The moment dinner ended, River excused himself and headed toward Klarissa’s office in the elders’ tower. The female didn’t make a habit of inviting herself to a quint’s training by happenstance; this afternoon’s intrusion was nothing short of a calling card.

Dealing with Klarissa—just one of the many things resting like a hundred-ton boulder on River’s shoulders. And yet, as he crossed the crisp grass of the square in the golden light of early evening, a cool, wine-flavored breeze in his face, all River could think about was Leralynn’s flushed cheeks, the sweet scent of her arousal drifting across the practice arena as Tye’s magic toyed with her. It’d taken everything inside River not to send Tye flying to the other side of the sand. For wasting precious minutes that Leralynn needed to prepare for next week’s trial, for taking her survival too lightly. But most of all for distracting River. A hundred problems he needed to be solving, and now all he could think about was what he could do to Leralynn to pull that sweet lilac scent out of her.

“What do you want?” River asked, the corner of his mouth twitching when Klarissa startled. Standing in the doorway of her office, River braced his hand on the doorframe and waited for the female to recover her composure. Few beings could come up on her unawares, but this wasn’t River’s first time playing the game.

“River.” Klarissa rose from behind her oak desk, her voice caressing the air as she smiled at him from under long lashes. “An unexpected pleasure.”

It was all River could do to keep from snorting at that. A few centuries ago, he might have said that Klarissa’s games kept life interesting. Now, with Leralynn in his life, he simply wanted the scheming female as far from his quint as possible.

“But since you are here,” Klarissa continued, plucking a small stack of parchment from the corner of her desk, “perhaps you might assist me. I’d be grateful for a second set of eyes on these reports.” She walked around to the sitting area in the corner of her well-appointed office, the expensive brocade chairs, warm lamp, and low glass table providing an illusion of intimacy.

Hands behind his back, River strolled forward and politely accepted the papers. He sank into one of the chairs as he read, his brows drawing together. Neat handwriting that he recognized as a reliable scout’s covered the pages, detailing an attack on Karnish, a border village of Blaze Court. A mining community, Karnish had little by way of other resources, but its location—close to Slait and the Citadel—was valuable in its own right. Moreover, if River remembered his geography correctly, Karnish sat on high, strategically advantageous ground.

Klarissa sat prettily across from River, crossing her thighs. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, waving her hand toward a bottle of wine and two glasses that she’d retrieved while River read. She nodded toward the reports. “What do you make of these?”

“The same thing you do, I imagine.” River smoothly uncorked the bottle, filled the glasses, and handed one to Klarissa, keeping his face still as stone when she traced her fingers along his. Keeping his voice even was a greater struggle. “It smells of Jawrar attempting to establish a foothold in Blaze, a more blatant precursor to an invasion attempt than we’ve yet seen.” The increasingly thinning wards between Lunos and Mors couldn’t stop sclices, much less messages and coins. Not since a few centuries ago, when the Night Guard—Jawrar’s Lunos-based sympathizers—had become a legitimate enemy force.

“If Blaze falls, I imagine Slait will be next. Your court, River.”

“My father’s court.” Once, uttering such words would have cut River’s heart, but there was nothing left there to bleed now.

Klarissa swirled her wine, watching the thick red liquid coat the glass and drip down the sides. “If the Night Guard invades Blaze, it would destabilize all of Lunos. Make it more difficult to protect ourselves against Mors—and Mors will come, River. Sooner or later, the qoru will stop using Night Guard proxies and step into Lunos themselves. Blaze is clawing its way free of a drought; it can barely feed its people just now, much less muster an army. If Slait could send troops, head off this attack at the pass—”

River snorted, his lips pressing together into a thin, unamused smile. “If you imagine me to have more sway over King Griorgi now than I did before, I fear you’ll be sorely disappointed.” River had tried to play his father. Once. Centuries ago, before the quint magic called him. It was how River had first met Klarissa, a council elder even then, one more than happy to feed the young prince of Slait information to aid in running his kingdom. Opening his eyes to the truth. To her truth.

For a time, River had even succeeded. With Klarissa’s guidance, he’d raised a small army to patrol Slait’s Gloom and rallied enough public support for the idea to force the king’s hand. His father had been furious about being forced to divert resources from Slait’s armies, which could have conquered Blaze for him, into defending against the phantom threat of Mors.

That night, King Griorgi gathered his children in River’s bedroom and butchered their mother. To teach River a lesson—and prove his power over his son once and for all. Then the bastard left the bloody body to soak River’s mattress. The prince of Slait died with the queen that day. And when the quint call came, River never looked back.

Klarissa set down her goblet and leveled River with her eyes, her sharp gaze sending ice down River’s spine. “I think Griorgi is beyond being swayed, River. And that it’s time for his son to take the throne of Slait Court. For you and me to join forces against Jawrar.”

The wine going down River’s throat missed its pipe and he doubled over coughing.

“You cannot run forever,” Klarissa said quietly. “Will you at least go to Karnish, see for yourself what may be there? Make your decision based on the facts of today, not centuries past?”

River tapped the runes on his neck—ironically forced there by Klarissa’s own scheming—which kept him confined to the Citadel grounds.

The female clicked her tongue. “There is an allowance to leave for the third trial. Call the trial now and I’ll ensure you find yourself in Karnish. Really, River, you are sometimes too self-righteous for common sense.”

“My answer is no.” River rose, his heart beating so hard that he feared the vibration alone would spill the wine. “Politics is not my battlefield. You want to dethrone a king? Find yourself another idiot for the job. As for you and me joining in any way . . .” He stepped closer, ice filling his words. “I will surrender myself to Mors before I do that.”

Without waiting for an answer, River turned toward the door.

“You are wrong for that girl, Prince,” Klarissa called after him, her voice tinged with pity. River paused without turning around. “And even if you pursue this folly, she is mortal. Perhaps that is why the magic chose her—a weaver’s power is too great to be in the open for too long. If Leralynn does not perish in battle, she will perish in time. You have responsibilities. To your quint, to Lunos, and to your court. You’ll have to stop running from them sometime—and when that time comes, you will need my help.”