Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  His gaze was hooded. “I was keeping it safe while the woman cleaned you. It was in the way.”

  She reached out a hand.

  His fingers clenched around the necklace before lowering it onto her palm.

  She fisted the pebble, tension leaving her once she felt it against her skin. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  Tyrell swallowed and straightened in the chair. “There’s still some paint in your hair. The woman who cleaned you said her ministrations seemed to be bothering you, so she stopped. Now that you’re awake, I can fetch her. Or I can do it.”

  The answer on her tongue was No. But if she refused him, a stranger would come and touch her. In her vulnerable, exhausted state, she didn’t like that thought. Besides, rejecting Tyrell’s kindness went against her resolution to treat him better, so she nodded.

  Tyrell rose and rounded the bed, grabbing a basin that was already filled with water. He also snatched up a cloth before moving to sit on the bed beside her. When the mattress shifted and she hissed out a breath, he froze. “Sorry.”

  She shook her head and closed her eyes, trying to focus on keeping her breathing shallow and even.

  His fingers were tentative as they brushed her hairline. She could feel the cuts on her brow and temple—places where the paint jar had sliced her skin. And her curls were stiff with dried paint and blood. That is where Tyrell focused his efforts, taking a length of her hair in hand, and then gently dabbing it with the wet cloth.

  “You saved my life,” she whispered into the quiet. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” Tyrell said, his voice dark.

  She peeked up at him, but his gaze remained wholly focused on his task. “How did you know to come?”

  Tyrell eased back, dipped the rag in the basin, then returned to another lock of hair. His touch was far more careful than she would have ever imagined him capable of. “I paid the night guard weeks ago to fetch me if anything out of the ordinary happened. The moment he saw how drunk that fetid cretin was, he thought I should know. I—” He cut himself off, tendons standing out in his neck. He dipped the rag back in the water, turning it pink. “I didn’t realize he’d stabbed you at first. I didn’t know until you fell . . .” He leaned over her, the wet rag touching her hair again. “I thought you died in my arms. I swear you stopped breathing.”

  Mia forced herself to meet his eyes. Her pulse raced. She was tired and in pain, but she needed to say this. “I’m sorry, Tyrell.”

  His brow furrowed. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “But I do. You bought me those paints. The canvases and brushes. You tried to do something nice for me, and I . . . I’m sorry for the way I reacted. I . . . I was afraid. I didn’t want to go outside.”

  His jaw flexed. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

  “But I want to. Because I appreciate what you did.” She wet her dry lips. “Being afraid doesn’t excuse me for how I treated you. I never should have attacked you like I did, or said the things I did.” Her cheeks reddened. “I shouldn’t have suggested that you loved me. It was insane of me to think that. Please forgive me.”

  Tyrell lowered the rag, his pale fingers clenched tight. “Yesterday . . . I didn’t react well, either. When you said you didn’t love me . . . That hit me hard, because I . . . I have feelings for you, Mia.”

  She stared at him, shock and denial and so many other emotions stabbing her. She didn’t know how to respond. What to say. “I love Grayson,” she finally whispered.

  Tyrell huffed a short, coarse laugh. “Trust me, I know.” He glanced away, the tendons in his neck stretching. “What if you had met me first?” he asked quietly. “What if Grayson had been the one ordered to hurt you that night?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I love him. Speculating about the past won’t change that.”

  His eyes narrowed on the flames dancing in the fireplace. His profile could have been cut from stone. “And if he doesn’t return from Mortise?”

  “He will come back.”

  He turned to her. “But if he doesn’t?”

  She stared back at him. “I would still love him. That will never change. What you want from me . . . It will never happen.”

  Tyrell looked down at the rag in his hand, his shoulders tensed. “He’s been ordered to assassinate the princess of Devendra.”

  She stopped breathing.

  Grayson had killed before. She’d seen his difficulty with it over the years, but the night that he’d saved her from Tyrell, he had broken in her arms because he’d been forced to kill a defenseless man. It had been murder.

  It had been a test.

  If Grayson was forced to kill a young woman . . . it could break him completely.

  Mia swallowed, her heart drumming against her ribs. “He can’t.”

  Tyrell eyed her, his expression hard. “If he doesn’t kill her, you will die.”

  She closed her eyes, her heart aching.

  He wasn’t done. “The princess will be in Duvan to finalize her engagement to the prince of Mortise. Her death will trigger a war between their kingdoms, and then Ryden will strike. My father will control three of the four kingdoms, and one day he will have Zennor, too. Thousands will die.” He paused. “Can you still love Grayson after that?”

  She met his gaze, even though her eyes stung. “You know my answer.”

  He didn’t respond. He finished cleaning her hair the best he could with the basin and rag, and then he dropped them on the bedside table and stood. “I’ll send for Devon. He should look you over, make sure you’re all right.” He moved for the door, and when his fingers grasped the handle, he glanced back at her over his shoulder, his eyes shadowed due to the fire behind him. “You need to know something, Mia. I’ve been raised to fight, and I don’t give up. Not if it’s a fight for something I want.”

  Chapter 49

  Desfan

  Jamal wasn’t talking, but with everything the man had already revealed in the library, the pieces were falling into place. Kiv Arcas—despite his injury—was leading the search of Jamal’s apartment, and he had already dispatched a contingent of guards to seize and search all of Jamal’s properties.

  Karim had finally managed to get Desfan to see a physician about his jaw. Not the royal physician, of course—he was still in a cell, and by the last report, he had confessed all he knew about Yahri’s involvement in Serjan Saernon’s collapse. Which really wasn’t much—just that she had been with the serjan when he’d collapsed. She had asked the physician not to say anything, and since they were friends—and the physician saw no sign of poisoning—he had agreed to keep silent.

  Desfan didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know if Yahri had poisoned his father, but she was clearly hiding something. And he would get answers.

  Yahri was currently locked in a cell, also being tended by a physician. Before they’d left the library, she’d told Desfan where he could find a box hidden in her room, filled with letters from Jamal—all signed with the now-familiar crossed swords—and also letters from others on the council who she knew Jamal had either corrupted, blackmailed, or recruited.

  Five names in all. Seven, including Yahri and Jamal.

  In one night, Desfan had arrested seven members of the council. He didn’t think such a thing had ever happened in Mortisian history.

  Half the night was gone by the time he and Karim left the physician’s tower. They both had bruising and some minor cuts, but Desfan’s jaw was not broken. It could have been much worse.

  Would have been, if not for the Kaelins. Thank the fates they’d been in the library and heard the fight.

  “Do you want to question Yahri tonight?” Karim asked as they descended the spiral staircase.

  Yes.

  No.

  He was mentally and physically done. It was only a few hours until dawn. Karim looked as exhausted as he felt.

  Desfan paused on the stairs, one hand braced against the stone wall. “I trusted Ja
mal.”

  Karim had stopped a step below him, the muted glow of a torch around the curve barely highlighting his face as he peered up at Desfan. “He fooled everyone.”

  “I know. But I feel like I should have guessed.”

  Karim didn’t answer, just watched him. After a moment, he said, “While you were busy arresting half the council, Ori came by.”

  “He did?”

  Karim nodded. “He had an urgent message from Zadir. The pirate thought you would want to know that a Zennorian drug master named Sahvi sold the olcain to Omar Jamal.”

  Desfan stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

  He shook his head. “Ori said Zadir wanted you to know as soon as possible so he didn’t expect payment first. Although the boy made it clear Zadir still expects it.” The corner of Karim’s mouth twitched. “Apparently, the pirate considers you a friend.”

  The ridiculousness of the fact that—even if they hadn’t overheard Jamal’s confession—the truth would have come out tonight, made Desfan huff out a laugh. When he considered that a pirate had been a better friend than a councilman, a deeper laugh followed.

  Karim cracked a grin, chuckling as well.

  After the laughter spluttered out, Desfan shook his head. “The fates have a sense of humor.”

  Karim clapped a hand on Desfan’s shoulder. “Come on. Yahri can wait until morning.”

  “I shouldn’t put this off.”

  “You need sleep. The fates know you’re hard enough to deal with when you’ve had a good night’s rest.”

  Desfan snorted. “I am not.”

  “You’re a monster without sleep,” Karim argued.

  The debate continued as they walked through the sleeping palace, and Desfan was struck with how lucky he was. The fates had stolen so much from him, but they had given him his best friend. And, apparently, he also had a pirate captain, and possibly two Kaelin princes on his side.

  The fates did indeed have a sense of humor.

  Chapter 50

  Grayson

  “I thought you might still be awake.”

  Grayson turned from the window to track Liam as his brother closed the bedroom door and moved toward him. “Counting the stars?” he asked.

  Grayson’s brow furrowed. “Why would I be doing that?”

  Liam stopped beside him at the window, looking out at the full moon that hung above the dark, reflective sea. “It’s a Zennorian legend. Count all the stars in the midnight sky, and whatever you wish for will come true.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  The corner of Liam’s mouth twitched. “Yes, but that doesn’t stop people from counting until their eyes burn.” He eyed the sky, his profile shadowed—hidden but for the silver moonlight brushing his upturned face.

  “Have you counted the stars?” Grayson asked.

  Liam took a slow breath, his eyes fastened on the sky, his voice edged with sadness as he said, “Yes. Many times.”

  There was a lot Grayson didn’t know about his older brother, but he knew Liam had experienced a great loss at their father’s hand. He sensed the loss had broken something inside him, even though it had given him resolve—the final push to seek revenge and tear down the Kaelins once and for all.

  If his loss was akin to losing Mia, then Grayson thought his brother was the strongest man in Eyrinthia.

  And it was time he told Liam the truth.

  He took a breath. “Mother ordered me to kill you.”

  Liam’s eyes remained on the stars, his expression revealing nothing. “Why didn’t you?”

  Not the response he’d expected.

  Grayson frowned. “I didn’t want to.”

  Liam tipped his head. “I appreciate your honesty. Did she say why she wants me dead?”

  “She suspects you’re no longer loyal to Ryden. She wants you eliminated.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less from her. She’s been harder to convince.” He eyed Grayson. “I assume she brandished some lovely threat in order to secure your obedience.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mia?”

  Grayson’s jaw tensed. “No. She doesn’t know about Mia.”

  “Well, that’s a rare blessing. How did she threaten you, then?”

  “There’s a family I helped a few months ago. She found them, and she’ll kill them if you return home.”

  “Oh, I won’t be returning to Ryden,” Liam said. “And soon, she won’t have the ability to hurt anyone ever again.”

  It sounded too good to be true, but Grayson prayed that day would come.

  “You fought well in the library,” Liam said suddenly. “It was quite something to watch.”

  “Your technique could use some work.”

  Liam chuckled. “Perhaps I should ask you for some lessons.” He propped his shoulder against the window frame, his eyes on Grayson. “How are you doing? After learning everything about Mia?”

  His fists tightened at his sides. “I don’t know. I’m angry at Father, and I wish Mia had shared the truth with me. I know she must have been scared, and I know she was conditioned not to even think about it, but . . .”

  “Some things are too painful to talk about,” Liam said. “Too horrible to share. And sometimes we might blame ourselves, or feel shame about what happened. Her not telling you has no bearing on how much she trusts you.”

  “I know. I just . . .” He wanted to be there for her, for everything. Always.

  “You haven’t failed her,” Liam said quietly.

  Grayson’s jaw firmed. His heart ached with missing her. Being apart from her like this was agony.

  Liam seemed to hear his thoughts. “This won’t last forever. You’ll be reunited soon enough.”

  The words Grayson had been thinking since learning the truth about Mia came out low but strong. “I want to kill Father for what he did to her. To her family.”

  “We will kill him,” his brother promised. “After we destroy his ability to be a threat to anyone ever again.”

  He looked to Liam, finally asking the question that made his rebellion real. “What’s your plan?”

  His brother glanced out the window. “It’s simple, really. Father sent us here to spark a war, and that’s exactly what we’ll do.” Liam met Grayson’s gaze, his eyes gleaming with a focused light. “But it will not be the war he asked for.”

  Chapter 51

  Clare

  “We will not return to Iden.” Serene looked every bit the ruler standing in the common room of the inn as she addressed them. Darkness had fallen outside, and the lamps that glowed on the nearby table highlighted the determined tilt of her chin. Her shoulders were back, eyes uncompromising as she stared down Commander Markam.

  The older man’s mouth tightened. “With all due respect, there is no point continuing. Mortise has betrayed us.”

  “No.” Serene shook her head. “Some Mortisians betrayed us, along with a group of Devendran rebels.”

  “Yes. The rebels.” Commander Markam’s eyes shot to Clare, who stood in the shadowed corner of the room, Vera’s arm wrapped around her.

  Venn was on her other side, his arms crossed over his chest. The scratches on his cheek were vivid, but he had barely left Clare’s side in the aftermath of the attack. Even now, his body stiffened, and he glared at the commander. “What are you trying to say?”

  Commander Markam’s eyebrows pulled together, his gaze still focused on Clare. “Somehow, Miss Ellington, it was never reported that your brother was a rebel. And from what I’ve gathered today, you’ve known since the Paltrow’s ball.”

  Clare flinched under his condemning words, and Vera’s arm tightened around her.

  Venn took a step forward, but it was Bennick who grabbed the commander’s arm. His voice was low, his eyes dark. “How dare you accuse her of anything?”

  The commander ground his teeth. “I’m merely stating fact. Her brother’s involvement with the rebels should have been reported to the king immediately. Keeping
that secret was treasonous.”

  “You dare lecture me about secrets?” Bennick growled. “You’re a fates-blasted coward.”

  “And you’re blind when it comes to the decoy,” his father snapped. “After what happened today, how can you—?”

  “Enough,” Serene cut in, giving the commander a hard look. A look she then turned on Bennick.

  Slowly, finger by finger, Bennick released his father’s arm. But his fury was still evident as he shifted back a step.

  Serene straightened. “We have interrogated Ser Zephan, and all the other survivors, and I think it is clear that what happened this morning was not sanctioned by Desfan.” She turned to Serai Nadir, who had been a silent observer thus far. “I would like to know your thoughts on what happened today, and how it reflects on Mortise as a whole.”

  The Mortisian noblewoman still looked a little disheveled after the attack; she had thrown four knives, killing two enemy Mortisians in defense of Imara. But her expression was fierce as she said, “I know the serjah would never have sent Zephan to do this.”

  Serene nodded and glanced at Bennick. “What do you think?”

  His shoulders were hard with tension, but Clare thought that had more to do with his proximity to the commander than Serene’s question. “I don’t see this as an act of war on Desfan’s part. I believe if we blame him and Mortise at large for the actions of a few evil men, that could be the act that destroys the peace.”

  Serene tipped her head. “I agree. Zephan’s design was to ruin the peace, and I will not let him succeed.”

  “I still don’t think it’s advisable to continue to Duvan,” Commander Markam said.

  “Your opinion has been noted.” Serene turned to Tamar Nadir. “Will you still house us?”

  “Yes, of course.” She frowned. “What of Zephan?”

  Clare had wondered if Serene would tell everyone that Zephan had orchestrated the attack in Halbrook as well, but she hadn’t. She was clearly protecting James and her rebel network.