“And?”
“They’d been stripped of their magic. This is the first instance I know of since we left Myrgren.”
“But that’s how…”
Saris nodded. “How Lady Nyanda and her followers gained their power.”
The door flew open. Radre swaggered out onto the balcony, dressed in the thin, filmy apparel typical of Dhugach. He could have passed for a local except for the hair and eyes. “Oh, what a quaint scene. My sister feeding her little lapdog.”
Wycke might have snarled, but his poor excuse for a brother wasn’t worth the effort.
Saris straightened in her chair, pulling composure around her. “Brother? What brings you here? The king didn’t say you’d be visiting. I’d have made preparations.”
“Do I need fanfare to visit my own sister?” The cut to Wycke didn’t go unnoticed.
“No, but you usually send a courtier days in advance to arrange said fanfare,” Wycke mused. “What did he want last time, Saris? Matching redhaired serving girls?”
Saris gave a fake laugh. “All we could find were boys. How… unfortunate.”
Radre frowned, dropping any pretense of friendliness toward Saris. “Is that any way to treat a king?”
“Actually,” Wycke ran fingers over his chin in a “thinking” pose. “That’s actually much better than how she treats her mate. Oww!” He rubbed his leg where Saris landed a kick.
Saris smiled far too sweetly. “What do you want, Radre?” She nodded toward an empty chair placed away from the table. “You might as well sit. The mountain passes must surely be covered in snow. How did you even get here?”
He couldn’t have taken a portal. Radre didn’t have magic of his own. After what happened with Lady Nyanda, High King Broen forbade Myrgren to employ a sorcerer or even a mage.
Still, Radre lived in a castle rumored to have been built over a vein of pure magic.
“This isn’t a social visit,” Radre snapped, wrapping arms around himself and remaining standing. “I came to ask you a question.”
“Ask away.” Saris leaned closer in an exaggerated parody of rapt attention. Neither she nor Wycke cared much for their pompous older brother. Radre also hadn’t answered how he came to be in the capital.
“When you were at Myrgren Castle, a guard followed you around like a starving mongrel,” Radre said, a sneer in his voice.
“Are you referring to the guard Father appointed for me?” Just a touch of scorn laced Saris’s words. “He wasn’t a mongrel but a distant cousin.”
“Ah, yes. The very one.”
Although she kept her composure outwardly, Saris pressed her ankle against Wycke’s leg under the table.
“A nice man. What about him?”
Radre took on a stern tone. Unnecessarily stern. “What was his name?”
Saris pressed her ankle harder against Wycke’s leg. The pieces started falling into place. Oh, damnation.
“Liam, I think.” Saris paused to sip her tea. Her fingers trembled. “It’s been so long ago, when I was merely a girl. You don’t recall all your guards’ names, do you?”
The gleam in Radre’s eyes didn’t bode well. “A-ha! Lyvianne!” He never bothered with the names of those who served—or anyone else’s.
The color left Saris’s face. “What about him? Do you require a reference? He performed his duties as well as any guard I’ve ever been assigned. However, I haven’t laid eyes on him since leaving Myrgren.”
“He’s not been seen in many seasons. Some say he died in battle the day the castle fell, but no one ever found the body.” A wrinkle appeared between Radre’s brows.
“I highly doubt he abandoned his post if you’re implying he deserted. Not with his devotion to duty.” A muscle jumped in Saris’s clenched jaw. What wasn’t she saying? “I’m sure many of the castle staff went unaccounted for after the final battle.”
“Even so. No one ever found the body of Nyanda’s son, either.”