Page 11 of Requiem of Silence

more weight than they can handle.

If you have neither cracked nor crumbled,

then you are strong enough.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

Varten ol-Sarifor snuck another look over at the girl walking beside him then snapped his head forward when she caught him. His cheeks heated; he hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“What?” Zeli bit out. He shook his head and stuck his hands in his pockets—otherwise the traitorous things would probably try to reach for her again, and she wouldn’t like it.

Funny, since he’d gotten back home and people started calling him and Roshon princes—he suppressed a shudder—folk were falling all over themselves to talk to him. Lads and girls whowould have never looked twice at a farm boy from the Borderlands with agrolfather were now fawning and sucking up and seeking to curry favor. Another shudder threatened to roll through him at the thought.

But Zeli ul-Matigor, House of Bobcats, was different. Maybe because she was Lagrimari and obviously viewed him as just another Elsiran boor, puffed up with money and privilege… But there was no light in her eyes when she looked up at him. In fact, what he saw now was more like suspicion, with her brow and nose wrinkled.

Shite. He was staring again.

“So the party starts at seven in the Winter Ballroom,” he said, trying to reroute her attention, and refocus himself. “Food, dancing, the whole thing. It will be a great time.”

She pursed her lips, then twisted them. Based on her expression, he shouldn’t hold his breath waiting for her to come, though he wanted her to—right now, more than just about anyone else he’d met since coming home. He wouldn’t stop to look into that too much, though.

“I-I’ll think about it.” She frowned, and he began preparing himself for disappointment. He was getting to be a pro at that.

They approached one of the supply rooms peppered around the palace. After days of exploring, he and Roshon had discovered the places where the servants stored things like towels, cleaning supplies, matches, oil, and more. There was generally one in each hallway, often attended by a staff person cataloging the inventory to keep thieving at a minimum.

“Let’s stop in here,” Varten said, opening an otherwise nondescript door.

A smiling young maid greeted him with a furious blush. “Pleasant afternoon, Your Grace.”

“Pleasant afternoon. Have you by any chance seen Usher?”

“No, but I can ring ’round.” She picked up the phone and spoke to the palace operator, asking about the king’s valet. After a few moments’ consultation she hung up. “He’s headed this way, Your Grace. You should be able to catch him in the gilded mirror hallway.”

“Is that the one with the blue wallpaper?”

“No, Your Grace, that’s the looking glass hall. The gilded mirror one has white wallpaper.”

“Ah, of course. Thank you,” he said with a small bow. He was learning his way around the palace, but the bloody place must have been designed by a cross-eyed architect. The maid erupted into giggles, her blush deepening to a level that looked uncomfortable.

Startled, and not wanting to cause her to suffer an apoplexy, he backed out of the room and closed the door to find Zeli scowling up at him. “What is it now?”

“Were you trying to give the girl a heart attack?”

“I didn’t do anything. She must have some sort of medical condition,” he said, leading them toward the proper corridor where, sure enough, Usher was ambling their way, his black suit crisp and perfect.

Zeli snorted in response, but Varten had no time to question her when the older man stopped, inclining his head at them.

“Hello Usher, we need to find my sister. Urgent Sisterhood business.”

Usher’s dark brown eyes took in Zeli’s light blue robe and pinafore, then crinkled at the sides. “Her Majesty is in the Council Room.”

“Oh, there’s a Council meeting today?”

“An emergency one was called and just ended. She may be in there for a while… gathering her thoughts.” His bushy browsdescended and he looked like he may say something more, but thought better of it.

Varten thanked him, then headed off toward the Council Room. “That’s Usher,” he told Zeli. “He’s the king’s personal valet and very close with my sister.”

“He’s not Elsiran is he?”

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