Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  “My father ordered them. That’s point enough.”

  “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  He considered this. “I’ve got a soldier to flog. If you really want me to leave, I suppose I can go do that.”

  Mia grit her teeth. “What do you want to talk about?”

  He leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. “Perhaps you can tell me how you met Grayson.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Because it was too personal. Too beautiful. She would never share that with Tyrell.

  As she kept her silence, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, you can tell me why you even like him. Fates know no one else does.”

  Her back teeth ground together. “I don’t want to talk about Grayson.”

  Tyrell’s eyes dipped to the necklace she wore, the pebble resting against her skin. “Did he give you that?”

  She snatched hold of the pebble, locking it in her fist to hide it from his view.

  His twisted lips were mocking. “He gave you a worthless rock? I knew my brother was pathetic, I just didn’t think he would insult you like that. Peter treats his mistresses like queens.”

  “I’m not Grayson’s mistress.”

  Tyrell cocked a brow. “Then what are you? His friend?” He actually laughed. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but my brother’s feelings for you obviously go far beyond friendship. He’s insanely in love with you, as evidenced by the fact that he attempted to threaten my father over you.”

  Mia released her hold on the necklace and let the book drop to her lap. She leaned forward, holding Tyrell’s derisive gaze. “I love him.”

  If the declaration surprised him, he didn’t show it. “Love. A truly idiotic emotion.” He crossed his arms as he studied her, his smile mocking. “Do you miss him?”

  She refused to dignify that with a response.

  Tyrell lowered his voice. “If you refuse to have a conversation, we can always read that book I brought—”

  “Have you always been cruel?” she snapped.

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “All Kaelins are.”

  “Grayson isn’t.”

  “Of course he is. He’s the Black Hand. My father’s enforcer. He may have more blood on his hands than I do.”

  “But you enjoy what you do. That’s the difference between you.”

  His head tilted to the side. “There are many differences between us. And yet, in the end, we’re exactly the same.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Tyrell leaned back, drawing his finger over a fresh scar on his cheek. It was still healing. She had noticed it before, because it was a mark he hadn’t had the night he’d come to hurt her. “Did you know Grayson gave this to me before he left? He cornered me in a hallway and cut my face open, just because he could.”

  She met his gaze, her jaw set tightly. “Grayson would never hurt anyone without provocation.”

  “I did nothing but try to step past him. He kept blocking me—and then he grabbed me by the throat and gave me this. You see, his temper can get the better of him.” Tyrell spread his hands. “We both follow our father’s orders, Mia. Every time.”

  She looked down at her lap and watched her knuckles grow whiter as she clutched her book. “He’s nothing like you,” she repeated.

  “Perhaps he convinced you of that, but I could tell you stories about him that would turn your stomach. If you knew him as I do, even your blind faith would be destroyed.”

  “I know him,” Mia said evenly, lifting her gaze to his. “But you don’t know me. Not if you think you can convince me Grayson is evil like you.”

  There was a tense beat of silence, then Tyrell leaned forward. Her eyes tracked his every movement for any sign he was about to strike her, every nerve in her body taut and alert.

  He set his hands on the table, his eyes on her. “Did he tell you about his mission in Mortise? What he’s gone to do?”

  She clenched her teeth. Her breaths were coming too quickly. She needed to keep calm—keep the panic from clawing out.

  Tyrell studied her, triumph flashing in his eyes. “Clearly, he doesn’t trust you as much as you trust him.” He leaned back once more. “Perhaps we should talk about something other than my brother. What else do you do besides read?”

  Mia’s lungs ached as she fought against her rising panic. “I draw. Sometimes I paint.”

  “I want to see your work.”

  “No.” Tyrell opened his mouth, but Mia overrode him. “I agreed to a conversation. That was all.”

  His dark brows slammed down, but surprisingly, he didn’t argue the point. “What are your favorite books?”

  The interrogation continued, pointless and irritating. Mia gave stilted answers and never asked a question of her own. She didn’t want to know Tyrell. She already knew enough about him; he had tortured and abused Grayson all his life and he found pleasure in cruelty.

  Finally, the hour was over. Tyrell unfolded from the chair, looking totally at ease while irritation bit at Mia’s skin. He smiled a little, as if he sensed her frustration and reveled in it. “I look forward to our next visit.”

  Chapter 23

  Desfan

  Desfan stood on the palace ramparts, watching as Ser Ashear led the Devendran prisoners through the gates and into the city. There were twenty in total, men and women. Most were Devendrans who had been captured during the border skirmishes years ago. He knew not everyone on the council agreed with his decision to free so many prisoners, but as he looked at the prisoners being escorted toward freedom, there was a lightness in his chest.

  They’d all been given new clothes, and Ashear had seen to it they were given a better diet weeks ago to prepare them for the trip to the border. Though their wrists remained tied with rope, their shoulders were not drooping.

  They were going home.

  Desfan set his folded arms on the stone ledge and glanced toward the sea. The shrieking of gulls flying over the harbor overlaid the sound of the rolling waves that called to him, an endless pull he didn’t think would ever ease. It was a fist in his gut, clenching tighter with every day. He missed the freedom. The thrill that came with riding out a storm, or facing a new island with no real expectations. The excitement that pumped through him when he boarded an enemy ship.

  He could see a merchant ship leaving the port and he very nearly ordered the guard next to him to run and flag it down so Desfan could climb aboard. He didn’t care where it was going—another Mortisian port, or south to Zennor—he’d take any destination.

  Instead, he tapped his fingertips against the stone barrier and watched the ship as it drifted farther away.

  “Serjah Desfan,” a deep voice said. “The palace guard said you would be here.”

  He straightened and faced Ser Zephan. “I wanted to see Ser Ashear off.”

  Zephan stepped up to the wall, his dark eyes aimed toward the city below. “Ah, yes. The prisoner exchange.”

  Desfan could see Zephan’s curled fist at his side, so he knew he wasn’t as calm as his measured tone indicated. He couldn’t help but needle the man a little. “I’m relieved to hear you’ve come to terms with the exchange.”

  “Well, we had little choice.” The Mortisian lord eyed Desfan. “You know I think this is a mistake. As is the alliance. You are doing too much, too fast. All of this should have been discussed more with the serjan, once he has recovered.”

  Desfan turned to face him fully, hip propped against the ledge beside him. “Are you reprimanding me, Ser Zephan?”

  “Merely stating my opinion. We are still allowed to do that, I hope?”

  “Indeed.”

  Zephan glanced away, his eyes on the azure sea. “I sought you out because I need to be excused from court for a couple of weeks. Perhaps a bit longer.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve had some personal matters arise. Nothing too serious, just some minor issues with my estate. Things will be solved quic
kly, I’m sure. I requested leave earlier this morning from Serai Yahri, and now I need only your approval.”

  It meant one less snake to deal with in court, but something about the man’s leaving made Desfan’s nerves tighten. “Have you named your temporary replacement?”

  “Ser Anoush will take my seat while I’m gone.”

  Desfan knew the name, but little else about the man. But if Anoush was trusted by Zephan, then Desfan was instantly wary. “I wish you safe travels.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness. I hope the serjan’s health improves over my absence.”

  “As do I.”

  The man dipped his head and retreated into the castle.

  Desfan remained at the wall, now frowning out at the sea.

  That was how Karim found him. “What did Zephan want?” he asked.

  “Do the guards report everything to you?”

  “Yes. But they weren’t close enough to hear what he said.”

  “He asked for temporary leave. Something to do with his estate.”

  Karim grunted. He shifted his weight, turning to face Desfan. “It looks like Fang has vanished. I don’t think he’s foolish enough to actually try to kill you, but I’ve increased the guard on your room and you’re not allowed to go into the city until things have calmed down.”

  Truthfully, things could have been a lot worse. At least Fang had never sent that ransom note to the palace, or he was sure Yahri would be calling for his immediate abdication for recklessly endangering himself.

  Desfan slowly spun the ring his sister had given him, the obsidian band twisting around his finger. “I will try to take fewer risks,” he said. “But I have to meet Zadir tonight.”

  “No,” Karim said smoothly. “If you insist on hiring a pirate to do a kiv’s job, then I will be the one to arrange it. You’ll stay here and keep out of trouble.”

  “That’s not exactly my strong point.”

  He snorted. “I’m well aware.”

  Desfan smiled, but it faded too soon. “I have to meet Zadir.” He raised a hand to stop his friend’s protest. “We both know he won’t talk to you alone. We’ll be cautious. We can even bring some guards most of the way with us.”

  Karim blew out his breath, his shoulders falling. “Fine. But can I at least say that I think this is a mistake?”

  “You certainly can, I just heard you.” Karim’s punch to his shoulder had some strength behind it, and Desfan rocked back with a grin. He leaned against the stone wall that edged the sharp drop-off of the palace wall. The pounding of the waves against the cliffs echoed up from far below, punctuating the short silence. “Do you really think it’s foolish to trust Zadir with this investigation?” he asked quietly.

  Karim didn’t answer right away. The wind ruffled his dark hair and his red uniform tightened across his shoulders as he pulled in a deep breath. “I think he has connections that could get the answers we need. But in the end, he’s a pirate. Easily bought, and invested only in his self-interest. He is not loyal to you.”

  “Unfortunately, he’s not alone in that.” Desfan’s list of friends in the palace was alarmingly short.

  “Anything new on Rahim Nassar?” Karim asked.

  “No.” Desfan had gone to the Nassar warehouse the day after Fang had dropped the merchant’s name, but Rahim’s associates said he was away in Zennor. They assured Desfan the boat in question was not theirs, and that as soon as they could get a message to Rahim, he could attest to that as well.

  Desfan had spent the last couple of days reviewing every report that had ever been submitted about the Nassars, and even though there was no sure evidence of them being smugglers, it did seem to be a part of the family business. Rahim had taken over a few years ago, after his father retired to one of the islands. There was no proof of illegal activity, only strong hints.

  Karim frowned. “I know you want to solve the olcain issue, but you need to be focused on things at the palace as well. The council seems more aggravated with you than ever, and then there’s the Rydenic princes coming for a visit. I have a bad feeling about all of it.”

  “You always manage to cheer me up, Karim.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re a fates-blasted idiot, you know that?”

  Desfan cracked a grin. “How could I forget, with you always reminding me?”

  Syed Zadir sat at a back table of the crowded Four Winds, a mug held loosely in one hand. A couple of crew members sat beside him, their eyes searching the room for any hint of danger.

  Desfan and Karim sat opposite the pirate captain, Desfan flashing a smile. “You came.”

  “So did you.” Zadir thumped his tankard onto the table and glanced around the room. “I don’t even see any soldiers.”

  “Karim and I really don’t need them.”

  The pirate chuckled and scratched his dark, bearded chin. “I must say, I like your arrogance.”

  “That’s not something I hear often.”

  “I can imagine.” Zadir leaned in, elbows braced on the table. “You’ve probably noticed, but Fang fled the city. I suppose it has more to do with the buyer or seller, and less to do with the threat you might pose.”

  “Were you able to confirm that Fang was only storing the olcain for them?”

  “I haven’t found a pretty stack of evidence for you,” the pirate captain drawled. “But I didn’t think that was where I should be spending my time. I’m focused on the truth, and I have interviewed men who swear Fang was just holding the olcain.”

  Fair enough. “Have you learned anything about the buyer or seller?”

  “The seller is Zennorian. Don’t know a name yet. And from what I’ve gathered so far, the buyer is a nobleman living in Duvan.” He cracked a smile. “Maybe being born rich doesn’t pay as well as we all thought.”

  Zadir’s men chuckled.

  Desfan frowned, caught on the fact that a nobleman was involved. That confirmed his rising suspicion that the olcain was being used as a political maneuver—a way to destabilize the city.

  Not good.

  “Has anyone from your sphere fled the city recently?” Zadir asked.

  “Zephan left this morning,” Karim said slowly. “Maybe he wanted to leave before he was discovered—or to avoid the drug war that might break out.”

  “It’s possible.” But Desfan didn’t want to lose sight of other suspects. There were plenty of nobles living in Duvan, and it could be any of them. He glanced up as a serving girl arrived at the table. He ordered a couple of drinks, which were brought quickly. After they were alone again, Desfan leaned closer to Zadir. “Fang mentioned that someone at the palace was offering protection. Any clues about who that might be?”

  “No, but it seems likely someone in a position of power is helping to move the pieces. For all we know, the one offering protection is the buyer as well. I’ll continue to ask around, especially at the harbor. Dockhands and port authorities have a tendency to know things.”

  There was a burst of shouting at a distant table of the crowded tavern, an explosive burst in an already loud environment.

  Karim’s voice was tense when he spoke. “We paid a visit to Nassar’s warehouse, but we didn’t learn much. Do you know him?”

  “Never met him,” Zadir said. “But I’ve heard we have some mutual acquaintances. Didn’t know he smuggled drugs, but I can always ask some questions.”

  “Look into him,” Desfan said at once. “I’ll begin looking into the top suspects at the palace, and I want you to focus on the nobles who live in the city. We’ll focus on the buyer for now, but if you happen to learn who the Zennorian seller is, I’d like to know.”

  Zadir settled back against his chair, his eyes sharp on Desfan’s face. “In my digging, I came across a rumor. Apparently, there is a belief circulating that the serjan’s illness was not an act of the fates.”

  Desfan stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “There are some who believe the serjan was poisoned.”

  “Impossible. It was ill
ness that seized him.” Karim glanced at Desfan, as if for assurance.

  Desfan kept his eyes on Zadir, a pit opening in his gut. “Did the rumor claim anything else? Offer any details?”

  “Not really. The story goes that the serjan was not alone in his office the night he collapsed, and that someone has been working hard to keep that fact hidden.” Zadir’s forehead creased. “Some have said the serjan was killed by your order, actually.”

  The words drove the air from Desfan’s lungs.

  “That’s insane,” Karim snapped.

  Zadir shrugged his broad shoulders. “I didn’t create the story, I only heard it. Thought it might interest you.”

  Desfan grit his teeth. “I didn’t poison my father.”

  “It’s possible he wasn’t poisoned at all,” Zadir pointed out. “But it might not hurt to ask yourself, Serjah . . . Who might have wanted your father off the throne?”

  It was a chilling question, but he would learn the truth. He would question the physician and the guards who had been on duty that night, and servants who might have seen anything. He would pursue every lead.

  Because if his father had been poisoned, the would-be killer would meet the most painful justice Desfan could deliver.

  Chapter 24

  Desfan

  “Poison?” The royal physician’s brows shot up. “I’m sorry, Serjah, but that is simply impossible. The serjan’s collapse, though unfortunate, was completely natural. He had been working too hard for too many years. He did not care for himself as he should, and he hadn’t been sleeping well for months. He carried a great deal of stress, and his body simply gave out. Recovery is unlikely, but his illness is not the result of a poisoning.”

  Desfan stood behind his desk, too agitated to sit. He’d summoned the physician at first light, anxious to question him. He’d barely slept after Zadir had shared the rumor last night.

  Karim stood in the corner, a silent observer as Desfan asked, “Did you check for poisons, though?”

  The man blinked. “Of course. But I found no evidence of anything amiss.”