Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  They reached the theater, and Grayson was surprised to see how many people flocked to a midday performance. It seemed a waste of time and coin. He followed Liam, shouldering past the crowds as they made their way through the vaulted anteroom and to the actual performance hall. They had been given leave to use the private box that sat beside the royal Cassian box. It was empty, of course, as Desfan was not in attendance.

  Liam instructed the Rydenic guards to remain in the hall, and then Grayson followed his brother through the dark curtain and into the box. There were several cushioned chairs, their arms and legs heavily carved with intricate designs. Yet another bit of excess that would irritate the Poison Queen.

  Liam sprawled into a chair, his eyes on the empty stage.

  Grayson frowned as he lowered himself into a chair as well, his gaze sweeping the other boxes, the floor below them. The chatter of the crowd as they meandered toward their seats was increasing steadily, and it seemed everyone was taking a moment to steal looks up at them.

  “Relax,” Liam drawled.

  Grayson shot him a look. “Everyone is staring.”

  “Let them. It will only help confirm that we were here—even after we sneak out. I’ve ordered the guards to let no one in, and two of them will take our chairs, just so their shadows will be seen. We’ll be back before intermission. Hopefully.”

  “And if we’re not?”

  He shrugged. “The guards will improvise.”

  Grayson’s mouth tightened. “These people we’re going to see . . . are they your contacts who might know about Mia’s past?”

  “No. But I’ve already been asking some discreet questions among my contacts.” He glanced at Grayson. “Gathering information can be time consuming, but I will find the truth.”

  Below them, a cluster of young women had spotted them. They huddled together, giggling and blushing as they pointed and stared.

  Grayson’s own cheeks heated and he forced his gaze away, watching as the rest of the audience filed in and found their seats. He bristled under the many stares that found him, unable to relax as Liam clearly had. His brother reclined in his chair, legs stretched out, shoulders settled back against the cushion. His eyes hovered somewhere above the empty stage, his fingers lazily twisting his leather wristband. It was an unconscious gesture, something he did frequently; not a nervous tic, since he never seemed agitated when he played with it. If anything, it seemed to soothe him. Center him. Grayson had first noticed the bracelet about two years ago, and he had never seen Liam without it. Curiosity rose, but Grayson didn’t ask for the story; he doubted it was something his private brother would want to discuss.

  Finally, the lights dimmed and music swept over the room, the majestic strain announcing the beginning of the play. When Liam stood, Grayson followed, and two Rydenic guards wordlessly took their places.

  No one followed them as the brothers slid down the empty hall and out a side door that led into an alley.

  “Someday I’ll actually take you to a play,” Liam said, leading the way back into the crowded streets. “You might like it.”

  “Sitting in the dark with a room full of strangers doesn’t sound like something I’d enjoy.”

  “Well, when you put it like that . . .” Liam chuckled. He guided them through the street with ease, matching the fast pace of the city and dodging the carts and animals like he’d walked these streets a hundred times.

  Perhaps he had.

  Grayson felt clumsy in comparison, but he was grateful he’d at least listened to Liam when he’d insisted Grayson wear a white shirt. He fit in much better, as no one else seemed to wear black here.

  “Have you thought about my offer?” Liam asked. Grayson glanced around them, but his brother chuckled. “Trust me, no one is paying attention. They couldn’t hear us anyway.”

  That was probably true. They were in the market district now, and people were shouting their wares and haggling loudly on all sides.

  He still lowered his voice. “Can you really get Mia out?”

  “Yes.” Liam’s confidence was clear.

  He swallowed. “I’m . . . interested in learning more.”

  “Interested, hmm? Not actually committed yet?” Liam lifted a hand. “No need to answer that. I understand your hesitation. I could be trying to trick you, or my plan could be impossible.” He shrugged. “You’ll just have to trust me, as I am trusting you.”

  Grayson didn’t like it. At all. But he would do anything for Mia, and Liam . . . well, he actually liked his brother. He didn’t want to kill him. He also didn’t want to be his father’s assassin for the rest of his life. Trusting Liam seemed to be the best way forward—even if he had a hard time taking that risk.

  They exited the market and entered the warehouse district. They were getting closer to the docks.

  Grayson eyed the thinning crowds. “Who are these friends of yours?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure who we’ll find.” With that cryptic response, Liam strode for a whitewashed building and pushed through the vibrant blue door without knocking. Grayson followed, trailing his brother through a small room to a desk where a man sat, tallying numbers in a ledger.

  The Mortisian looked up after a slight hesitation, still scrawling something on the page as he focused on them. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Liam flashed one of his charming smiles. “No, but is Rahim Nassar in?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. You can try back tomorrow.”

  Liam laid a palm on the desk. “I’d really like to speak to someone in charge today, if at all possible. Perhaps his second?”

  The man glanced back at his number sheet, clearly annoyed with the interruption. “I’m afraid his second isn’t available, either.”

  “What is his name, might I ask?”

  “Neev Sal.”

  The corner of Liam’s mouth tightened. “I see. Is he here today?”

  “As I said, he is busy.”

  “Tell him Azul is here. He’ll ask to see me.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “He can get quite irritated with interruptions. Are you sure you want me to ask?”

  “Quite sure, yes.”

  The man grumbled but stood and made his way to a door on the left side of the room. He disappeared, but the door had barely closed before it was swinging open again. The man blinked as he faced them. “Please do come in.”

  “Thank you.” Liam brushed past him and Grayson followed, entering an office crammed with shelves laden with books, ledgers, and fine items that clearly came from all around the world. Grayson’s eyes moved quickly past the corners of the room to settle on the man seated behind the desk.

  He was large, impressively so, with brown skin and slight wrinkles around his eyes. There were throwing daggers on his belt, the handles worn from repeated use. As he came to his feet, the fighter in Grayson reacted, his spine stiffening and his hands drifting to his own belt.

  But while Grayson tensed, the man seemed to dismiss Grayson almost entirely, his focus completely on Liam. There was recognition on his face, but also shock.

  Liam’s face was blank, revealing nothing.

  “Shall I bring tea?” the man still standing at the door asked.

  “No,” Neev said, his voice deep and chilling, his Mortisian accent thick. “Find Zeph and tell him to come here immediately. And no other interruptions are to be allowed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Curiosity etched the man’s face as he closed the door.

  There was a beat of silence, then Liam spoke lowly, his tone dangerous. “What by all the blasted fates are you doing here?”

  Neev’s jaw worked, his fists pressing into the desk he still stood behind. “You should know the answer to that.”

  Every muscle in Grayson’s body was ready to attack once the large man made his move, and he cursed his brother for not warning him of exactly what they might face.

  Then everything in the room shifted when Liam leaped for the man and embraced him. Hard.

 
Neev’s arms crushed Liam, but not in violence. It actually looked like there were tears in the man’s eyes.

  Confusion swamped Grayson as Liam finally pulled back, still gripping the man’s thick forearms. “Fates rot you, you fool. And if Akiva is Zeph, I’m going to murder you both.”

  Neev grinned. “You might try.”

  Liam shook his head, emotion shining in his eyes as he glanced at Grayson. “You won’t need to draw a blade here. This idiot is a friend. He’s going by the name Neev, but his real name is Kazim.”

  “And you’re using the name Azul, I see.” Neev—or Kazim—grunted. “That name got us into trouble.”

  “So did Neev.”

  Kazim flashed a grin. “So it did.”

  The corner of Liam’s mouth twitched. “Use Azul if you must speak to your associates about me, but I am in Duvan officially as Liam.”

  Kazim turned to Grayson. “And you’re his bodyguard?”

  “Yes,” Liam answered for him. He didn’t add that Grayson was also his brother.

  The man extended a hand to Grayson, which he slowly took. “You have my sympathies,” Kazim said. “I was once Liam’s bodyguard, and it is no easy thing. Fool takes more risks with his life than any sane man would dare.”

  Liam rolled his eyes.

  Kazim cocked his head as he studied Grayson. “You seem young.”

  “He’s not untried,” Liam said, a small smile twisting his lips. “You would lose against him, Kazim.”

  The large man lifted a thick eyebrow. “Really?”

  Liam nodded.

  The man grunted. “I’ll take your word for it.” He nodded to Grayson. “What is your name?”

  “Saimon,” Liam said.

  Kazim frowned. “Do you ever let him talk?”

  “Saimon prefers to keep his silence.” Liam crossed his arms over his chest, his dark brows lowering as he studied Kazim. “I left you in Zennor with clear instructions.”

  “You did,” the older man allowed. “But someone used one of Rahim’s ships to transport olcain into Duvan, and we decided to investigate.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  Kazim’s mouth thinned. “Sahvi.”

  Every part of Liam froze. “Impossible. He died two years ago.”

  “That’s what we thought. But he’s alive.”

  Liam’s eyes darkened, his jaw hardening. “I watched him die.”

  “Well, you must have blinked and missed his final breath. He’s been keeping to the shadows, not that I blame him. You caused him a lot of trouble, and he made some powerful enemies. But he’s inserted himself back into the drug trade. Akiva and I figured you would want to know everything he’s doing, considering who his business partners are. When we heard Liam Kaelin and the Black Hand were coming to Duvan, we knew we’d see you. I just didn’t think you’d pay us a visit so soon.”

  “I didn’t know you were here. If I had, I would have come sooner.”

  The door banged open and Grayson spun.

  A young man who looked to be Grayson’s age kicked the door closed behind him, took one look at Liam, and then threw himself at Grayson’s brother.

  Liam caught him in a tight embrace, and Grayson could see the young man’s scarred hands clutching at the folds of Liam’s shirt. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, simply gripped each other in a fierce embrace. When Liam did speak, his voice was thick. “You shouldn’t have left Zennor.”

  “And you shouldn’t have left us there,” the young man retorted.

  Liam pulled back to make introductions. “Akiva, this is my bodyguard, Saimon.”

  Akiva barely spared Grayson a glance; his focus was on Liam. “Did Kazim tell you about Sahvi? We think he must be working to hurt Mortise with the olcain. What’s your plan—?”

  “Slow down, boy.” Kazim clapped a hand on Akiva’s shoulder and looked to Liam. “But what is your plan?”

  “There isn’t time to go into that now,” Liam said. “Have you found evidence to link the olcain to Sahvi?”

  “Not yet. But we will.” Akiva nodded to Kazim. “We’re getting closer, and we’re not the only ones. Rumors say the pirate Syed Zadir is also looking into the olcain, and Kazim swears he saw the serjah himself at The Red Cobra, confronting the drug master Fang for answers.”

  “Interesting,” Liam murmured. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given Desfan’s past. He would feel more suited to hunting criminals than ruling from his throne. Still. It’s a wonder his council lets him do it.”

  “Maybe they don’t know,” Akiva said.

  “It’s hard to keep secrets when you’re living in a palace with hundreds of people.” Liam frowned. “If this is Sahvi, we need to incriminate him. There’s too much at stake if we don’t.”

  “We’ll find the evidence,” Kazim promised.

  “Do you have any other news from Zennor?” Liam asked.

  “Unrest between the monarchy and the clans is building,” Kazim said. “Skyer’s betrothal to Princess Imara is being touted as the way to peace, but we all know he can’t be trusted. And the princess isn’t even there right now.”

  “Yes, I heard,” Liam mused. “Her father sent her to travel with Princess Serene.”

  “If the rumors are true, he didn’t actually send her,” Akiva chimed in.

  Liam snorted. “I’d heard the princess had a talent for forgery. I assume she sent the letter to Desfan in Zaire’s name, confident her father won’t publicly denounce her. It would create a scandal.” His jaw firmed. “Is Skyer still in Zennor?”

  “Yes,” Kazim said, and there was a hard edge in his voice. “He’s in Kedaah, speaking for the clans in Buhari’s court.”

  “Good. Keep an ear out, in case he moves. I need to know where he is. Always.” The thread of steel in his voice was unmistakable: hatred.

  Grayson had felt like a spectator through this whole exchange, an observer who had come in halfway through a game and didn’t understand the plays that had already been made—or even the end goal.

  Akiva pushed a scarred hand into his dark hair. “Don’t worry. We have someone watching Skyer at all times. He won’t go anywhere without being tracked.”

  “Good.” Liam blew out his breath. “You really should have listened to me. Things will get messy.”

  Akiva shook his head. “No. Your fight is ours. We’re going to destroy Henri Kaelin for what he did. We’ll destroy them all.”

  Kazim nodded, his eyes burning with fierce agreement.

  Liam glanced at Grayson, as if finally remembering his presence. “We should go.” He turned back to the others. “I’ll return when I can. Where are you staying?”

  “Just here, in the warehouse,” Kazim said. “But what would you like us to do?”

  “Find out everything you can about Sahvi and the olcain,” Liam said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  As they left the warehouse and re-entered the sunny street, Grayson glanced over at his uncharacteristically quiet brother. “They weren’t just informants,” he said slowly. “They’re your friends.”

  “No,” Liam said, squinting up at the bright blue sky. “They’re family.”

  Grayson wasn’t sure why that answer made him feel a little hollow. He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell them who I am? They know who you are.”

  “True. But they don’t need to know who you are. At least not yet.” He glanced over at him. “There are few people I truly care about. Pose a threat to them in any way, and I will be forced to defend them.”

  Grayson met the edge of threat in Liam’s eyes. “They have nothing to fear from me, as long as they don’t threaten Mia.” Unlike his brother, Grayson had only one person he truly cared about.

  Because clearly, Grayson had not made Liam’s list of family. The distinction shouldn’t bother him, because he understood it. They may be developing a tenuous trust, but they each had other priorities. People who were more valued. More important.

  And Grayson wasn’t wounded by that.<
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  Not at all.

  He glanced at his brother. “Who is Skyer?” And why do you hate him?

  He couldn’t quite voice the last part. It seemed too personal a question, after the line that had just been drawn between them.

  Liam’s eyes remained focused on the street ahead of them, his jaw clenched. “He’s a walking corpse.”

  His brother said nothing more, and Grayson didn’t, either. But as they walked back to the theater, he realized he’d forgotten something vital in these past weeks with Liam.

  His brother was a Kaelin, too. Ruthless. Secretive. Dangerous.

  He would do well not to forget again.

  Chapter 37

  Clare

  The moment Clare stepped out of the carriage she was greeted by Lord Francin, who was hosting them for their one-night stay on the outskirts of Wexon.

  The old lord stood in the courtyard with his mansion towering behind him. Trees from the surrounding forests bled onto the grounds, creating a natural, wild beauty. The afternoon sun turned the leafy treetops a vivid green while casting deep shadows underneath. The encroaching forest was oddly comforting—as was the sight of Lord Francin. He was thin and bald, a little bent with age, and he relied heavily on his cane. Unlike most of the lords and ladies they had stayed with on the tour, this man seemed purely genuine as his watery green eyes found hers. “Princess, it is an honor.” He straightened from a short bow, and quirked a bushy eyebrow. “Now, I’m not much on fuss and fanciful things, so that’s about all you’ll get from me.”

  Though exhaustion pulled at every aching muscle in Clare’s body, his words made her smile. “Quite frankly, I appreciate that.”

  “Good. We’ll get along splendidly.” He tightened his grip on his cane, his eyes darting to Imara, who had just descended from the carriage. “I’m pleased to have you here as well, Princess Imara. If half the rumors are true, I think we’ll get along as well.” He winked.

  Imara grinned. “I think you’re right, Lord Francin.”

  “Thank you for being so accommodating,” Clare said. “I’m sorry we’re so delayed, and that our stay had to be shortened.”