He reached for her hand, everything about him softening when he faced her. “You don’t have to, Mother. I’ll check on you after the ball.” He glanced at Venn. “Will you take her?”
His friend nodded and slowly led the trembling lady away.
The commander’s eyes narrowed. “Ben—”
“If you’ll excuse us, sir,” he snapped, taking Clare’s arm. “The princess is needed elsewhere.” He guided her away, skirting the crowded dancefloor.
Clare’s pulse pounded and she wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or not, but her body vibrated and it felt like she’d been spinning in the round dance all over again. Her headache flared and she felt a little disoriented, but blinking seemed to drive that away. Mostly.
After they’d taken several steps from the commander, Bennick lowered his voice. “What happened?”
“She was ill.” Irritation tightened her throat. “I asked Venn to take her to her room, and then he came. He would have forced her to stay all night!”
Bennick cut her a look. “So you defied him? Publicly?” She couldn’t find an ounce of remorse, and it must have shown on her expression. He looked mildly exasperated, but his mouth twitched. “Thank you,” he said, before eyeing her. “Are you all right?”
Perhaps he’d felt her hand shaking against his arm. Or maybe it was her flushed cheeks. “Fine. I just wish I’d hit him.”
Bennick barked a surprised laugh. “As much as I’d love to see that, I don’t think the king would approve.”
It was hard to focus on his words. A buzzing filled her ears. “The king . . . he’s angry with you.”
Bennick’s expression smoothed. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“It’s not fair, though.” From the corner of her eye, Clare caught Amil watching her and she tensed. Bennick followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing.
“I overheard Amil talking with his father,” she explained quietly. She swallowed past her dry throat and told him briefly what she’d heard—Havim’s angry comments about Serene and how he’d stormed out. “Amil danced with me afterward. He tried to reassure me, but I think his father could be a threat.”
Bennick’s brow furrowed. “I’ll speak with the king.”
She nodded, fanning herself with one hand. The room had felt hot for a while, but she was suddenly burning. She was grateful when they left the stuffy ballroom and entered the cooler corridor.
She stumbled a little and Bennick’s hand clenched over her arm. “Clare?”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “Are there any other suspects for the assassination attempts?”
“Nothing concrete.” She sensed more than saw him look backward, to monitor Dirk, who trailed behind them.
“What about Wilf?”
Bennick glanced at her. “What about him?”
She frowned. She hadn’t meant to bring that up. It was a suspicion she knew Bennick wouldn’t appreciate. But since she’d spoken . . . “Do you think he could be the assassin?”
Bennick pulled them both to a stop. The corridor glowed softly from the torches spaced on the wall, catching the bewilderment in his stare. “You think Wilf is trying to kill you?”
Her throat tightened, making her words sound defensive. “He has access to the room. And the Night Sigh and Ogai attacks happened after he lost his temper on the training field. He doesn’t want the peace—isn’t it possible he wants to end it by killing me and blaming the Mortisians?”
Bennick’s forehead creased. “You’ve given this some thought.”
“It makes sense. And he never had to put Serene in danger, because he could just target me.”
He pursed his lips. “Wilf isn’t trying to kill you.”
Denials filled her, but she couldn’t grasp the right words. She wet her lips, giving herself a mental shake before forcing the words out. “He knew about the Ogai. He fought against the Mortisians and lost friends in the skirmishes.”
“True, but he’s not the assassin. You’re safe with him. I swear it.” His eyes narrowed. “Look at me, Clare.”
“I am.”
His hands were cool as they cupped her face, forcing her head to tilt up. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy and she couldn’t quite hold his anxious gaze.
He cursed and she winced at the sharp sound. “I think you’ve been poisoned. Can you tell me what you’ve eaten? Drunk? What are you feeling?”
She snorted and shoved his hands down, taking a step back. “Just because I think Wilf is trying to kill me doesn’t mean I’m poisoned.”
His shoulders visibly tensed. “No, but you’re flushed and your speech is slurring. Your pulse is racing and your eyes are unfocused.” He looked beyond her. “Dirk, get a physician to Serene’s room. We’ll meet you there.”
Footsteps pounded away and Clare winced, pressing a shaking hand to her brow. Her vision fuzzed. Narrowed. “Bennick?”
He stood before her, hands outstretched. “You’re going to be fine.”
His face blurred and she stumbled back. Breathing was difficult. Fates, how long since she’d been able to take a full breath? The wall spun to meet her and Clare lurched away.
Bennick shouted. Clare felt his fingers grasp for her arm, but she was already falling.
The side of her face smacked against stone and everything went dark.
When Clare opened her eyes she was in the princess’s bedroom. A lamp glowed, throwing light into the shadows.
Princess Serene sat in a chair beside the bed, one sculpted eyebrow arched. “How are you feeling?”
Clare swallowed drily. “What happened?”
“You were poisoned.”
She ground her teeth at the princess’s grating tone, but immediately regretted it—the whole right side of her face throbbed. She remembered hitting the stone wall when she fell in the corridor.
“It was the necklace,” Serene said, leaning back in her chair. “The diamonds were covered in Vaerue, a poison extracted from snake venom—snakes found in Mortise, as the trend seems to be going. The poison was sealed with a coating that kept it undetected, until sweat wore it away. That’s why it took a while for you to feel the effects. Quite ingenious.” Her head listed to the side. “My father questioned the Havims personally but they denied all knowledge. They insist anyone could have poisoned the necklace, since it passed through so many hands.”
Clare’s hands fisted under the blankets. “I heard them talking at the ball. Ser Havim doesn’t want a Devendran queen.”
Serene grunted. “Bennick told us what you overheard. My father still doesn’t see Bahri Havim as a threat; prejudiced, sure, but not about to ruin the peace.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, their reasoning is legitimate—the necklace passed through many hands. It could have been compromised anywhere. Although it’s a little insulting that they blamed the palace guards who searched the necklace when it arrived.”
Clare pushed into a sitting position, holding her aching head as she frowned at the princess. “Why are you here?”
“It is my room.”
“I didn’t expect you to be here.” Checking on her. Because that’s what Serene was doing, Clare realized.
A furrow grew between the princess’s eyebrows and something almost sheepish ghosted in her eyes. “I recently learned the truth of how you came to be here.” She pursed her lips. “You saved my life, and in return you were arrested and forced into becoming my decoy. It wasn’t a choice you made for riches or prestige. I misjudged you.”
Clare stared. “Is this an apology?”
“No.” Serene sniffed, somehow managing to look regal as she did it. “Merely a statement.”
A small smile tugged into place. “Thank you,” Clare whispered.
A pause. “You’re welcome.”
Clare startled awake, blinking at the dim glow in the room. After Serene had left—informing her Venn and Dirk stood guard outside—Clare had fallen back asleep, the lamp still glowing faintly. She was still tired, but something had woken her.
Twisting her head on the pillow, she froze at the sight of Bennick seated on the chair beside her. His head was bowed, fingers lost in his hair, his broad shoulders sagged with impossible weight. His elbows were balanced on his knees and he breathed slowly. He still wore his dress uniform, though it was wrinkled now. It was probably the middle of the night.
She thought he was asleep, but his head lifted and bloodshot eyes caught hers. He straightened. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought I could slip in without waking you.”
“What are you doing here?”
He avoided her question, dropping his focus to her abused cheek. His jaw flexed, guilt flashing in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
She set a hand on his knee and he stilled. Warmth flooded her cheeks at her boldness, but she wanted his attention.
She had it. His blue eyes clung to her.
“It’s not your fault I was poisoned, Bennick. You saved my life by recognizing it.”
He studied her, saying nothing. She could feel the sting and throb of the bruise forming on her face, but that became muted as she watched him. There was a war in his eyes; Clare didn’t know what he fought, but a thrill shot through her when the battle abruptly ended.
His fingers lifted, warm and gentle as he traced the edge of her bruise. Then he bent, the pulse in his neck visibly jumping. His stubbled jaw grazed her smooth skin and his warm lips brushed her cheekbone, where the bruising began. Clare held her breath the entire time he kissed her cheek, and when he eased back, his throat bobbed and her pulse tripped.
Their eyes locked and Bennick swallowed—hard. “I should let you sleep.”
As if her pounding heart would let her sleep now. But she didn’t protest when he left, even though her throat tightened with words to call him back.
After the door closed gently behind him, Clare fingered her cheek, a slow smile curving her lips.
Chapter 26
Grayson
Grayson received his mother’s summons an hour after breakfast. Unfortunately, the invitation to tea wasn’t something he could ignore.
Queen Iris’s garden was deceptively beautiful. The green hedges were meticulously trimmed and there were flowers in every vibrant color imaginable. The pebbled paths almost looked inviting, but everything in this garden killed, including the woman who tended it. The garden was stocked with all manner of poisonous plants, herbs, trees, and berries. The queen even had deadly mushrooms, slugs, frogs, and fish. Every corner of the world was represented inside this walled courtyard, accessible only through a door inside the castle, located near the dungeon entrance. Her father had made it his life’s work to find every poison—both exotic and commonplace—in all of Eyrinthia. One of Iris’s first official acts as queen had been to move her late father’s poison garden, piece by transplanted piece, to the castle in Lenzen. This garden was her sanctuary, rivaled only by her tower study where she blended and bottled the poisons.
Grayson took the left path, holding his breath as he passed the olaris bush. The violet flowers were in bloom, which meant their perfume was at its deadliest.
One didn’t stop to smell flowers in this garden.
Queen Iris knelt on the path in the back corner of the garden. She glanced up from her work, eyes lighting at the sight of him. “Grayson!” She nodded to the small white berries dangling in front of her. “Do you recognize these?”
“Vellerberries,” he said at once, tone even. The abdominal pain they evoked was excruciating; his stomach cramped at the mere memory.
Iris smiled proudly and took up a towel to wipe the dirt from her hands, taking care to clean each finger. She came to her feet and straightened the black sash at her waist, gesturing to the round iron table set off the path. “The tea arrived just before you did.”
Beside the table was a long glass cage, filled with dirt, rocks, and other foliage. Somewhere in there, Grayson knew, a snake hid. With summer approaching, Iris would have servants carrying out her menagerie of venomous reptiles. She liked them to have a change of scene.
Iris took her seat, leaving Grayson to sit across from her, his back to the snake’s cage. The spot between his shoulder blades itched.
Iris poured tea from the steaming pot. “Honey?”
“No.” Never add anything to your drink, she’d taught him. It was often how poison slipped past lazy tasters.
Iris passed him a cup and he eyed the dark brown tea rippling inside before sniffing deeply.
She chuckled, pouring her own cup. “You needn’t be so obvious. Some hosts would be insulted.”
Grayson watched her sip her tea. It could still be poisoned—her cup could be lined with an antidote, or his could have been lined with poison. But he couldn’t see or smell anything wrong, so he took an experimental sip. Bitter, but no poison he could detect. Taking a chance, he swallowed, then nodded to her cup. “You didn’t add honey.”
“No.” She peered at him over the rim. “But Tyrell did yesterday.”
Grayson stole a look at the innocuous pot, studying the amber honey inside.
“It’s quite undetectable,” Iris told him brightly. “It was an idea of my father’s, which I’ve finally perfected. I cultivated blossoms toxic enough that, when the bees take the pollen, they literally make poisonous honey. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Grayson set the teacup aside, his shoulders tight. “What is it you wanted to discuss?”
She shifted the teacup in her hands, amusement playing in her gray eyes. “How was your trip to the northern mountains? Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I don’t enjoy anything.” At least, that was what people said of the Black Hand.
His mother raised an eyebrow. “Captain Reeve is a spy for your father.”
“I know.”
“He’s been spying on you for months.”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you curious about the private report he made to your father?”
Yes. “No.”
Iris took a sip of tea. “I think you should be.”
Grayson leaned back in his chair, portraying a calm he didn’t feel. “I did my duty to Ryden. There was nothing else for him to report.”
“Reeve told your father you saved his life during the peasant ambush.” She frowned. “It was an easy chance for you to be rid of an annoyance. Why save him?”
Because life had worth.
That answer would mean nothing to her. Grayson sighed. “Reeve’s death would have been suspicious. The mission was a test—I didn’t want Father to think I had anything to hide.”
“Hmm.” Iris blew a little on her steaming tea. “The captain shared another interesting story with your father.”
Unease rolled up his spine. “Oh?”
“He said he battled a skilled fighter on the outskirts of Gevell while perusing fugitives. The fighter was cloaked and hooded, but was an expert with two daggers.”
Sweat gathered on his palms, making his gloves feel too tight. “He mentioned the incident to me,” Grayson said slowly.
“Why weren’t you with him?”
“If you know Reeve’s report, you know I found no evidence the widow or her children were anywhere in the village. I ordered Reeve back to camp but he refused to come. I didn’t think it worth the fight, so I left him to his own devices.”
“Did you?”
Grayson’s pulse snapped high and fast, pinned by his mother’s stare.
Iris’s next words were soft. “Not many men can best a captain in Ryden’s army, let alone with only daggers. Reeve had a long sword and still lost.”
His face remained a stiff mask, even though panic spiked. “It sounds like he’s lucky to be alive.”
“You know what I find curious? Reeve was rendered unconscious, not killed. That doesn’t sound like most expert warriors. In fact, I can only think of one.”
Grayson held her stare, his hard face betraying nothing. Or had it betrayed everything?
Slowly, her mouth curved. “Relax. I don’t intend to share th
is with anyone. Truthfully, I’m surprised your father didn’t figure it out. But then, he has a great deal on his mind and Captain Reeve didn’t air any suspicions. He glazed over the incident, really. Perhaps as a way of thanking you for saving his life—not once, but twice?”
Grayson didn’t respond.
Iris set her cup down and laced her fingers under her chin, elbows propped on the table. “You don’t have to tell me the truth. I can see it. Your face reveals little—you’ve mastered your mask—but your eyes are gateways. I see into your heart. You fought Reeve. You won. You helped that criminal and her brats escape. You undermined your father. You, Grayson, are a traitor.”
His lungs were frozen. He didn’t blink.
Iris reached out a hand, palm up, and her fingers bent, a silent order.
Grayson slowly set his hand in hers, his heart throbbing.
She squeezed his gloved fingers, a slow and constricting grip. “You’re my favorite son. My scarred prince. You have my word; your treason will remain between us.”
As long as he did whatever she wanted. Loyalty for loyalty. That was her price. And he had no choice but to agree. Grayson didn’t know what his father would do to him if he learned the truth about helping the Hogans escape, but that didn’t really concern him. It was the thought of what Henri would do to Mia that made him bow his head, silently accepting his mother’s terms.
With his head down, he caught sight of the black viper stretched out inside the glass cage behind him. Her forked tongue flicked out and her black scales glinted in the sun. Her slitted eyes found him, trapped him. Whatever kind of snake she was, Grayson knew one bite would kill.
He didn’t expect any less from his mother.
Chapter 27
Clare
Clare walked beside vera and Ivonne, unable to stop scanning the faces that lined the streets of Lower Iden. Each step brought Clare closer to home, and even though that wasn’t today’s destination, she still hoped for a glimpse of her younger brothers in the waving crowd.
Men, women, and children called out greetings to Serene as she rode at the head of the procession, towering and beautiful atop her horse, Fury. She waved to the people of Iden, smiling with an ease and sincerity Clare hadn’t realized the sarcastic princess possessed.
Royal Decoy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 1) Page 21