He came alone with no entourage or guard to escort him. I watched him approaching through the pub window and nodded to Gwyneth. She seemed not the least bit nervous, but I was coming to understand that Gwyneth was in many ways like Lia. She hid her fears beneath a practiced veneer of steel, but her fears were there, as sure and shaky as my hands trembling in my lap.

He sauntered across the room and sat down across from Gwyneth. His cloak was plain, and he wore none of the usual finery on his fingers. For once, he didn’t want to be noticed. He settled in his chair and looked her over without saying a word. She did the same. I had a clear view of them both. The silence was long and awkward, and I held my breath waiting for one of them to speak, but neither seemed unsettled by the quiet. Finally the Chancellor spoke in a strangely familiar tone, making my skin prickle.

“You look well,” he said.

“I am.”

“And the child?”

Gwyneth’s lips pulled to a straight line. “Stillborn,” she answered.

He nodded and leaned back in his chair, breathing out a long sigh, as if relieved. “Just as well.”

Her coolness turned frigid, and a single brow arched upward. “Yes. For the best.”

“It’s been years,” he said. “You suddenly have information again?”

“I’m in need of funds.”

“Let’s see if your information’s worth anything.”

“Princess Arabella has been abducted.”

He laughed. “You’ll have to do better than that. My sources say she’s dead. She met with an unfortunate accident.”

The mug slipped in my hand, and broth sloshed onto the table. Gwyneth steeled her eyes to ignore me. “Then your sources are wrong,” she said. “She was taken prisoner by an assassin from Venda. He said he was taking her back to his kingdom, but for what purpose I don’t know.”

“Everyone knows Venda doesn’t take prisoners. You’re slipping, Gwyneth. I think we’re done here.” He pushed away from the table and stood to leave.

“I learned this firsthand from her attendant, Pauline,” Gwyneth quickly added. “She witnessed the abduction.”

The Chancellor stopped mid-stride. “Pauline?” He sat down again. “Where is she?”

I swallowed, dipping my head lower.

“She’s in hiding,” Gwyneth said, “somewhere in the north country. A frightened little mouse she was, but she gave me the last of her coin to come here and plead for help for Princess Arabella. She told me to go to the Viceregent, but I came to you instead—since we have a history. I thought I might get a more favorable recompense from you. Pauline promised I’d get an ample reward for my troubles. I’m sure the king and queen desperately want the princess back, regardless of her indiscretion.”

He stared at her, the same severe expression I saw him wear in my wanderings at the citadelle, but now it was intensified, as if he were calculating the veracity of every word Gwyneth uttered. He finally reached inside his cloak and threw a small bag onto the table. “I’ll speak with the king and queen. Don’t mention this to anyone else.”

Gwyneth reached out and took the bag in her hand as if weighing it, then smiled. “You have my silence.”

“It’s good to work with you again, Gwyneth. Where did you say you were staying?”

“I didn’t.”

He leaned forward. “I ask only because I might be able to help you with more comfortable accommodations. Like before.”

“Very generous of you. Let me know what the king and queen have to say, and then we’ll discuss my accommodations.”

She smiled, fluttered her lashes, tilted her head the way I had seen her do with countless tavern patrons and then, when he left, she sat back and a waxy sheen of sweat lit her face. She reached up and wiped damp strands of hair from her forehead.

I walked over to her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, but clearly she was shaken. From the moment he’d mentioned the child, I had seen everything about Gwyneth grow tighter. “You had a baby with the Chancellor?” I asked.

Fury swept through her eyes. “Stillborn,” she said sharply.

“But, Gwyneth—”

“Stillborn, I said! Leave it, Pauline.”

She could say and pretend whatever she wanted, but I still knew the truth. She distrusted the Chancellor so much she wouldn’t even tell him about his own child.

*   *   *

A package arrived at the inn the next day. It wasn’t addressed to the messenger service but directly to Gwyneth at the inn. It held a larger bag of coins than the day before and a note.

I’ve inquired of the parties you mentioned, and they have no interest in pursuing the matter. They both consider it best left as is, with a reminder that the city is still in mourning for Princess Greta and their concerns lie now with Crown Prince Walther, whose company of men has gone missing. This is for your troubles and discretion.

The king and queen had turned their backs on their daughter? Best left as is? To be tortured and killed at the hands of barbarians? I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn’t believe they would abandon their own daughter, but then the word mourning struck me.

I sat on the bed, my strength drained, and guilt overwhelmed me. Mourning I understood. In all my worry for Lia, I had almost forgotten about Greta and the tragedy that set Lia on the road back to Civica in the first place. Walther’s haunting expression loomed in front of me again, and the way he had looked as he huddled in the mud behind the icehouse. The horror in his eyes. He hadn’t seemed like Lia’s brother at all, but a shell of the man he had once been. At least I hadn’t seen Mikael killed right before my eyes. Lia had told me only that he died bravely in battle. Now I wondered if a soulless barbarian like Kaden had shot an arrow through his throat too. I cradled my stomach, feeling the grief again.