7 April, 1371. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten
Lucas wasn't at their favourite library table the next morning, even though they'd agreed to meet there when the clock struck ten. Celia waited.
She waited, drumming her fingers on the table impatiently and trying to focus on the poetry before her. The words were an illegible blur.
She heard the chapel's clock chime the quarter hour, then the half hour.
Something was wrong. Lucas was very rarely late. What could've happened?
He must be with his father, a voice rang out in her head with absolute clarity.
And I have to know what the two of them say to each other. Heaven forgive me for being so nosy, but I have to know.
Celia stood up from the table and slipped noiselessly out of the library. She mentally flicked through the various places she could go to find Lucas.