Cas said to Lena, very quietly, “I am sorry.”
“You already said so.” Her lips curved. “In front of the history guild masters, no less. My grandfather’s friends. It’s all right, Cas. You didn’t have to give up your horse.”
“I’ll take her back if you want.”
“No.”
They smiled at each other. Lena took one of the bed’s many pillows and wrapped her arms around it, chin propped on one end. “You’ll go home soon.”
His hand strayed to the wound at his side. Home was very far away from her. “Yes.”
“I’m glad.”
He did not want her to be glad about him leaving. “You don’t look it, Lena.”
“But I feel it. Most of the time,” she insisted, hugging the pillow tighter. “Ever since you returned to Palmerin, there’s been one disaster after another. You haven’t had a chance to just be. To enjoy being home. I wish that for you.” She set the pillow aside, intending to swing off the bed, stopping when he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.
Seconds only. Long enough for her eyes to fill with tears, before she slipped her hand free and jumped off the bed. “I have to take Clara to her room.” Lena hurried across the chamber and out the door, leaving the little girl behind.
For once, Bittor offered no comment. He set the mace against a chair and came over to gather Clara in his arms. “Good night,” Bittor said, and took himself off, closing the door behind him.
35
Whenever Cas tried to leave Elvira, Queen Jehan found a way to delay him. First, she insisted he stay until he had healed sufficiently. Once that happened, she insisted he be formally named a queen’s man. There was no escaping the pomp and fuss. He found himself kneeling before the king and queen in Elvira’s great throne room, dressed in Palmerin red.
Cas wore his family’s seal on his left hand. The queen had taken the other back days ago. She returned it now, to his right ring finger, where it was no longer loose. It fit perfectly.
“We are grateful for your service, Lord Cassiapeus of Palmerin.” Queen Jehan wore blue and silver and a diamond crown. “We wish you a safe journey home and ask only that if you are called upon for aid, you will answer.”
Warmth filled the crowded chamber. He could hear the rhythmic snapping of fans against collarbones as he made the formal response. “Your Grace, you have only to send word and I will answer. I am grateful for this honor. I am humbled by the faith you have placed in me, and in my house.”
The formal applause was drowned out by the cheering and whistling behind him, the king’s soldiers who had become his friends on the journey to Elvira. Cas stood and kissed the queen’s hand. He bowed to the king, who said, “Cas. Be sure to leave your mark.” He tipped his crown toward a cluster of soldiers, including Bittor, who carried Clara on his shoulders. Bittor stepped to one side. Cas saw a table with an open ledger and a pot of ink. Lena sat behind the table, watching him.
Like the queen, she wore blue and silver. No diamonds or circlets, though. She was here in an official capacity, in the role her grandfather once held. She pointed to a page in the ledger. “Your name and seal for the histories, Lord Cassiapeus.”
Few paid them any attention. Others were coming forward for their share of glory. Receiving knighthoods and boons, or paying homage to the queen.
“Lena,” Cas said. He had not seen her since that night in his chamber. She had been avoiding him. When he turned up at her green door, she was not home. When the king and queen held a supper, her seat was taken up by others. He needed to say a thousand things and he did not know how. The weight of the words pressed against his heart.
Lena met his eyes, then looked away. She held the quill out to him. “I wish you a safe journey home. I wish you dreamless nights. Goodbye, Cas.”
It was not meant to be. This was her home. He needed to return to his, far away in the mountains. Cas took up the quill, dipped it in ink, and signed his name. He pressed his rings into the wax. First his family’s, then his queen’s, and made his mark beneath his name.
He stepped away from her. “Goodbye,” he said.
Cas went straight to his chamber. He opened his trunks and threw in his clothes. He counted the hours until morning.
Before Cas left the following day, he received a final summons from King Rayan, who was alone in his private chamber, looking out a window. Beside him was a table and on that table was a box Cas had seen once before.
“It was delivered by messenger this morning.” King Rayan watched him closely. “From Trastamar. Did you know what he intended?”
It was Ventillas’ box. It held the papers for his ambassadorship. He had not taken it with him. “No, Your Grace.”
“But you are not surprised.”
I’ve not felt . . . myself this past year. It feels like someone else is living in my skin and I just . . . I need to go.
“I am not.”
“Where would he go?” At Cas’ wary look, King Rayan said with annoyance, “I’m not going to send the hounds after him. Once upon a time, he was my friend.”
Chastised, Cas said, “I don’t know. Truly I don’t.”
King Rayan studied him, then waved him off with a sigh. “You may go. Safe travels, Cas.”
The door opened and High Councilor Amador walked in. There was no mistaking the amused glint in the king’s eyes when he said, “Amador. It seems you’ll have to find another ambassador to that hell kingdom in the west. Coronado, was it?”
Lord Amador stopped, outraged. “Your Grace?” he said, glaring at Cas.
Cas left the chamber. He was not his brother’s keeper. He had told the king the truth. Where Ventillas had gone he could not begin to guess. But he took comfort in knowing his brother would keep his word, that he would be at the harbor in Trastamar in five years’ time. Waiting for Cas. Ready to come home.
36
When Cas left Elvira, he took a shovel with him.
They had found no sign of the strange, unnamed woman who had kidnapped the queen, or her accomplices. It had been too dangerous to search the forest until now, when days of autumn rains had finally doused the most persistent sparks.
From Patalon, Cas led his horse through the charred, blackened forest. The palfrey, a gift from the queen, did not like the smell of smoke. Neither did Cas. It clung to his clothing and saddlebag. It layered his skin like dirt. He patted the horse’s neck in apology and continued on.
If it had not been for the aqueduct, now partially burned, he would not have been able to find the castle. All that was left were bits and pieces of crumbling foundation.