The ride back to the palace was colder than the ride out. The western mountains faded behind them, dark and silent, but the weight of what they had found settled over Cassia like a shroud. She kept her gloved hands clenched around the reins, the leather creaking with each tense movement of her fingers.
Beside her, Jeric rode with his shoulders set in a rigid line. The torch he carried burned steady, but its light seemed to push against the darkness rather than truly illuminate it. He had not spoken since they left the quarry, and his silence was heavier than any accusation.
Jess, riding just behind them with one of the guards, kept glancing over her shoulder as if she expected to see torches emerging from the mountain pass.
They did not speak until the palace gates loomed ahead of them, the torches of the guard posts burning like distant, unwelcoming stars.
"The mountain token," Jeric said, his voice low and rough. "It was not a warning. It was an invitation."
