“Who was it?” Ash said hoarsely. “The bodies, I mean?”
The blackbird shrugged. “I guess they couldn’t tell, they was burned so bad.”
“Thank you,” Ash said. Fear and despair welled up in him like vomit. “I’ll go look for myself.”
A few of the nobility with quarters in the castle close had gathered in the Great Hall, which likely seemed safer than anywhere out on the grounds. In one corner, Father Fosnaught was holding a prayer service for a rapt audience, most on their knees on the stone floor.
Ash spotted Botetort, standing with a small group of retainers, issuing orders. He drifted close enough to hear.
“Beauchamp. Take five men to Brightstone Keep and stay there. Warn the steward to keep the children inside and the livestock in the riverside pastures so they can keep an eye on them. We’ve sent messages to Middlesea and Baston Bay to put them on alert, but the last thing we need is stories about dragons and witches spreading through the countryside. Granger and Larue have escorted the prince and princess to safety in the countryside until we see what’s what.”
“Lord Botetort,” Ash said, joining the group. “What’s happened? Is anyone in need of a healer?”
Botetort gripped his elbow, hard, and pulled him aside. “We are not entirely sure,” he said, speaking low and fast. “It seems that the dragon escaped from the emissary’s ship and attacked the keep. We don’t know whether it was an accident or part of a plan, and if it is a plan, who is behind it.”
“Where is the emissary?” Ash asked.
“Nobody knows. He seems to have disappeared. The bodies of two of his guards were found in the tower, in the”—he lowered his voice—“in the cell where the magemarked girl was being kept. Where they had no business being.”
Why were they in the tower at the time of the dragon attack? Had they called it there somehow?
“And the girl? What about her?”
“We haven’t found her. Her body could be up there somewhere, buried in rubble. Or she might be lying anywhere within a mile of the keep. The beast hit right at the level of her room.”
Had the empress meant to murder Jenna all along? Or had Strangward been ordered to kill her if they hadn’t come to terms?
Ash felt the pain of remorse like a knife in his gut. If she’s dead, then it’s my fault, he thought. It didn’t matter that King Gerard, Strangward, and the empress had all played a role—that did not diminish his own guilt. It was his father’s death all over again.
Only this time, the king of Arden was within reach. Maybe.
“The king and the queen? Are they safe?” Ash struggled to keep the menace out of his voice.
Fortunately, Botetort didn’t notice. “Neither were hurt in the attack. King Gerard seems badly shaken, which I suppose is understandable.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ash said. “Perhaps I can give him something that will settle his nerves.” In a permanent sort of way. “Do you know where he is?”
Botetort shook his head. “I don’t know. If you do find him, I hope you can help him.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “He’s not been himself lately. We need strong leadership at a time like this.”
“I understand, my lord,” Ash said, turning away.
Ash climbed the steps into the tower, two at a time. It had been nearly empty while Jenna was in residence there, and now it appeared to be completely deserted. There were few signs of damage until he reached the floor below Jenna’s rooms. Here it looked like there had been one of the earthshakes he’d heard were common along the southern coast. Walls were cracked, and some seemed near collapse. As he climbed the next flight of steps, he could hear the wind whistling through up above.
When he emerged from the stairwell, he found nothing but ruins. The tower walls were gone on three sides, and everything above Jenna’s floor was missing. Some of the furniture was still there, although it was charred and burned. It resembled a child’s dollhouse, where the sides have been peeled away so you can look into the rooms.
“Jenna!” he shouted, the wind whipping the word away as soon as he released it. “Jenna, it’s Adam.” If there was a response, he didn’t hear it.
The rain had churned ashes and cinders into a black soup. As Ash crossed the floor, glass crunched under his feet. He found two bodies against the remaining wall, burned nearly beyond recognition. When he looked closer, bits of braid and jewelry told him that they were the emissary’s guard.
Ash walked the room in a miasma of grief and rage, forcing himself to search methodically. He found charred scraps of fabric in purple silk—the dress Jenna had worn to the meeting with the emissary. He tucked the fragments of silk inside his shirt for safekeeping.
The iron bed frame remained, though the bedclothes were a soggy, blackened mess. And on the table next to the bed, a lump of charred leather and water-soaked paper. Her book.