Page 54 of A Kiss of Flame

‘The queen, Grandmaster. The queen is gone. She’s been taken.’

At first it was chaos. Wren followed in Roland’s wake and no one seemed to be willing to tell her not to, or to send her away. Right beside him seemed like the safest place to be right now and it seemed that the host of knights around them both agreed.

Elodie had been taken from the Sacrum itself. That should not have been possible. Sister Maryn had been assaulted and no one seemed to have an answer as to what was going on. The knights Roland had assigned to guard the door between the Sacrum and Sanctum had been murdered.

‘Sassone and his men,’ said Maryn, as she tried to wipe blood from her face. She winced whenever she touched it. Though the other maidens were trying to tend her, she waved them away impatiently. ‘But what he’s planning I do not know.’ She glared at Roland. ‘He said the regents’ council had ordered it.’

‘We did no such thing,’ Ylena snapped. She was pacing back and forth in front of the Aurum. Wren watched her silhouetted by the low flames, afraid of drawing the attention of Elodie’s formidable aunt. She need not have worried. The regent had no time for her right now. The kindness, however hard and unyielding it had been, was gone. Wren stood forgotten at the back of the crowd with Olivier. ‘Get Leyden and the others. Someone will answer for this and if any of those snivelling fools had a part in this… Where has he taken her?’

‘To her execution,’ said Maryn. ‘It sounded like he plans to torture a confession from her first. With Elodie out of the way?—’

Ylena’s sharp eyes fell unerringly on Wren, who shrank back again. She fought to keep calm. She was already too close to the power of the Aurum. It made her skin prickle and tug, as if torn between throwing herself at it and getting as far away as possible. Her hair tickled her upper back now, already growing far too fast in the presence of magic. She only prayed with everything else going on no one else noticed.

‘We will find her,’ said Roland, ignoring the implication. His tone was almost gentle, as if he sought to reassure Wren. But his gaze strayed back to the bodies of his knights, covered now with their cloaks and laid out, ready to be taken away, and something seemed to snag in his throat. He bent down and scooped up a scrap of metal from the floor. Wren recognised it at once – Elodie’s locket. Roland closed his hand around it, making a fist. ‘We have to. What is he thinking? And why now?’ He raised his voice all of a sudden, turning sharply on those accompanying him. ‘Anselm? Explain this to me. What is your father planning?’

CHAPTER 28

WREN

Wren had almost forgotten Anselm Tarryn was Sassone’s son. He was her bodyguard, and her friend. He made her laugh and he had danced with her almost as well as Olivier. He looked after her, protected her and stood up for her in Finn’s place. But the quick and clever man with sparkling eyes looked like someone had dealt him a blow to the head right now.

He was still armed, Wren noticed, still wearing his knightly attire, but he kept his eyes on the ground, his hands well clear of his weapons, and frankly, he looked shaken. His father had done this. If he’d had any prior knowledge of it and hadn’t warned Roland, there would be hell to pay. One glance at Roland’s face told everyone that.

If anything happened to Elodie, Wren thought suddenly, Roland would be the least of Anselm’s problems.

And if Anselm wasn’t involved, how could his father have put him in this position? He had to know where suspicion would instantly fall. Did he not care?

Anselm tried to clear his throat but his voice sounded broken. ‘I truly do not know, Grandmaster. On my honour. I knew of none of this.’

Roland didn’t look convinced. ‘Where would he take her? What will he do?’

‘I don’t know.’ Anselm shook his head, bewildered and concerned. ‘I swear to you, Grandmaster…’ Wren took a step forward to comfort him, but Olivier stepped in front of her, as if he sensed the movement before she made it. He stared down at her, strain showing in the lines around his eyes.

‘You can’t interfere, Wren,’ he murmured.

‘But we have to help him.’

‘We… we can’t,’ Olivier said and his voice almost cracked. He looked away sharply, but didn’t move from in front of her. He would play the wall and keep her there if he had to. No matter how much it hurt him to turn his back on his friend.

Because she realised, they were friends. More than friends. She could see the pain of that in the hard line of his jaw, the way his gaze kept drifting back over his shoulder to Anselm in panic and then pivoting away as fast as possible back to her. But never quite focusing on her.

‘Relieve him of his arms,’ Roland said coldly and Yvain of Goalais stepped forward. Anselm lifted his face, visibly shaken for a moment but then unbuckled his sword belt and handed it over. Yvain nodded solemnly, one single mark of respect perhaps. Anselm met Wren’s gaze. He saw Olivier’s broad back. The flash of pain in his eyes made her heart twist.

This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault. His father was responsible for his own actions, not Anselm. But what could she say? He wasn’t helping, not them or himself. His silence was complicity, that was what they thought.

‘You will stand down from all your duties,’ Roland went on as Yvain stepped back to join him. ‘Until this is resolved you are remanded to the barracks. Unless you have anything else to add? Any information which will help us? Think hard, Anselm.’

‘Grandmaster, if I knew what he was planning I would have spoken, on my very vow to the Aurum, I swear it.’

‘Vows upon vows, boy,’ the Grandmaster growled, his patience at its absolute limit now. ‘You can only uphold so many vows.’

‘And those I gave to you are the dearest by far to me. All I can think is that he plans to take her into the lower city, to Castel Sassone, our family seat. It’s secure and defensible. Before the palace was even built, my family held it. It’s the heart of the old city. His stronghold, his power base, where he has fostered support or claims it through our line. But you know it well. You must have guessed as much.’

Roland didn’t give him an answer.

‘Yvain,’ he snapped. ‘Ready the men. You, guard him. Nothing is to happen to him. If harm comes to the queen it will be another matter. Take him to the barracks and lock him up.’

He stalked outside, leaving Anselm standing there, three knights guarding him. A hostage, a prisoner.