by Shea Godfrey
Jacob looked as if he would speak but he did not.
“We must stop being careless. Our power has been parceled off through the years to enrich our family in one way or another. Families join the council, and the court grows deep with second and third sons who want only the power and gold that their brothers have, and so they would treat others unfairly, or unwisely, or they do not care at all but for the heaviness of their purse. Families unite for power and not for love, and so hearts have grown ruthless and cold. And so it is the way of things, that fateful decisions are made that we know nothing about, and our people suffer because we’ve lost sight of the threads within our own tapestry. We are of the privileged few, Jacob, and we’re at the top of the hill at that.
“But who has a care for this Eleni, but a maidservant to Melora Salish? Melora, who has participated in Malcolm’s own treason, and Gamar only knows what other crimes. Perhaps Eleni would find the escape that you’ve prepared for her, though most likely, if caught, her throat would be slit without a thought and, because she is Romynus, her body tossed from the wharf in the dead of night with no one to care or to know. The sins visited upon her people have been great indeed, Jacob, and our own kind have turned a blind eye for generations. Or worse yet, we have shown a callous, bored indifference to their plight. Who is it that waits at home for their beloved Eleni to return from the drudgery of being at Melora’s beck and call?”
Emmalyn waited.
“I don’t know,” Jacob answered softly.
“And though I understand I cannot account for, nor provide for, every broken heart and sadness, or every dishonor that is done in the world, I will always remember the twenty-one days and half a night again, I thought our sister was dead, slain by the brother who would be my king. The brother who once danced with me on my sixteenth naming day and told me how dear I was to him. How precious I was to him.
“That man is dead. And in his place is a man who would murder his own family, and force Jessa to bear him a child against her will, so he might lay claim to the throne of a rival country. And he would be forcing her, do you understand that, Jacob?”
“Yes.”
“Do you? For despite Jessa’s power, we have already seen the deadly toll that love might take if leveraged against another. And so I believe the same fate that Darry and Jessa saved me from, at the hands of the Sahwello who was pushing between my legs, even as I screamed against it—I believe that is the fate that awaits Jessa, if Malcolm has his way. And so I ask you again, do you understand?”
Jacob’s face had turned red but his eyes were steady. “I understand.”
“These are hard truths, Jacob, and I don’t know how they came to be. I don’t know when it was that our brother took that first step down the same sinister road King Bharjah once chose, but take that step he did, and I will not have him drag us down such a dark path without a fight. Everything he has said and done since that moment is suspect. Everything.
“And if I must wrest the crown of Arravan from his very hands, I will do so. But I will not do it at so steep a price as your soul, my sweet brother.” She looked past him and Nina’s eyes were bright with tears. “Nor yours, my darling Nina Llewellyn. I will go on alone and roll the bones, as Royce says, before I will let that happen. And so please, Jacob, pay Eleni a fine sum for her willingness, and her silence. But her services will not be needed.”
“Yes, my Lady,” Jacob said in a slightly uneven voice.
“Look deeper for your spy, Jacob. I will help you, for my instincts tell me there is a voice there that wishes to sing. We need that one piece of evidence that is beyond question, that Malcolm will have no defense against. And if it is not the heirs of Almahdi de Ghalib, then it must be something of equal power in order to sway the King’s Council. It must sway them into supporting something that they would otherwise find unthinkable…Though no matter what happens, I swear by Gamar that we are done with being careless.”
Emmalyn stepped forward and kissed Jacob’s cheek, her arms going about his shoulders and holding tight. His return embrace was strong about her waist and Emmalyn could feel his love, and his solid strength. She was grateful for it as she stepped back a bit and smiled, touching his cheek. He looked older than he had six months ago, and he looked tired, but by the gods he looked cunning and dangerous, as well. It was a new aspect to his personality that she had never thought to see. “Don’t be scared, little brother. We will be all right, I promise.”
Jacob smiled as a tear slid down his cheek, surprising her. “Alisha is with child.”
Emmalyn let out a startled sound and then laughed, taking his face in both of her hands. She kissed his cheeks until he ducked his head with a boyish giggle. “Fucking hell and hounds!” Emmalyn cursed happily as Nina stepped close. Still held in Jacob’s half embrace, she touched her cousin’s smiling face. “I have nothing brilliant to say to that!”
Nina looked at Jacob and they both turned back to her. Jacob’s eyes were full of warmth and a fierce look of determination. “You have already said it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wyatt Durand reached for his wine amidst the laughter, his gaze finding his brother’s as he lifted his goblet. Malcolm was dressed in his finest silks, his waistcoat a brilliant deep maroon with gold buttons, the falcon from the shield crest of the Durand family molded upon each surface in fine detail. His cream-colored tunic was high collared and his black hair tipped over the edge of it, longer than was his usual wont. Malcolm lifted his cup and looked back at Wyatt, his dark blue eyes bright with satisfaction at the gold coins he had raked from the center of the table.
He had won his third game of suns which was not an easy thing to do amongst the officers of the Seventh, and Wyatt wondered which man had carefully thrown his hand. There was not much to do on a cold winter’s night along the Greymear border, and gambling was certainly among the more acceptable pursuits.
Malcolm was drinking more than Wyatt had ever seen him drink, and though the Crown Prince was in his cups, he seemed to be in control of his faculties, both mind and body. It was disappointing that he would not have the opportunity to see Malcolm beyond his limits, but it was good to learn that his capacity for drink had increased so dramatically.
Madame Dubassant’s was twice the size it had been when he had first visited the most renowned house of pleasure in Arravan, many years ago. He and Jacob had ventured through the front doors after his coming of age day, their pockets filled with coin. He hadn’t known until years later that Grissom and Armistad Greyson had been there in secret, watching out for them both. He thought of that as his goblet clanked against Malcolm’s, and he gave an approving nod. “Your skills have improved, my brother. ’Tis not an easy feat, to best the best of the Seventh.”
Malcolm lifted his glass again. “To the Seventh!”
A rousing shout went up around him as their goblets clanked together.
“You have all of my wages, my Prince,” Lieutenant Landon Runner said with a grin. “I think I shall call it a night.”
Malcolm set his glass down and began to stack his coins in a neat manner. “Fair warning for next time, Lieutenant. It’s been a pleasure.”
Landon used the table to push to his feet. “By your leave, my Prince? Major?”
“Of course,” Malcolm said as he reached for his wine once again.
Wyatt gave him a nod. “Thank you, Landon.” Landon’s expression was knowing, and as he turned, the other officers of the Seventh pushed from the table.
Malcolm watched them move through the room as he leaned back in his chair. “I seem to have scared away the coin. I no longer play with the likes of Armistad and Grissom, or Father, for that matter. My court is younger and faster.”
Wyatt grinned. “I wish you would’ve been with me in Senegal, Mal—you wouldn’t believe the houses there. They are something to behold.”
Malcolm’s gaze was careful but curious, and Wyatt understood what that meant. Malcolm was no drunker than he was, despite that his ol
der brother had downed twice as much. “You were not always so fond of Madame Dubassant’s, Wyatt. Have your tastes changed so much?”
Wyatt gave a casual shrug. “I’ve found they provide a much needed respite from the routine of camp life.” Malcolm’s gaze had become somewhat intense and Wyatt met it head on. “And it is different, when members of your own court are not there. It’s so much better.”
“Our renegade sister and her murderous Bastards prefer Madam Salina’s,” Malcolm replied casually, and then flashed a smile that seemed clever and self-satisfied. “Which seems fitting. Its reputation has always been highly suspect. Not very clean. It has fallen upon hard times since they committed their crimes and disappeared into that bloody maze.”
Wyatt moved about Malcolm’s words with startled laughter. “Salina’s? Good Gamar, Mal, you didn’t go with them, did you?”
Malcolm stared at him, his eyes uncertain. “Of course not,” he answered in a hard tone. “Why would you ask such a question?”
Wyatt shrugged. “Seems a peculiar comment, is all. Why should you give a damn where they go?” Wyatt let his gaze drop to the table, and he knew his expression fell, before he could stop it.
His skills were with a sword and dagger, and with the bow. He was a soldier, not a spy.
With each comment Malcolm made about Darrius, whether openly or as a backhanded cut, Wyatt’s intentions and tenacity solidified. He believed Nina’s words of Bentley’s account—he had never questioned that. Bentley and Darry were thick and they fit together in every way but one, they always had. Bentley would die for Darry, and his honor was beyond reproach for that fact alone. And yet Wyatt had to admit that some part of himself, some deep and hopeful corner in his heart, had been holding out against all of it. That somehow, in some way, it could all be made whole again, wishing for a truth that did not exist.
He finally understood that it would never be the same again, in the subtle noise and the bronze fitted lamps of Madame Dubassant’s main parlor, in the perfumed air and the smell of the wine.
He had seen the missive sent to Emmalyn by the Princess Jessa-Sirrah of Lyoness. The message itself had been enough, though her words were not quite so convincing as the means she had used to convey them: Prince Malcolm Durand has murdered Lord Marteen Salish and has attempted murder upon his own sister, the Princess Darrius Lauranna Durand. I write this warning in her blood, spilled in defense of our love. Your king’s word has been broken, and my oath to him is no more. Beware my rage, and tell him to mind the stones of his palace.
“Wyatt?”
Wyatt looked up at Malcolm’s voice.
Grissom had told him once, a lifetime ago, that a hearty dose of truth in your bluff could go a long way. He understood Emmalyn’s warning to avoid Darry as a topic of conversation, but he also knew that Mal would give him nothing until he gave him this first. Until he had conceded defeat where their sister was concerned. That Malcolm had shown his contempt for Darrius so willingly was giving him little choice. The Crown Prince wanted his victory.
His insides turned with discomfort, and he had not felt so nervous since the first time he had set foot in Madame Dubassant’s. He supposed it was fitting that he was here once more, and feeling the same dread of failure in his guts. “You know, I’ve always had a soft spot for Darry, that’s no secret. She makes me laugh like no one else ever has…And I’ve enjoyed being her protector, I admit that. It always seemed right, somehow, that it should be that way. We both chose the sword, but she made her choice against all odds and favor. Such a thing deserves a champion.”
Malcolm made no response, but Wyatt could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention beneath the quiet scrutiny he received.
“When she told me she was backward, I thought, well, who should care who she likes to fuck?” He gave a shrug. “I never understood why it upset you so much. That one thing, more than anything else, has always made me wary of you, Mal. I have had a hard time trusting you.”
Malcolm’s expression was thrown into a brief, lovely moment of chaos, and Wyatt spied his brother’s surprise before he could cover it up.
“Perhaps you would judge me in such a manner, yes?” Wyatt suggested. “Perhaps the girl I would choose for my bride would not be beautiful enough for you, or she would be of a lesser rank, or perhaps she would have no rank at all.”
Malcolm was a bit slow to gain complete control over his reaction and Wyatt continued. “I did not understand about Darry, at least, not until I was given command. Not until I went away, and had some distance from it all.”
This time Malcolm did respond. “How so?”
“We have responsibilities that are beyond matters of the heart.” Wyatt leaned forward and set his wine down. “I saw that in the east. I saw it every day. We are needed, and we’re not meeting our responsibilities as we should. Our presence is strong, yes, but it should be so much stronger. I don’t know, I thought that she would change her ways, perhaps. That she would come to understand that the Durand name comes with power and rights.” He tapped his knuckles upon the table in a light manner and then opened his hand. “I don’t know,” he growled and sat back again. “I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.”
“She abused her privilege. She did not fulfill her rightful position,” Malcolm offered in a quiet voice. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Wyatt frowned. “Perhaps, in some ways. I mean, I’ve always known that she would be a soldier, and why not? She’s damn good at it, and being stationed with the Kingsmen at Blackstone, it has always seemed acceptable to me.”
Malcolm nodded. “Yes, I’ve come to agree with that.”
Wyatt could see the lie move through the downward turn in Malcolm’s lips, on the right side, ever so slight. He had always done it when he was trying to manipulate a situation, when he was uncertain. He had done it at cards less than an hour ago, and he had only won because Landon had allowed it. “But then I saw the great houses of the east, and they are in want of a firm hand. She could have given that.”
“And how would she have done that?” Malcolm asked. “By marrying some hapless young lord and fucking the maid?”
Wyatt reacted quickly. “That would be a position of outright weakness. There would be no honor in that, Mal, so no, that would not have been my suggestion,” he replied in a somewhat dark tone as he maneuvered about the trap. “But she might have taken command of a new unit of Kingsmen. The Durand name is not to be trifled with, and she could have shown our people that much at least. The east has become somewhat wild, and the Llewellyn forces have a tendency to let resources slip through their fingers in favor of independence. From here to the gates of Senegal, I have seen untapped assets and riches we have yet to take advantage of. She might have put her skills to very good use, and in the name of the crown.”
Malcolm started to speak but then closed his mouth, something he rarely did.
“What she did with the Princess from Lyoness, Mal, I’m sorry. Whatever your intentions might have been toward the woman, you should’ve been allowed your play. I never thought Darry would show such disrespect, despite your feelings toward her. I don’t know what to think now, I truly don’t.”
Once again Malcolm looked genuinely surprised by his words.
“But I feel the need to apologize to you for what she did.” A touch of sickness and panic churned in Wyatt’s stomach but he held on. He thought of Darry and the bottle of Artanis Gold they were to have shared upon his return. He thought of his closest blood in all the world, and the feel of her shoulders beneath his arm as they walked and talked of whatever struck their fancy. He thought of how he might never know such ease again, for he trusted no one more.
Malcolm smiled in a somewhat guarded manner, but Wyatt thought there was something else beneath it. He saw hope. “Are you not her champion now?”
Wyatt considered his answer carefully. “If she were an officer in my command, if she rode for the Seventh? I would’ve stripped her of her rank for suc
h dishonor. That is all I know. I’m a soldier, Mal, not a politician. If you ask me what I think, I will tell you, if I know. If you ask me to ride down a hill into the enemy, I ride down the hill. Honor is our standard. Life is short. The rules are pretty simple.”
“Then she has betrayed us both,” Malcolm said with care.
“She betrayed herself,” Wyatt corrected him.
“I would approve of any woman you loved, Wyatt,” Malcolm offered in a genuine voice. “If you chose her, then there could be no better match.”
Wyatt stared at him and felt the ground beneath him sink away in a slow, horrible manner. He reined in his emotions as tightly as he could. “I must find her first,” Wyatt replied and Malcolm smiled. “We are brothers, you and I, and I am home at last. Let us speak of better things. There is much to be done, more than anyone sees.”
“Yes, you’re right. And perhaps we should have a talk with Uncle Sullidan when he arrives, about the houses of the east.”
“I think it should be high on your list.”
Malcolm sat forward and reached for the wine bottle as Wyatt extended his cup. “When he arrives, I shall arrange a meeting for us. Let it be our list.”
“Thank you, Mal. It would be good to be included in such a discussion.”
“Has not Father invited you? I don’t approve of the way he treats you, still like a boy. He has put you in an awkward place that shows you little respect.”
“I don’t like it, either,” Wyatt said softly. “I am not the man I was when I left Blackstone those years ago.”
“I can see that,” Malcolm agreed. “Perhaps you should join the Prince’s Council.”
