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The acolyte gave a faint smile. “She’s very precious to you.”
“More than you know.” He exhaled. “I must find her.”
“And we shall. I was with her just minutes ago. Follow me, I’ll show you where.”
He accompanied Neve to a hallway over the main gallery, littered with partiers and empty champagne flutes.
“We’ll check every room,” he said to the acolyte. “We don’t stop until we find her.”
Jarin banged the doors open, not bothering to be subtle or close the doors afterward. He barged in on drunken guests, some passed out and others mid-copulation. After scanning the room and finding no Riella, he’d move on.
Finally, he reached the end of the hallway. There he stood, considering the shadowy labyrinth of walkways and halls and galleries comprising the rest of the palace. The place was enormous, and she could be anywhere by now.
From the corner of his eye, something glimmered on a console partway down the darkened hallway. He frowned, walking over. Riella’s butterfly mask lay discarded on the marble top.
“Riella?” he called.
He went to the balcony railing, and shouted her name again. There were only drunken shouts in return.
Neve appeared at his elbow, her face pinched. “You found her mask?”
He nodded and gave it to her wordlessly, a concrete block forming in his stomach. He was too late. Something had happened to her.
The acolyte held Riella’s mask, waving a pale hand over it.
“I might be able to pick up her essence. Her energetic signature.” Neve frowned in concentration, staring into space as she continued waving her hand. “This isn’t my specialty, but if I can detect it, we can follow it.”
“What is your specialty?” asked Jarin, hoping it was something like vanquishing dark sorcerers with the snap of her fingers.
The corner of Neve’s eye twitched at his question, but she didn’t answer.
Unable to stand still, Jarin paced, running his hands through his hair in frustration. What if he’d seen Riella for the last time? He couldn’t believe he voluntarily walked away from her.
Neve drifted toward the nearest staircase.
“She went down here.” The acolyte jerked her head, as if catching a scent or hearing a sound. “A mage was with her. There’s a strong imprint.”
“Gods,” said Jarin with a groan. “Polinth has her, and he wants the amulet. He’ll be taking her out to sea. Let’s go.”
The streets were feral with revelers in the humid night. Berolt and Drue spotted Jarin from the porch of a tavern where they’d been waiting for his instruction. They ran to catch up.
“Where’re we off to, Captain?” asked Drue.
“To get ourselves the fastest vessel we can find. We’re going after Riella.”
The four arrived at the docks, which were eerily quiet compared to the chaos of the city. There was no movement or sound except for water gently lapping against hulls.
“Are you sure she came down here?” asked Berolt.
Jarin boarded a cutter, leaping onto the sleek vessel directly from the dock and climbing over the railing. He slammed down the gangway for Neve, Berolt, and Drue to board. At the helm, he found a spyglass and scanned the shimmering indigo horizon. The moon splashed silver across the water, illuminating a lone vessel sailing away mid-distance. He squinted. Was that Polinth and Riella?
Movement on the side of the vessel made his heart drop. Half a dozen pirates scaled the hull with ropes, having snuck aboard. Polinth may’ve been a powerful sorcerer, but he knew nothing about checking a ship for stowaways or pirates.
Artus and his lackeys had beaten Jarin to the punch. Artus, whose tongue Jarin had cut out, would want more than just the amulet—he’d be out for revenge. Jarin’s beloved Riella was on a ship with a deranged Polinth and barbarous Artus, and no one to help her.
He would not let her die alone. He would not let her die at all.
“Haul the anchor!” he roared over his shoulder.
