Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  Something brushed Clare’s hand. She looked down just in time to see a young boy dart back into the crowd, but he’d left a small slip of paper in her palm.

  While Cardon quietly listened to the over-eager shopkeeper, Clare stole a quick look at the hastily scrawled words.

  Meet me at Harrow’s End. – J

  Clare glanced around and almost immediately spotted the tavern, which was on the other side of the square. The name Harrow’s End was carved onto a wooden sign hung over the door, which was propped open. Even from here, she could see the room was full of people.

  “Clare?”

  Her attention snapped to Cardon. “Yes?”

  “Would you like to explore the shop?” he asked, the patience in his voice making it clear he was repeating himself.

  The young man at the cart watched her closely, eagerly waiting for her answer.

  Since the shop took them closer to Harrow’s End, she nodded. But nerves danced in her stomach as Cardon guided her forward, calling out to Venn so he and Vera would know where they’d disappeared to. They entered the shop, which was just as crowded as the square had been. The patrons were mostly women, and in the summer heat of the day, the decorative fan display seemed to draw everyone closer, which clogged the entrance. The overpowering mix of perfumes being sold nearly made Clare sneeze as she tried to wriggle her way through the elbows and hips of the milling women.

  Cardon slipped in front of her, using a charming smile and gentle nudges to help them make faster progress. With his back turned to her, Clare knew this would be an ideal moment to slip away.

  Her heart pounded as she melted into the crowd, moving back to the entrance. She knew it wouldn’t take long for Cardon to notice her missing, and she hated to make him panic. But she had promised Serene she would try to deliver her message to James, and she didn’t want to risk being seen. That meant leaving Cardon behind. She hoped to be quick enough to pretend she’d only been caught up in the crowd and pulled away briefly.

  Outside the shop, Clare lowered her head and cut through the crowded square. She skirted the cart where Venn and Vera had paused to admire a silversmith’s trinkets and kept her gaze on Harrow’s End. The skin on the back of her neck prickled, the sensation of being watched nearly making her shiver. She dismissed it as her guilty conscience and finally reached the tavern.

  Wide front windows revealed the crowd, and Clare quickly climbed the stone steps and stepped through the open door. Savory meats and steamed vegetables salted the air, with sweet-smelling pastries scenting the edges of the wafting smells. The scent of ale was also strong, and the booming laughter and celebratory atmosphere made the tavern feel even more overwhelming. Card games were in progress at several tables and the rest were filled with groups of both men and women as they ate and toasted the princess’s health.

  Pausing beside one of the large front windows, Clare scanned the room for James, her palms sweating. Movement to her right drew her eye, and she finally spotted him. He was sliding around a crowded table, headed for her.

  She met him halfway, drawing out Serene’s letter and passing it to him.

  He slid it into his jacket, his handsome eyes intent. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She bit her lower lip, nerves still dancing in her stomach. “I can’t linger. The guards will be looking for me.”

  She started to turn, but he snagged her wrist. “Wait. Please.” The skin around his eyes tightened. “Can you tell me how she is?”

  She glanced around them, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Still, she lowered her voice. “She’s well.” It didn’t feel like enough, so she added, “She was pleased to hear from you.”

  James released her, his hands rolling to fists at his side. “Good. That’s . . . good.”

  There were many things she wanted to ask him, if only she were brave enough. How he had met Serene. What exactly he thought was going to happen, once she married Desfan.

  James’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I heard a rumor that the Rose has targeted her.”

  A chill ghosted down her spine. “Unfortunately, it’s not a rumor.”

  “Fates.” He shoved a hand through his brown hair and his thick eyebrows drew together as he viewed her. “Be careful, Clare.”

  Surprised by the sincerity in his tone, she only managed to nod before he turned and walked away, vanishing into the crowd. Almost as if he hadn’t been there at all.

  Feeling a bit unnerved by her foray into spywork, Clare turned toward the door—and swore when she saw Cardon through the window. He was frantically searching the crowded street outside the tavern. His eyes fell on the open door of Harrow’s End, and he started for the steps.

  If he found her in here, there was no way she could claim she’d simply lost him in the crowd. Even now, he probably wouldn’t believe it, but as it would be her best defense, she needed to avoid being seen in here.

  She hurried deeper into the tavern, and after some pushing she found a side door. It was also propped open—presumably to let the slight breeze inside—and it let out into a narrow side street. A couple of people passed her as they left the square, but no one looked at her as she hurried down the stairs.

  The square was close, but she hesitated to rush into it. Finding Cardon a little further from Harrow’s End felt like the better option, so she followed the side street away from the square, searching for a cross street she could use to double back and re-enter the square in the thick of the crowd.

  Her cheeks were warm, and she willed herself to feel nothing but calm. Her ability to lie had grown greatly since becoming the decoy, but she didn’t know how convincing she would be when she came face to face with Cardon. And she didn’t even want to think about Cardon telling Bennick about the incident. Perhaps she could convince him to keep the whole thing between them.

  So attuned to her own thoughts, Clare didn’t sense the man behind her until it was too late.

  Hard fingers dug into her arm and jerked her into an alley. Her hours of training kicked in without thought. She dug in her heels and dropped her weight. The attacker grunted and staggered, nearly losing his grip.

  Her heart pounded and she yanked harder, but the man grabbed her forearm with both hands and swung her into the alley wall. Her shoulder hit the unforgiving stone a second before her head cracked against it. Agony burst across her cheek, dazing her.

  In the space of a blink, her chest was forced against the wall and her arms were wrenched back, wrists held in a bruising grasp. Her shoulders screamed in pain and her entire body shook, dizziness still swirling in her head.

  Hot breath fanned over her ear. “Be quiet and listen closely. We have your brother, Eliot Slaton. We will not hesitate to kill him. You will do everything we ask, and you will not tell the princess’s guards about us.” His grip changed so he could hold both wrists with only one hand. He gripped so tightly, the bones in her wrists grated together.

  She gasped, tears stinging her eyes.

  “You see how easily we got to you. We can reach you again. And if you resist in any way, or if you tell the guards, we will kill your brother.” A hand slammed against the wall in front of her face, making her jerk in his grip.

  A piece of paper crinkled, pinned under his palm. “This is from him, so you know we aren’t lying.” He leaned closer, pressing her body more painfully against the wall. Clare shuddered when his bearded jaw brushed her cheek. “Eliot resisted quite a while, but he screamed when we broke every finger on his left hand. Then we moved on to other things. Had to leave the right hand alone, so he could write to you.”

  Revulsion, hatred, pain, frustration, fear—it all rushed through her, tightening her throat. “What do you want?”

  “Your cooperation. We will be in touch.” With a shove, he released her. Clare’s aching arms dropped, but she forced them to press against the wall, to steady her.

  The man stepped back, the paper he’d slammed to the wall fluttering to the ground. “We’re
watching you, Clare. And we’ll know if you betray us.”

  She whirled, but it was only to see him stalk down the alleyway. She tried to take in the details of his appearance, but there wasn’t much to see with his back to her. He was dressed plainly, tangled brown hair brushing the tops of his wide shoulders. Her heart thundered in her chest, pulse racing, eyes blurring with unshed tears. She wanted to chase after him—demand answers. She wanted a chance to actually fight him. The dagger Eliot had given her was strapped to her thigh, and it had been utterly useless once he’d pinned her.

  We have your brother.

  She forced her aching body into a crouch, her trembling fingers struggling to lift the discarded paper.

  It was crinkled from its rough treatment and folded once. She remained on the ground as she flipped it open.

  The familiar handwriting was a punch to her gut, once again driving out all her breath.

  Clare,

  I am being forced to write this as proof that their threats are real. I was taken by the rebels during one of my patrols. They instruct me to tell you that I will be kept alive if you follow the instructions they send you. Do not tell anyone. Especially the princess’s guards.

  Forgive me,

  Eliot

  The rebels had her brother.

  She folded the letter and stood, looking around the now-empty alleyway as she slipped the paper into her pocket. Her heart pounded and the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She could feel eyes on her, knew she was being watched. Maybe from one of the windows overlooking the alley?

  “Clare!” It was a distant shout, but she knew it was Cardon.

  Her throat constricted. She was unable to answer his shout. She pinched her eyes closed, allowing herself one moment to breathe, to think.

  For Eliot’s sake, she needed to tread carefully.

  When she opened her eyes, she knew what she needed to do.

  “Clare!”

  She moved for the mouth of the alley, spreading her hands over her skirt to make sure nothing looked amiss. She entered the side street and there, near the entrance to the square, was Cardon. His slicing gaze cut to her and the scar on his cheek jumped, his shoulders falling a little in evident relief. He hurried over to her. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere. I was about to call on the city guard.”

  “I’m fine.” She forced a smile, ignoring the pain radiating from her cheek. “I lost sight of you in the shop, and those perfumes were making my eyes water.”

  Cardon frowned. “So you just left?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Clare, you can’t just wander off like that.”

  “I know. The crowd pulled me, and I . . . I enjoyed having a moment to myself. I’m sorry.”

  His voice lowered, his gaze sharp. “Anything could have happened to you. You can’t take risks like that.”

  Her throat cinched and her eyes misted. “I know,” she repeated. “I’m sorry for any panic I caused.”

  He blew out his breath, one hand scrubbing the back of his neck. “I have to report this to Bennick.”

  She was too preoccupied with what had happened that she didn’t argue as Cardon took her elbow and guided her back to the square—even though a part of her was screaming for help.

  Chapter 9

  Grayson

  Tomorrow, Grayson would leave for Mortise. As if that did not make his morning bleak enough, he had received a summons from his mother. As he dragged himself up the tall flights of stairs to her private tower, he dreaded whatever encounter he was about to have with her.

  The Poison Queen was everything her title promised. She was cold. Conniving. Brilliant. When it came to poisons, she was the most knowledgeable person in Ryden, perhaps in all Eyrinthia. She pitted her sons against each other, playing favorites when it suited her. She didn’t know about Mia, which was a rare blessing from the fates, but she knew other things about Grayson that Henri didn’t. Treasonous things. It made him even more wary of her.

  Grayson rapped his knuckles against the thick wooden door at the top of the tower. There was a slight pause, then his mother’s voice rang out, inviting him inside.

  He entered cautiously, his eyes sweeping the space. Tables and shelves laden with bottles of potions and potted plants, dried herbs and stained books dominated the circular room. Standing at the window, overlooking the dawn, was Iris.

  The queen wore a long white dress, as she usually did, with a simple pale blue sash tied around her waist. Her dark hair was gathered into a long braid that trailed down her back, and when she twisted to face him, cool gray eyes met his. She smiled without warmth. “Grayson, thank you for coming so quickly.”

  He bowed to his mother, his spine stiff.

  When he straightened, her smile only grew. “Are you excited for your mission to Mortise?”

  He assumed she knew every detail of the mission, including his orders to assassinate Princess Serene. Clearly, it didn’t bother her at all.

  He gripped his hands behind his back, forcing himself not to show any weakness. “I will serve Father well.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Iris moved to a long case sitting on a narrow table on the other side of the tower room. “It’s a little tradition of mine to give a gift to each of my sons before they leave Ryden for the first time.” She peeked over her shoulder at him. “You know I have always loved you most, Grayson.”

  He barely held in his snort. If she had a favorite, it would be Carter. He was her protégé, studying poisons almost as religiously as she did.

  “You’re stronger than your brothers,” she continued, lifting the case and carrying it toward him. “You always have been. You endured their tortures, until the day you finally rose above them. They fear you, now. After what you do in Mortise, no one can deny your destiny.” She held out the flat, rectangular case and Grayson hesitated the slightest second before taking it. At her silent urging, he flicked open the clasps and lifted the lid.

  Two daggers with blue hilts rested in the velvet case. They were decorative, expensive, and he recognized them at once.

  They were the same poisoned daggers Tyrell had used against him weeks ago. The scar on his cheek suddenly burned in memory, as did the mark on his arm.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” she murmured. She’d shifted closer, and it took all of his self-control not to ease away from her. She peered down at the daggers in the case. “They’re coated with Syalla, though you already know that.” She darted a look to the fresh scar on his face.

  She knew exactly what those daggers had done to him.

  Grayson’s jaw stiffened and the corner of her mouth lifted in a thin smile. “There is also a bottle of Syalla in the case. Apply it to the blades after they’ve been well used, to keep a fresh covering. Are you pleased with them?”

  “Yes,” he managed to speak past the dryness of his throat. “Thank you.”

  She beamed, a spark of true joy in her eyes. It was unsettling. “I’m glad you like them. Because I also have a favor to ask of you.”

  Tension coiled inside him as his mother closed the case and set it aside. She drew out a small vial from her pocket. A pale, cloudy liquid was corked inside. “Ieannax,” she told him, something like reverence in her voice. “An extremely rare poison. It comes from a snake found only in the heart of Zennor’s eastern jungles. It’s difficult to harvest and refine, thus very expensive. It is practically undetectable. No scent. No taste. There’s not even any pain. And there is no antidote. Once ingested, death is the only outcome.” She rolled the bottle between her long fingers. “Of course, some people add other poisons to it. Danura, Tarvu, Porallis—any poison that will add pain to the experience. But this is pure Ieannax. Painless death.”

  Grayson nearly pulled back as she took his gloved hand and laid the vial in his palm, rolling his gloved fingers over it. She kept her hand curled over his as she met his gaze. “Once you have settled into the Mortisian court, you will use this to kill Liam.”

  He
jerked back. “What?”

  Iris frowned, letting her hand fall. “Is something unclear?”

  “I can’t kill Liam.”

  “He has become a liability to your father. To Ryden. His time in the other kingdoms has altered his perspective. He has shown signs of weakness.” Her dark brows pulled together. “Your father doesn’t see what I see. He thinks Liam can still be controlled, but he must be destroyed before he can do harm to Ryden. I offer you the Ieannax to spare him unnecessary suffering, but you may kill him however you wish.”

  Grayson shook his head, still gripping the small vial. His stomach clenched. “I can’t . . . How can you ask me to kill my own brother? Your son?”

  Her eyes narrowed, the gray color turning icy. “You refuse me?”

  “Father ordered me to keep him safe. I can’t kill him.”

  Iris twisted away, her long braid swinging as she moved back to the window. Her breathing was strained with anger, almost reedy. When she spoke, her voice was thin. Clipped. “You will kill Liam in Mortise. Your father will forgive you for failing to bring him back—after all, you will be in a dangerous kingdom and accidents happen.” She peered over her shoulder at him. “If you do not do as I say, I will tell your father about your treason in Gevell. That you helped fugitives escape the king’s tax and turned your sword against Ryden.”

  Grayson’s heart turned over in his chest. “You have no proof,” he whispered. But he knew she could convince Henri of anything—especially this, since it was the truth. And while Captain Reeve may not have reported Grayson for what he suspected, he did not imagine the man would continue to protect him. Not if the queen asked him to speak against him.

  If Henri learned the truth of his betrayal, he would lose everything he’d bartered for. He had to believe Henri wouldn’t kill Mia; that threat had been reserved for if he failed to kill Princess Serene. But he would punish her—hurt her. And he would never grant Mia’s freedom.