The corner of Clare’s mouth lifted. “Do you blame me?”
The princess cracked a smile. “Not in the least.”
In the gardens below, a servant called out to Lady Rendell’s dog, who was bounding over the lawn. The rustling leaves and the errant birdsong made the moment quite peaceful.
Serene’s eyes were on the horizon, her voice low. “We didn’t get a chance to speak much last night, but I’m grateful for your discretion with James.”
Clare had managed to slip Serene the letter when they met at the inn, with a very brief explanation of how she had received it in the dress shop.
The princess shifted her weight, one hand gripping the rail. “I hate to ask more of you, but I have a reply for him. I know he’ll be in the city, awaiting word. Would you be willing to deliver my letter?”
A knot tightened in her stomach. “I can’t just go into Tarvin.”
“I’ll make an excuse. I woke with a desperate need for new combs. I’ll send you and Vera. James will find you in the market, and you can slip him the letter without the guards ever knowing.”
“Should you be writing to him at all?” Clare asked softly.
The princess was silent for several long heartbeats, obviously thinking carefully about her answer. “I can see your concern,” she finally said, her eyes on the oaks that lined the spacious yard below them. “But I assure you, this will not impact my betrothal to Desfan. I will fulfill my duty.”
The firmly spoken words brought an ache to Clare’s heart. “All right,” she said quietly. “I’ll take the letter.”
Relief sparked in Serene’s eyes. “Thank you.” She drew out a small sealed letter from her pocket and passed it to Clare. “This will be the last time you have to see him.”
Two reasons for that promise leapt to mind. Either Serene was telling him to not contact her again, or . . . “You’re telling him your stops so he can come to you.”
Serene’s lips pressed into a line, but she didn’t deny it.
Clare’s brows pulled together. “Your location on this tour needs to remain a secret. It’s for your safety.” It was the entire reason Clare was here.
“James will not betray me.”
Her firm reply effectively ended the conversation, so Clare sighed and slipped the letter into her pocket, her fingers brushing the tin soldier she always kept close, since it reminded her of home.
There was a brief silence, then Serene tightened her hold on the balcony railing. “So. The Rose. That’s an unexpected development. Are you all right?”
Her skin still crawled at the thought of the assassin. There had been nothing new from him, which left Clare with a complicated mix of relief and anxiety. She knew it was only a matter of time before he struck again. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Bennick and I talked for over an hour last night about who might have hired him. He’s become convinced it’s someone from Mortise, but I fear this is more personal.” She shifted her weight. “It feels too soon to have been Amil. He left Iden just before us, and I imagine it takes a little searching to find the Rose.”
Clare stared. “Do you really think Amil would hire an assassin to kill you?”
“I think he hates Devendra for what happened to his father, and that includes me.” A frown pinched Serene’s features. “I suppose his father could have made arrangements before his death. He came to negotiate the peace because he was loyal to Mortise, but he didn’t want it.”
Clare shook her head. “I don’t think Ser Havim hired the Rose. He spoke to me right before he was killed and he sounded confident that the serjan would recover from his illness, see the alliance Desfan had arranged, and put an end to it all.”
“The serjan would not stop the alliance. It’s a misconception people have. They think Desfan started talks of the alliance on his own, after his father’s collapse, but Serjan Saernon had been writing to my father months before his illness. Desfan merely picked up where his father left off.” Serene’s fingers tapped against the railing at her hip, her thoughts clearly churning. “It’s not my father. He wants this alliance too badly, and my death would cost him that. I’m not so confident about my brother.”
Unfortunately, Clare could not dispute her words. Even though Prince Grandeur had been Clare’s first friend among the royals, she had overheard a conversation between him and an unnamed man. They’d been in the castle garden, and though they hadn’t seen Clare, she had grown cold as she’d listened to every word. If she wouldn’t agree to spy on Serene for Grandeur, they would threaten her brothers. And the prince had even made it clear that he would sacrifice his sister’s life if Serene turned against him.
Overhearing that conversation had brought Clare to the princess, who had finally confided why she did not trust her father or brother—Serene had proof that King Newlan had slowly poisoned Queen Aren to death after learning that she had helped Ivar Carrigan in the civil war. And Grandeur had known about the poisoning and done nothing.
That was how Clare found herself in the middle of these dangerous political games amid the royal family. Newlan had forced her to become the decoy, Serene had invited her to spy on Grandeur, and the prince thought she was a spy for him. He had even given her a ring with his personal seal so she could send him messages about Serene and warn him if she posed a threat to Devendra. He feared she was planning to sabotage the alliance, or even make a grab for the Devendran throne.
The irony was, Serene did plan to take the throne from her father and brother, as soon as she was in a position to do so. First, she needed this alliance with Mortise to succeed.
“I want you to send a letter to my brother,” Serene said. “Tell him about the Rose, show him your fear. I want to see if he reassures you—if he knows the Rose won’t harm you. If my brother hired him, he would have told the assassin about you being the decoy. The taunting messages might come your way, but he would wait to strike at me when I am myself.”
Clare eyed her. “Like today?”
Serene flashed a grim smile. “Exactly. I’ll be on my guard.”
“I hate to think Grandeur could be capable of this.”
“He has proven himself capable of many atrocities. Least of all is supporting my father.” Her shoulders dropped with a sharp exhale. “They both suspect every citizen in Devendra to be part of a conspiracy against them. My father kills so many on suspicion alone. And he taxes the people so ruthlessly—not because he needs the extra coin, but because if people struggle to even survive, they have less time to rise against him. He’s terrified of another civil war.”
But the more ruthless he was, the more violent the rebels became. And, unfortunately, they had chosen to focus their efforts on Serene. They didn’t want Newlan to have allies when they finally staged their open revolt, so even before the betrothal was officially announced, they had started targeting Serene.
Clare eyed the princess standing beside her. “The rebels are trying to kill you to stop the alliance, but what is their ultimate goal? Are they hoping to put someone else on the throne?”
Her mouth pursed. “I’m not sure what their end-goal is, as no one has stepped forward as their leader. They don’t have a message, other than general outrage directed at my father. They’re spreading chaos, fear, and making the king rule with an ever-tightening fist—which only incites the rebels more, and it all leads to innocents being hurt from both sides.”
“Do you think Ivar Carrigan could be the leader?”
“An interesting thought. What makes you think of him?”
Clare shrugged. “He started the civil war ten years ago. And no one knows where he ended up. What if he didn’t leave Devendra at all?”
Her brow creased. “I didn’t know my father’s cousin well, as I was quite young when he dissented. But I have a hard time believing Carrigan is behind the rebels now. I think he would have organized them better. And I imagine he would have declared his involvement by now, especially if he was leading the group. Many in Devendra stood with him before, and I
imagine many would again.”
“Princess!” Bridget snapped from inside the room. “If you don’t want to look a wreck for this breakfast, you need to get in here! And Clare, you can make yourself useful!”
Serene arched a dark brow. “One would think she’s the princess, with how she orders everyone about.”
Clare chuckled as she followed the princess into the suite. Dresses were flung on the bed and Ivonne was sorting through them with Bridget. When the head maid saw Serene, she wordlessly pointed to a stool set before a mirror. Serene rolled her eyes, but sat.
Clare was exceedingly grateful Bridget traveled with the princess, and not with her.
While Vera set out several different options for Serene’s jewelry, Clare lifted a comb and started working it through the princess’s dark hair. There were a couple of knots, but nothing serious—until the teeth of the comb caught on a thin, tightly woven braid buried in the thickness of Serene’s hair.
Clare fingered the unexpected, almost hidden braid.
Serene stiffened. “Leave it.”
Clare dropped it at once. “Sorry.”
Vera set down the necklaces she had been sorting and hurried to Clare’s side. “I can do her hair,” she said, with a somewhat tight smile. “Why don’t you untangle those infernal chains? We’ll need to pack them better next time.”
Clare handed the comb to Vera, but even as she took over managing the jewelry, she kept glancing at Serene, her curiosity about the odd braid and the even odder exchange only building.
Chapter 8
Clare
Tarvin’s streets were bustling with morning activity. Shops lined the large square of the market and carts overflowing with wares filled the open area, leaving people to weave between the narrow spaces left between. The crowds were thick and the atmosphere jovial. Pipe music played somewhere, accompanied by drums. Delicious foods scented the air, children laughed and darted around in games of chase and catch. The mood was infectious, and despite the weight of Serene’s letter in her pocket, Clare couldn’t stop grinning.
Before Serene had joined Lady Rendell for breakfast, she had insisted that Clare and Vera go into the city and locate a new set of combs and several other personal items. Bennick had tried to offer alternatives, such as sending one of the guards, but the princess had propped a hand on her hip as she stared him down. “Captain Markam, you know I care for you all deeply. But the day I let any of you pick my personal items is the day I have tea with the Poison Queen.”
Bennick had relented. He hadn’t loved the idea of the decoy going on the innocuous errand, but Serene was insistent on Clare going, and he soon gave up. As the captain of the princess’s guard, he needed to remain at the Rendell estate with the princess, but he had sent Cardon and Venn with Clare and Vera.
Cardon walked beside Clare, dressed in his royal guard uniform. His stance was relaxed, though he was carefully scanning the crowd around them. Clare had missed him, as both he and Dirk traveled with the princess on her alternate route. Cardon was thirty years old and he had a distinctive scar that cut diagonally across his right cheek. He had a gentle smile and a warm gaze, and he had always been kind to Clare.
Venn and Vera wandered slightly ahead of them, the two of them chatting and laughing as they explored the market.
The sight widened Clare’s smile.
“He’s besotted,” Cardon said, following her gaze.
Clare watched as Venn leaned in to catch Vera’s words, his dark, half-Zennorian eyes seemingly trapped by her animated face. He barely looked away as they walked. Clare chuckled. “I’m not sure who is more besotted, really.”
“Him,” Cardon said. “Definitely him.”
Clare glanced over at him, suddenly curious. “You’re not married, are you, Cardon?”
“Oh, fates no. I’m never going to marry.”
“You wouldn’t be the first man to say such a thing.”
He tipped his head. “True. But on this, I’m confident.”
“Perhaps you just haven’t met the right woman.”
His smile tightened a little at the corners. “Perhaps. Royal bodyguards don’t often marry, though. We give our lives to our careers. Sometimes literally.”
“Wilf married.”
“Yes, but Rachel was special. He could hardly resist her. Their love was enviable.” Cardon’s eyes softened. “Poor man.”
Bennick had once told her about Wilf’s wife. She had died from the pox—an illness she contracted while caring for Wilf, who had been deathly sick. Pox scars still covered his body; the scars from losing the woman he loved were not as visible, but just as real.
“It’s good he has all of you,” Clare said.
“We’re family,” Cardon said, his answer simple but strong. He glanced at her. “Bennick mentioned that he gave you the garrote bracelet.”
“Oh. Yes.” Warmth rose in her cheeks, even though she knew Cardon’s words were only innocent conversation. He didn’t know about her deepening relationship with Bennick—they were being careful to keep it private. She cleared her throat. “He said you gave an identical one to Serene.”
“I did. Fates, that was a long time ago.” He tapped a finger against the scar that sliced his cheek. “I’d gotten this only a few weeks before.”
“How did you get it?” she dared to ask.
Cardon didn’t seem to mind the personal question. “I let a would-be assassin get too close. He would have killed me, but he was shot first. The arrow in his back made his knife easy to swipe aside, though it still got me a little.” He smiled a bit crookedly. “Venn says it makes me look ruggedly handsome.”
She returned his smile. “It does.”
He drew his thumb over the scar. “I haven’t thought of that day for a long time. Serene was almost fourteen. I’d been her bodyguard for maybe a year.”
“I didn’t realize you’d been her guard for so long.”
He nodded. “Dirk is the only one of us who has served her longer. He’s been watching over her since she was born.”
Clare’s eyes widened. “Nineteen years?” She had seen Serene and Dirk interact, and she’d thought their bond was strong. She’d had no idea he’d been with her all her life, though.
“Technically, Wilf has been a royal bodyguard for just as long. He was one of the queen’s guards until Grandeur was born. Then he was transferred to guard the prince.” Cardon took a breath, returning to his story. “The royal family used to vacation at Lambern Lake every summer, and they would go on hunts in the forested foothills. Queen Aren was particularly fond of hunting, and, unfortunately, many knew this. During my first summer as Serene’s guard, there was an ambush. The king and queen were the focus of the attack, and their guards were dropping rapidly. Dirk ran to assist, and I was covering the princess. I saw Wilf carrying Grandeur, and even though the prince was twelve at the time, he didn’t slow Wilf down.”
Clare didn’t think anyone could slow Wilf down.
Cardon’s eyes narrowed in memory. “I was fighting one of the assassins when I heard Serene cry out. An assassin had gripped her braid and was yanking her back. I threw my knife and hit his shoulder; it was enough to startle him back. It saved her life, but I had no weapon against the assassin trying to kill me, and with my distraction, he quickly gained the upper hand.
“While we grappled, I heard Serene run. But she didn’t actually leave. She was only retrieving her bow, which was already strung for the hunt.” He eyed Clare. “She shot my attacker. She saved my life when she should have run.”
Clare could barely imagine the scene his words painted, but she knew enough about Serene to believe that even as a young girl, she had been fierce.
Cardon exhaled a short laugh. “All I could do was stare at her. I remember her standing there, her hair a loose mess, the bow still in her hands, and she lifted an eyebrow and said, You’re welcome.” He shook his head, a smile still tugging at his lips. “I had that garrote fashioned for her as a mark of my thanks.”
<
br /> “Bennick thought it was for her birthday.”
“The occasions happily coincided.”
They passed a pastry shop, the scents of baking flour and sweet sugar wafting out into the street. Clare breathed in deep, hearing snippets of the conversation that snaked around her. It seemed there was to be a party in the square tonight, to celebrate Princess Serene’s arrival in Tarvin and the coming marriage.
“It’s strange,” Clare said. “That some celebrate the alliance while others will do anything to stop it.”
“Some must think the reward is worth the risk. Many lost family members—and profits—during the border wars. Some let that loss turn them bitter, but others came away just wanting peace. Even if it means trusting someone who used to be an enemy.”
Clare spotted an artist at her cart, trying to sell paintings of Serene. Some were of the princess in Tarvin’s square, others showed her on a beach in Mortise, standing next to a handsome dark-haired man with a golden crown who could only be Desfan.
“Sometimes I feel sorry for her,” Clare said quietly. “That for the alliance to work, she has to marry a stranger.” She glanced at him. “Do you think Serene will be happy with Desfan?”
Cardon’s gaze swept the collection of paintings. “I think the princess is capable of anything.” He slowed, nodding to a cart in front of them. “Some of that looks promising.”
Clare stepped up to the cart, and Cardon stood nearby while she sifted through the decorative combs, colorful ribbons, painted fans, and assorted cosmetics. She also stole glances at the constantly shifting crowd around her, hoping for a glimpse of James.
“Anything yet?” Cardon asked.
She lowered a pearl-studded comb, still searching the crowd from the corner of her eye. “Not yet.”
The young man overseeing the cart sidled closer. “If you’re looking for more variety, this is only a small taste of our wares. My father’s shop is just over there. We have all sorts of magnificent pieces—crafted by the best artisans in Devendra, and even some from Zennor.”
Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2) Page 8
