Page 95 of The Mercy of Dawn

For any get-together that happened at the estate, Cyril was just…there. It was her home, after all. And maybe it wasn’t done with malice, but anyone going out of their way to invite or include her was pretty rare. The ones that did, like Bron, seemed to do it solely out of some unspoken obligation.

But this? It felt…nice. Genuine.

“I’ll see you at dinner, then.” Mikael dipped his head as he pushed off the wall and headed back down the aisle. “Enjoy your ride, Lady Cyril.”

Cyril waited until he’d rounded the corner to sigh and unhook Attie’s lead. She had been suspiciously easygoing the entire time the prince was there.

At least Cyril had held her tongue long enough to avoid asking Mikael if the spread of bruises up the side of his neck happened before or after he left the barracks last night.

Why the stables attracted nothing but pain in the ass men, Cyril hadn’t the faintest idea. But Dion was low on the list of people she thought would be standing in the stables when she returned from her ride.

She almost stayed out longer, too, sprawled in the glen’s grass and reading the book Tobias happily loaned to her on the history of Reykr, but her rumbling stomach brought her back.

Dion was chatting with stable master Boone and looked like he’d had a bit of a rough night too. A feat with how fast his ascended body bounced back from ailments—self-inflicted or not.

“I almost sent someone to look for you,” he said with a bit of a weak smile as she cleared the double doors from the trail. His voice sounded as bad as Mikael’s.

“Sorry, I—oh, thank you.” She offered an appreciative nod to Boone as he took Attie’s lead from her hands. “I was reading, lost track of time.”

Dion extended his arm to her and curled it around her shoulders when she stepped over. He kissed the crown of her head and asked, “How fast can you pack a bag? Just for a few nights.”

“A bag? A couple minutes, I suppose.” She looked up at him, processing as they started walking out of the stables. “We’re going somewhere?”

“Brynnhold.”

Cyril’s eyes went wide.

She’d wanted to go to the port city ever since they arrived, but Dion shut her down every time she asked him. It hadn’t helped that Bron mentioned it was just like Epheos, Helia’s port city, but bigger and more bustling. Even for all his hate and skepticism of the moon-fae and their lands, he had nothing but praise of the city so far.

And this meant she’d get to see her uncles again, and maybe—

“Don’t look so eager.” Dion’s jaw ticked with tension.

She scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be eager? It’s a city, and back home, I never—”

“They found another body, Cyr.” Dion was quiet as they passed a couple of stable hands and made it onto the pathway back to the palace.

“Oh.” Cyril slowed, but Dion kept pulling her along.

That put a damper on, well…everything.

“Tyr and Rendal are already out sweeping the city, and Bron joined the guards for some questioning.”

Of course he did.

Bronson was notorious for two things: his ability to smooth talk information out of just about anyone, and his comfort with breaking their bodies in terrifying ways the moment they stopped.

“Everything still needs to be documented though, and you are now the guild's foremost expert in the old language, so…” Dion trailed off, raising a brow at Cyril.

She sighed.

“So I’m going to the city to work?”

“I’m afraid so. I promise we’ll be back for the Summer Solstice, so don’t give me that look.” Cyril schooled that look off her face, even though the quirk in Dion’s lips was hard to miss. “And if we end up with a couple of free hours in the city, I’ll show you around. Alright?”

Cyril grumbled her agreement as they passed through the side doors into the palace. She knew those couple of hours would never happen.

When the foyer came into view, Dion stepped away from her and said, “The scribes were getting a kit ready for you to bring. Go pack up and meet me upstairs.”