Page 20 of The Sun King's Noon

“We don’t need the king’s healer.” Lyell wrenched his chin from Richard’s hold. “We’ll manage without your charity. We always have.”

Richard cocked his head. Flint had been the same way. Showing a distaste for the crown that stretched beyond ordinary reason. “You bear me a separate grudge.”

“A grudge?” A bitter sneer crossed Lyell’s features. “Yes, you may call it that.”

“I do not recall meeting you before.”

“Of course you don’t,” Lyell said quietly. “What’s another orphan amongst a hundred swarming you? Twelve, I was, when you came bearing gifts. A tribute, they said, for the crown prince’s sixteenth birthday. Cakes and blankets and little carved toys.” He grimaced. “When you swung off your horse, I forgot to breathe. Never had I seen one so radiant under the sun. How fitting that it should be the last day I had my sight.” His voice shuddered. “The last day before such cruel terrors were forced upon us, all done by your damned hand.”

Dain cracked his knuckles. “You dare speak so when His Majesty has shown you kindness?—”

“It is fine, Dain.” Richard frowned at Lyell. “Chief Morland, have him healed and returned to his guild.”

He strode from the chamber. The corridor’s chill seeped through his tunic, and the torches seemed to glow dimmer. Dain and Kaelen followed suit, the Lord Commander blustering that Richard had gone quite mad to release an accomplice to treason, while Kaelen stayed ominously silent. But Richard had greater concerns.

The Sanguis Order.

A western coven. A portal. Briony’s blood meant to open the way into Gloamvarn.

Richard’s hands curled into fists.

This was Galdran’s doing.

CHAPTER 9

Richard’s boots rang over the flagstones as he crossed the outer courtyard with Dain. Servants in the midst of chores bowed in his wake, some flashing smiles at Kaelen, who trailed behind.

“It was Galdran,” Richard said to Dain, keeping his voice low. “It is no coincidence that the Sanguis Order is a western coven. Galdran must have spoken to them in their dreams. Promised them power, perhaps. He is laying stones across a river. It matters not that the veil has not yet fallen. He can still reach me. Reach my people?—”

“Don’t be thinking that, lad,” Dain said firmly. “Maybe itwasGaldran. Maybe he did try to get the little one’s blood, but he failed. You made him fail. Remember that.”

They quietened on entering the castle’s hallways and had just neared the royal quarters when one of Dianara’s sorcerer apprentices hurried towards them.

“Your Majesty!” he blurted, dipping into a half-bow over the box he carried. “We received a falcon an hour ago.” He straightened, a shock of freckles across his cheeks. “The Chief Mage is on their way back from the veil. They intend to speak to you, Your Majesty. Said the matter was too important to put in a letter.”

Richard’s heart lurched. That meant bad news.

“Do we need to rely on falcons?” Dain frowned at the sorcerer. “Don’t you magic people have a crystal ball or something?”

The sorcerer quailed. “N-no, my lord. I mean, crystal balls can only receive a message as far as a wellspring stretches, and it needs both mages to be able to hold the connection. With such a distance, the Chief could manage it, but we’ve none on our end to hold it.”

Richard studied the shrouded box in the sorcerer’s arms. Something within glowed. “What do you carry?”

“Two of the recovered items, Your Majesty, from the witches.” The sorcerer shifted the cloth aside to reveal a bone—a human’s mandible—bound with dark hair, and a pair of shining orange gemstones.

“A leech-anchor.” The sorcerer pointed at the bone. “The hair and bone belong to a Threadbourne. It is worked with runes, so the witch might pull at the victim’s tie to the Threads. Enough to leech and borrow power.”

Richard grimaced. Such practice had been outlawed for sixty years, but clearly, the Sanguis Order cared little. He nodded at the gems. “And those?”

“Tracking gems, Your Majesty,” the boy said eagerly. “A rare matched pair. A very gifted and old hedge witch has blessed them. When close together, they grow hot, and when far apart, they become cold.”

“Pass me them.”

The sorcerer used the cloth to place the stones in Richard’s palm. They were hot as potatoes baked in the oven. Richard separated them, holding one in each hand, and their glow faded a smidge.

“I shall keep one,” he said, placing the other in the box. “Have the other set into a necklace. Something fine and pretty towear beneath a dress. Have a word with Master Katherine, the goldsmith. It is to be done by tonight.”

“At once, Your Majesty.”