Book 5: Support

Ingrid

Raven insists I eat something before I lie down, so I stumble through half of a loaf of bread before leaving for my room next door. The walls are thick enough that I can’t hear Altair playing anymore—nor can I hear the worried conversation I’m sure Kieran and Raven are having about me right now, judging by the looks they sent each other as I left.

I flop onto the covers and stare up at the ceiling. The bread sits heavy in my stomach. Sleep sounds like a chore now.

Father murdered Amval’s grandfather in the exact same way. That cannot be a coincidence.

My lute calls to me from the corner of the room. I always think clearer with it in my hands, so I roll out of bed and grab it. My left hand slides into the slight indentations on the neck, worn from use, and my right dances over the familiar strings. The sun has warmed it like I’ve already been holding it for a while.

Before I think about it, I start playing that air I was working o