Seconds ticked by and the trumpeters tooted the Arrival March of the Claiming Progression where Penelope would stroll down the aisle. Ryon finally comprehended that sinking feeling in his gut was earned.
Something was wrong.
Where was Penelope?
The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, prickling.
He wasn’t the first to notice that something was not right. The crowd grew quiet, more whispers being thrown about than the previous exhausted jubilations. The procession played but no one came out.
“Where is the dancer?”
“Did she run away?”
King Hargrowe had sat back on his throne, but upon realizing Penelope was not strolling out of the passageway as she was supposed to, Lyle went back to the podium to repeat his message. Perhaps thinking she hadn’t heard him?
“Bring out Penelope Farris for the Claiming!”
All eyes went to the narrow, marble tunnel that all female participants of the Claiming used. Not even a shadow stirred.
Ryon didn’t even think. He was past the point of intelligent thought. He ran straight to her dressing room past the two bewildered guards standing outside her hallway.
“Where is she?” he growled, shouting at them.
They shared a confused glance. “Lady Farris?” one of them began. “She’s in her dressing room.”
Ryon might have relaxed under other circumstances, but either way, something was wrong. He ran to her room, the door flying open in his wake. His eyes devoured the room, studying every miniscule detail he could in the span of seconds.
Moments later he heard Lyle and the metal-grating steps of his armor-wearing guards shuffling close behind.
“What’s going on?” Lyle asked, concerned.
“She’s gone.” Ryon announced. Already his mind churning for possibilities.
Lyle peeked into the dressing room to find exactly what Ryon had—a room flipped apart, torn asunder; couch cushions on the floor, the glass table broken into crushed shards, and a shelf that had held a tray of uneaten food lie smashed on the floor. The faintest imprint from a footprint was smashed into an uneaten piece of bread.
Blood splattered on the ground in droplets and smears. Not enough to hint at a murder, but possibly an injury. Was it hers? The thought made his blood boil, and his lip curl. Anyone who dared to lay a finger upon her would face ruthless retaliation.
And there would be much of blood to show for it.
“Send out an alert!” Lyle shouted to his guards. “Penelope Farris is missing. I want her found now!” They quickly dispersed at his orders.
Ryon squatted down next the footprint. Something odd about it caught his attention. He wasn’t sure what was strange about it, but then Ryon slowly stood. “Lyle, what does this look like?”
Lyle, flustered with all the chaos, came and looked. He peered only a moment. “Not quite a footprint. Maybe the attacker wasn’t wearing shoes?”
Ah, so perhaps that was it.
Studying it some more, Ryon shook his head. No, but that couldn’t be it. It wasn’t that the individual didn’t have a shoe on, but that…it wasn’t a foot.
Ryon froze stiff.
A moment later the sound of pure terror came.
Hard, banging rings sounded from across the kingdom. Their booming rings were a dire warning: they were under attack.
Right now.
Only one creature had ever attacked the Tarlèan kingdom. Now Ryon understood with certainty what he’d been staring at. Not a foot print at all, but a paw print.
“The Avagarians are here,” Ryon said with dead stillness.
Screams, the terrified shouts of mothers and frightened, crying children sounded in the arena above them. Followed by twenty-thousand panicked people trying to rush home to safety. Everyone knew the sickening sound of the war bells. It’d been many years since they had to hear their deafening blows.
An explosion blew in the distance. A bomb, detonated.
How clever, he realized. The Avagarians attacked them while the majority of their people were far away from the eastern wall, while most of the guards were here and not there.
He had to focus, get his head and thoughts together. And first, he had to find Penelope. King Lyle was already issuing orders to deploy troops to the region and borders.
“It’s war time,” King Lyle said.
Indeed, it was.
Chapter 13
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Lysse wished she could scream those words from the tops of her lungs. She actually shook with rage, but instead of screaming, she issued her question in a harsh whisper. The last thing they needed was to be overheard by one of the Tarlèans running around in chaos.
God, those ringing war bells. How annoying. She wished someone would shut them up.