Regan nodded in agreement. The animosity between Lia and the Scholar wasn’t a secret. “We assume she’s seeking comfort and counseling in the Holy Text. He is the expert on such things.”
Comfort. Possibly. But I could hear the doubt in Regan’s voice.
Bryn downed the rest of his cider. “You’re sure she was abducted?” he asked again. His tone was laced with despair. I knew how much he loved his sister, and the thought of her in barbarian hands brought him heartbreaking misery.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“We’ll confront both Mother and Father,” Regan said. “We’ll make them listen. We’ll get her back.”
They left, and my spirits lifted. Regan’s resolve gave me a sliver of hope at last. He reminded me so much of his brother. If only Walther were here to stand with them too. I kissed my fingers and prayed for Walther’s swift return.
I pushed up from the table to go back to our room. I could see the weariness in Gwyneth’s face too as she rose. It had been a long day of waiting and anticipation.
“Well, there you are!”
Gwyneth and I both whirled around.
Berdi stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “Blazing balls, I’ve been to half the inns from here to the lowlands looking for you two! I didn’t think you’d be snug up in the middle of town.”
I stared at her, not quite believing what I was seeing.
Gwyneth found her tongue before I did. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t season a pot of stew to save my life worrying about you two and what happened to Lia. Figured I’d be more useful here.”
“But who’s watching the tavern?” I squeaked.
Berdi shook her head. “You don’t want to know.” She wiped her hands on her dress as if she were wearing an apron, then sniffed the air. “Not much in the way of cooking here either, I see. I may have to poke my head in the kitchen.” She looked back at us and raised her brows. “Don’t I get any kind of welcome?”
Gwyneth and I both rushed into her wide-spread arms, and Berdi swiped at tears she blamed on the dusty ride. The only thing missing in that moment was Lia.
I hold her back.
Be still, child.
Let them take it.
She trembles at my side,
Fierce with rage.
We watch the scavengers take the baskets of food we have gathered.
There is no compassion. No mercy.
Tonight we will go hungry.
I see Harik, their leader, among them.
He eyes Morrighan, and I shove her behind me.
Silver knives glitter at his side,
and I am grateful that when they leave,
He does not take more.
—The Last Testaments of Gaudrel