They came around the bend in the path that brought the palace into view. Or what remained of it. The ley line ended in a pile of rubble where part of the outer wall had once stood.
In the bright sunlight she could see only three towers. Three, not five. And those that remained were the smaller rear towers. The narrow spikes of the Salt Spire and the Sea Roost flanked the larger south tower. The east and west towers that guarded the front of the palace at either end of the northern wall were jagged wrecks instead of the massive gray columns they had been. She stopped, hand on her mouth, as her stomach churned. So much damage—how many must have died?
Pale silver light flickered over the stones and filled the gaps in the walls. Wards, she realized. She could see the wards now. The shock of that didn’t make her feel any better. The eastern wall seemed mostly intact, and from their current position they couldn’t see the western wall, though the west tower itself was nothing but rubble. The east tower was a wreck, too, but more of it still stood.
Cameron halted a few paces in front of her. He stared in the same direction as she was, his shoulders set. Then he turned back. “It will be all right, milady. Come along.”
The words didn’t ring any truer than his denial of her had.
Cameron wasn’t sure where exactly he was taking Sophie. With so much damage to the palace, he had no idea where Elly—no, where the queen-to-be—might be found. His mind kept shying away from looking at the ruined west tower where his father had been with King Stefan at the time of the attack.
The Salt Hall, used for audiences with the monarch, was in the western wing of the palace. So it could be in ruins like the tower. Eloisa’s personal apartments, which she had moved into when she returned from her late husband’s estates after his death, were in the east wing. A break with tradition for her not to be with the royal family, but her father had given in to her at the time. Luckily, they weren’t near the east tower or she might be dead, too. The question was whether Eloisa had stayed in her own apartments or moved into the rooms—if they were undamaged—usually occupied by the king or queen. There was no way to know. But they would find out when they reached the palace.
He was aware of Sophie walking behind him, her silent presence like a tingle of awareness on his back. And he didn’t think the fact that he knew where she was when he couldn’t see her was entirely due to his guilty conscience. He didn’t know what it was due to, though, and the sooner he could hand her back to the court and the temple to go through her birthday rites, which should see her safely back on whatever path had been decided for her, the better.
Oh, really? The voice in his head was scornful.
He tried to ignore it. They reached the northern gates of the palace. The huge gate looked odd standing as it did in an undamaged section of wall. The wards shimmering around the broken towers themselves made it perfectly clear that the gate could do little to keep out anyone who found a way to break the wards. He knew from his training that the palace had been built so that the walls themselves could stand without the towers, but he’d never thought he’d see that fact demonstrated in real life. The guards let them through with little bluster after their initial challenge. They recognized Cameron and Sophie. In fact, the sergeant in charge of the squad sent for one of the house pages to escort them immediately to the queen-to-be.
The girl appeared within two minutes. Dark circles under her eyes and the wrinkled state of her livery attested to the current state of disarray of the palace.
But she bobbed a quick curtsy and led them back through the corridors toward Eloisa’s personal chambers. The corridors were eerily silent as they moved. No sounds of the usual music or laughing voices. The few people they passed were grim-faced and silent, only one or two sparing them a curious glance. Lord Sylvain stopped to express his sympathy on the erl’s death with a few gruff words and an invitation for Cameron to dine with him if he needed a meal. Cameron nodded politely in response, but he expected to barely have time to sleep over the coming days, let alone take leisurely meals. If indeed he got to sleep at all in the next few days. More likely he’d be drinking the vile redwort tisane that the Red Guard got from the temple to use in times when they needed to go without sleep.
The stuff tasted like drinking death itself, but it worked, even if it left you wishing you were dead when it finally wore off.
A full half squad of six guards stood outside the doors to the queen-to-be’s apartments.
Too little, too late, Cameron thought, and waited to be admitted. He’d braced himself for a repeat of the challenge at the gates—for him to be ordered away—but instead the guards gave way and opened the doors.
The outer chamber—the one he’d last been in when Elly had ordered him to take Sophie to Portsholme only, what . . . ? three days ago . . . was occupied by several of Eloisa’s ladies-in-waiting. Black silk and velvet covered them from neck to toes, layers and frills of unrelenting darkness presenting a picture even more somber than the dull colors they had previously confined themselves to in deference to Eloisa’s unfinished mourning year. Several of them had very red eyes even under the layers of cosmetics smoothing their faces into some semblance of normality. He was not the only one to have suffered a loss.
His mind shied away from the thought and the complicated brew of grief and guilt and relief that was tightening his throat and burning his stomach. He had no time for such things. Not yet. Time enough for grief when he had Iska and his brothers and no pull of duty binding him to put his own concerns aside.
That wasn’t likely to be for quite some time, either.
The ladies started exclaiming when they saw Sophie behind Cameron, giving something of the impression of a flock of crows come to life, but he ignored them.