Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  He turned at her shout and his eyes narrowed.

  The bolt released with a twang and Clare pressed against the wall. Wilf also threw his body to the side, his shoulder crashing into the alley wall. The bolt sped past him and lodged into the other mercenary’s chest with a solid thunk.

  Wilf dove for the newest attacker, who panicked at the sight of the giant man charging toward him. There was no time to reload his crossbow, so he hurled the empty thing at Wilf’s face.

  Wilf jerked his head to the side and the thrown weapon only bumped against his shoulder. The man drew his sword, gulping as he backtracked.

  Their swords clanged together, and then the mercenary screamed.

  Clare whirled away from the violence, bile stinging her throat, her heart thundering in her chest.

  Facing the mouth of the alley, she gasped as she saw the man who had been accidentally shot by the other mercenary. He had a crossbow bolt in his chest, blood running down his shirt, but he was still standing. He struggled for every breath, but he was alive. His eyes latched onto Wilf’s back and he took a step forward, a dagger in his hand, prepared to throw it. He didn’t even glance at her, he was so focused on Wilf.

  Clare lunged for him, slamming her arm down on his extended wrist, flinching at the pain that ricocheted up her arm. But the move Bennick had taught her worked. The dagger fell and the man bared his teeth at her in a terrible snarl.

  She kicked him between the legs, and he crumpled.

  She stared at his fallen body, her own trembling with adrenaline.

  The man was no longer moving.

  “That was ruthless,” Wilf grunted.

  Clare spun, catching something like approval on his face. “Did I—?” She couldn’t continue. Had her kick somehow killed him?

  Wilf stepped forward, flexing his grip on his sword. “You sent him to the fates with quite a story, but no. Your kick didn’t end him. His friend did that.” He nudged the man’s shoulder with his boot, then his gaze flashed to her face. “You defended my back.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Of course I did.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Well, my little defender—how are you at tugging out crossbow bolts?” Her face must have blanched, because he waved a hand. “Never mind. But I may need to lean on you a little as we make our way back to the inn.”

  He swayed on his feet and she rushed under his uninjured arm, spreading her feet as she braced to take his weight.

  “Perhaps this is not the best idea,” he muttered. “I’ll crush you.”

  “I can steady you. Just don’t lose consciousness.”

  He huffed and took a step back, slouching one shoulder against the wall. “Will you clean my sword and sheath it for me? I believe we are out of immediate danger.”

  Clare took his sword, grunting as she hefted it.

  “Don’t let it fall to the ground,” he said.

  She managed to keep the longsword from falling, but her arms strained as the tip dipped. “Fates only know how you manage to fight with this,” she grunted.

  Wilf rubbed a hand over his eyes, his low voice rough and worn. “Use the back of the man’s shirt to clean the blade.”

  Stomach rioting, she did as instructed. When the blade was clean, she helped return it to the sheath at his side. The weight, oddly enough, seemed to balance him. He stood a bit straighter. “We’ll stick to the alleys. If I begin to fall, don’t attempt to catch me.”

  She agreed with a nod, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He staggered a little, but once they started moving, he was able to fall into regular steps beside her. Their progress was slow, and they hesitated at every street opening, scanning carefully for more enemies. But where once the streets had been nearly impassable due to the crowds, now there were only a few scattered people darting for safety.

  They didn’t see anyone with a weapon, but Clare didn’t relax.

  A good quarter hour later, they finally meandered their way back to the inn. Clare first recognized the hulking building purely because Bennick stood with Venn just outside the door, speaking rapidly to each other.

  Venn spotted them first and pointed. Bennick spun to face them, his shoulders visibly lowering even though his blue eyes flashed with intensity. They rushed across the street and Bennick grabbed Clare’s arm, quickly taking her place beneath Wilf’s sagging body.

  “What happened?” he asked, voice clipped.

  Venn was on Wilf’s other side and he peeked at the man’s back. He whistled lowly. “Aren’t you supposed to dodge those? I thought you told me that.”

  Wilf glowered.

  Clare looked to Bennick. “Is Serene safe? Imara and Grandeur?”

  “Everyone is fine.” His jaw tightened, his gaze digging into hers. “Are you?”

  “Wilf protected me.”

  The large warrior snorted. “You trained her well, Bennick. She saved my life.”

  Venn’s mouth actually dangled open. “She what?”

  “It’s true,” Wilf said. “And she kicked the dying man’s vitals for good measure.”

  Venn winced, but Bennick’s mouth curved up.

  Clare blushed. “I was only trying to stop him.”

  “Oh, you stopped him,” Wilf said with a grunt. “If he hadn’t died, he’d have been unable to walk for a week.”

  “Fates,” Venn said, eyeing her with something like caution.

  They had started back toward the inn, crossing the now empty street. “How long have you been back?” she asked Bennick.

  “Not long.”

  From Wilf’s other side, Venn spoke. “Bennick was already preparing to tear the city apart looking for you, though.”

  She fingered her throbbing side and sent Bennick a small smile. “Thank you. Did Vera find a physician?”

  Bennick frowned. “Why did she go for a physician?”

  “A man showed up at the inn,” Wilf said, beads of sweat gathering on his brow. “He would only talk to Clare. He’s the one who told us about the mercenaries.”

  Bennick shot Clare a look. “Who was it?”

  “An old friend. His name is James.” An uneasy prickle rippled at the back of her neck. “He isn’t inside? We left him in the common room with Ivonne.”

  “No, the common room was empty.”

  Concern tightened her lungs. “Vera should have been back by now.”

  “Did she take a soldier with her?” Venn demanded.

  “Yes. Which left two here with Ivonne and James.”

  “The room was empty,” Bennick repeated.

  They entered the inn. Serene, Imara, and Grandeur were in the common room, along with Dirk, Cardon, and a handful of soldiers. But James, Ivonne, and Vera were nowhere to be seen.

  “Thank the fates you’re all right!” Imara rushed to Clare and took her arm. Her eyes scanned Wilf, who Bennick and Venn assisted into a wooden chair. The Zennorian princess’s eyes widened. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” Wilf grunted.

  Serene stepped around Wilf to see for herself, and her eyes narrowed on the bolts. “We need a physician.”

  “I’ll go,” Venn said at once. “And I’ll find Vera.”

  Serene stilled. “Vera’s missing?”

  He grit his teeth. “Apparently several people are.”

  “There’s no need to panic yet,” Bennick said. “They may have moved James upstairs.”

  Serene jerked, her eyes flashing to Clare.

  Grandeur’s dark brows drew together. “Who is James?”

  “A friend of mine,” Clare said quickly. “He learned about the attack and came to warn us. He was wounded.”

  Serene darted a look at Clare. “Was he badly wounded?”

  “A shoulder wound. I think he’ll be fine.”

  Some of the tension bracketing Serene’s mouth released. “Good. That’s good. I should like to thank your friend for taking such a risk to alert us.”

  “I’d like to thank James, too,” Bennick said. His eyes were on Clare,
and it was clear there would be questions involved—like how James knew about the mercenaries, and how he knew to find Clare and alert her.

  It was also obvious in the look Serene gave Clare that they would talk more later, in private.

  Venn turned for the door, but it burst open before he could take a step, and Vera darted into the common room, breathing hard, her face flushed.

  Though Venn had been one of the farthest away, he managed to reach her first. His dark fingers curled around her upper arms, his eyes dragging over her. “Are you all right?”

  She blinked up at him, her chest still rising and falling quickly. “Yes. Fine. Why? What’s wrong?”

  Venn’s shoulders remained tense. “Fates blast it, you were missing!”

  She eyed the others in the room, who had gathered around them. “Oh. Sorry. It took longer than expected to find a physician, and then the streets were pure chaos.”

  Clare looked past Vera and saw a young man clutching a small bag. His throat was bobbing as he swallowed convulsively, clearly winded from their run. Behind him, two soldiers lurked.

  “You’re a physician?” Bennick asked the young man.

  He bobbed his head. “Yes. Well, apprentice actually. Nearly finished with that.”

  Wilf grunted. “Can’t even get me a proper physician?”

  The apprentice glanced at Wilf and paled when he realized he was looking at his patient. A very large, very irritated patient.

  Vera flushed at Wilf’s roughly spoken reprimand and Venn scowled at Wilf. “Don’t be such a child, Wilf.”

  “Me, a child? You fainted with only one bolt in you.”

  Venn glanced at the apprentice. “Good luck.”

  Serene stepped forward. “Tend my bodyguard while we find your other patient. Come upstairs as soon as you’re able.”

  The young man gave a jerky bow, then moved toward the glaring giant with only slight hesitation. Clare thought he should get credit for that.

  Serene looked to Clare. “Let’s check on your friend.” Her need to see James for herself was clear, so Clare nodded and led the way to the stairs. She knew Serene, Bennick, Imara, Cardon, Venn, and Vera followed, leaving Dirk and a handful of soldiers with Wilf.

  As Clare reached the top of the stairs, unease prickled the back of her neck. The narrow hall of the inn was quiet, as were the rooms behind the closed doors. She thought Ivonne might have had the soldiers carry James into the room she shared with Vera and Clare, as it was the first in the hall.

  Clare halted in front of the door. “James?” she called out.

  Silence.

  A chill skated down her spine. She reached for the handle, but Bennick’s hand moved past hers, grasping the knob before she could.

  “Let me go first,” he whispered, sliding his body in front of hers. A quick glance showed that Venn and Cardon had both drawn their daggers.

  Clare’s heartbeat spiked as she eased back a step.

  Bennick pushed the door open, and Clare couldn’t help but watch as the portal swung, slowly revealing the room.

  Ivonne lay on Clare’s bed, nearest to the door. Her blond hair was combed out around her, drifting over the pillow in gentle waves. The hilt of a dagger stood out above her heart, blood staining her maid’s dress.

  Her chest did not rise and fall with breath, and a red rose sat in her open mouth. The red petals made it look as if her mouth was gaped in a terrible, silent scream.

  Behind Clare, Vera shrieked, the sound raw and terrible.

  Chapter 34

  Clare

  Clare quietly draped a blanket over Vera, where she lay curled on the bed. The girl had finally succumbed to sleep after hours of tears and unanswerable questions. Her older sister was dead. The last of her family—gone. Murdered.

  Clare could not imagine the agony Vera must be clawing through right now. Her own eyes were swollen, her throat aching from swallowing back her rioting emotions.

  Ivonne had been killed by the Rose, her body left as a taunt. The two soldiers who had been left to guard her were also dead, their bodies dumped behind the inn. Both had been stabbed through the heart and left with a crimson rose petal on their tongues.

  There had been no sign of James.

  Clare’s shoulders were heavy as she glanced at the empty bed in the cramped room, but she knew she couldn’t sleep. Even though Venn and Bennick had given up their room so Vera wouldn’t have to sleep in the room where Ivonne had died, the shadows seemed ominous. Clare was exhausted, emotionally and physically spent, but her skin itched with echoes of terror.

  She cast a last look at Vera before she slipped from the room.

  Venn straightened from his position beside the door, his eyes darting past Clare, seeking a glimpse of Vera. “Does she need anything?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  Clare shook her head, tugging the door until there was a soft click. “No, she’s sleeping.”

  She clutched the ends of her shawl, cinching it tighter around her shoulders. “Is everyone else settled for the night?”

  Venn’s throat bobbed. “Mostly, though I doubt many are sleeping. Bennick is downstairs. He’s been there for hours.” For once, Venn’s long black hair was unbound, the dark locks falling past his shoulders. He shoved a hand through the mass now, his fingers tangling against his scalp. His eyes were lost. “What can I do?”

  She set a hand on his arm, which flexed under her touch. “Just be there for her. And allow her time to mourn.” After losing her parents, Clare had learned that the pain of losing the ones you loved never really went away. But as time passed, the moments where you felt the agony of their loss came further and further apart, allowing life and happiness back into the moments between the bouts of grief.

  But right now, in the shock of such a violent, horrific death, the thought of feeling anything but pain was almost impossible to comprehend.

  Venn drew in a shuddering breath, his eyes trained on the closed door that blocked his view of Vera. “I love her,” he whispered. “I haven’t said it to her, but I love her. I hate that she’s in so much pain.”

  “I know.” Clare’s lungs tightened as she scanned his haggard face. “You need sleep, Venn.”

  “Dirk will relieve me in a couple of hours.” His tone was dismissive, but his eyes finally focused on her. “You need sleep, too.”

  “I want to check on Bennick first.” She squeezed Venn’s hand, then slipped away, drifting toward the stairs. A shiver wracked her body as she passed the room Ivonne had been murdered in, but she didn’t let her steps drag. She also didn’t let herself run, even though a horrible prickling started between her shoulder blades as she descended the stairs.

  The common room was deserted except for Bennick, though Clare knew guards were stationed outside every door. Bennick sat at one of the many tables, the glow of a lantern burning through the darkness of the wide room. The golden flame traced the angles of his face, highlighting the hard cut of his jaw, the sharpness of his bristled chin. His brow was furrowed as he bent over the table, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other fisted on the table. He was staring at the square of paper that in turn stared up at him.

  Clare knew what it said. The message had been burned into her mind after one glimpse of it, lying on the bed beside Ivonne’s body.

  You have not fooled me, Markam. I know of the decoy.

  I came for her today, but caught another.

  The message is the same: I can kill a pretender as easily as I can kill a princess.

  You will find my next rose with Clare, then I will kill Serene.

  The floor creaked beneath Clare’s step and Bennick’s head jerked up, both hands landing on the table.

  She winced. “Sorry.”

  His stiff shoulders loosened as he exhaled. “No, I’m sorry. I . . .” His voice trailed off, his eyes skirting back to the Rose’s message. He flipped the paper over, hiding the inked words as she took a seat beside him.

  His hand remained flattened on the
overturned page. “How is Vera?”

  “Asleep.” Clare laid her hand over his on the table, gently squeezing his fingers. “You look exhausted.”

  He looked to her, his gaze intent as their eyes met. Held. “Nothing will happen to you, Clare. He will never touch you.”

  There was a warm shiver in her stomach, a reaction to his fervent vow. She tightened her hold on his hand. “I know,” she whispered, knowing it was what he needed to hear. And maybe she needed to hear it, too—speak the words and assure herself that she would survive this. That she would see her brothers again.

  Bennick’s hand shifted, and suddenly he was holding her hand, their fingers interlocked against the table. Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. They were together, and there was peace in that, even though Ivonne’s death and the uncertainty of the future crept in the shadows around them.

  Clare was the one to break the quiet, her words soft. “He learned about the decoy. How?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible he’s somehow affiliated with the rebels, or has a contact.”

  She grimaced, because that meant her brother had betrayed her fully.

  Bennick glanced at her. “It’s also possible the Rose managed to get close to us and overheard something. But I don’t think he knew from the beginning. There is a change in tone between this note and the others he’s left. We fooled him in the beginning, and he didn’t like that.”

  “How did he know I would be here, and Serene would be at the dedication? Maybe he lied in his note and he really did come here for Serene, but then he overheard something and figured out the truth.” That thought terrified her. That the Rose might have been near while she was in her room, writing to her brothers.

  Bennick’s brow furrowed. “It’s possible. If he came here for Serene, he might have questioned Ivonne, and she told him about you.”

  She shuddered, even though she knew Ivonne’s body had not borne signs of abuse, other than the wound that had killed her. But the emotional torture of her final moments . . . that was something Clare knew would haunt her forever.