner of her mouth, her eyes darting.

A broad-shouldered man with a round, full face entered through the main doors. Jewelry flashed at his throat and wrists. His robes were worked with fine patterns.

“Kneel,” the guard behind him said.

Sion dropped at once. Lyra did not move, her hand tightening on the hilt.

The High Lord looked at her. His gaze went still, giving nothing away.

Then he laughed.

“Well now. No wonder you caught Vespergnaw.”

Lyra dipped her head.

The High Lord crossed to the great chair and sat. His left elbow settled on a silk-cushioned armrest.

“Tell me. What reward do you want?”

“Just what the notice promised,” Lyra said. “I need to redeem my horse.”

“Only that?”

“That's enough.”

He did not hide his surprise. He did not press it, either. His gaze shifted to Sion.

“And you?”

“Me... a little more would be nice?” Sion bared her teeth in a thin, awkward grin.

The High Lord laughed again.

“You two are interesting.”

He flicked a hand to a guard.

“Give this one ten gold coins. Feed her well.”

Then his gaze returned to Lyra.

“You. With me.”

He turned for the door. Lyra could not tell if he meant to pay her or something else, but it did not feel like a threat.

She gave Sion a small nod and followed.

They disappeared down the corridor.

The noise of the Citadel fell away behind them.

Another hall. Empty. They stood before a map of the realm set in gemstones, each color marking a fae clan.

“Where are you from?” the High Lord asked.

Lyra's gaze moved to the highest point on the map, then slid east, lingering there a moment with a hint of hesitation.

He watched without a word.

“Thrudor,” Lyra said.

“Your parents?”

“I don't think that matters.”

His gaze dipped to her sword.

“It does,” he said. “The blade already told me.”

He pointed to the gem in the hilt.

“Made for royalty.”

Lyra’s thumb nudged the hilt up, then let it settle. She could not tell whether he knew or was testing her.

“In all of Tharion, there are three,” he went on. “One on Aethrador's blade. One on King Eryndar’s... and the third in your hand.”

Lyra held his gaze for a beat.

“I'm the princess.”

“As expected.” A faint smile touched his lips.

Lyra said nothing. Her lids felt heavy after the long night.

He studied her a moment, then waved it off.

“I'll have your horse redeemed. Stay here a few days. I have questions.”

“My friend?”

“Let her enjoy herself.”

A servant stepped forward. Lyra gave a small nod and followed.

Back in the side hall, where the girls had been received, Sion’s eyes shone.

“Whoa... look at all this.”

With a drumstick in her right hand and a sweet roll in her left, she bit into both. Then she reached for a handful of blueberries, chewing and smacking her lips.

“First time in my life I’ve eaten like this.”

She paused and fished the gold coins from the inside pocket of her coat.

“Lyra’s taking forever. Maybe I can slip back to town and spend a little.”

She grinned to herself. Even with her belly full, she still crammed in a few more bites of everything before leaving the Citadel.

By the time the sun dipped, Lyra was elsewhere in the Citadel.

The light turned warm, the sky thinning toward gold.

A knock.

The High Lord came in person to Lyra’s quarters. The room sat at the edge of the Citadel, with a balcony looking out over a waterfall cut into the stone.

He took a seat at the table.

“A princess of Tharion turns up in my land. Catches Vespergnaw. Works the pits with commoners.”

He lifted his teacup.

“More interesting than any feast I’ve attended.”

Lyra, in the new dress he had sent up, pulled out a chair and sat across from him.

A brief silence. She had no intention of giving much away.

“So,” he said, “what brings Your Highness to Gemariel?”

Lyra’s gaze drifted to the waterfall.

Tell him I broke a marriage pact and someone tried to kill me?

Not if it costs me ground.

She looked back at him, unblinking.

“Some things don't fit into a dinner answer.”

The High Lord gave a small laugh.

“I have a whole Citadel. And plenty of dinners.”

He dropped a sugar cube into her cup and stirred.

“A princess arrives alone. No escort. No coin. That usually means someone wanted a piece taken off the board.”

Lyra said nothing.

He rose and stepped out onto the balcony.

“Gemariel doesn’t make a habit of meddling in palace affairs.”

Lyra watched him.

“Then what do you intend to do with me?”

“Simple curiosity,” he said. “What did you do... and why isn't King Eryndar looking for you?”

He knows more than he’s saying.

Lyra joined him at the rail, her voice steady.

“I broke the marriage pact with Aulith.”

“Then someone tried to kill me.”

The High Lord leaned forward a fraction.

“Daring of you, Your Highness.”

“And Vespergnaw? How did you catch him?”

“I saw them by chance while washing clothes at night. Followed them to a square tower.”

“The northeast tower? He went after the Ametrine?”

“The big two-toned stone? I struck it by accident. There’s... something inside.”

His gaze fixed on her, a line forming between his brows.

“You struck it?”

Lyra stilled. A flicker of tension crossed her face before it was gone.

“Does it matter?”

The High Lord flicked a hand.

“Tomorrow. You’ll take me there.”

Lyra nodded.

That stone was not just decoration.

And he knew it.