daughter of lies

by Kenley Davidson

  In the end they didn’t have to look far to find the quarry they sought. Only two streets away, across from The Bad Apple, half in, half out of the thoroughfare, a glittering pile of satin lay crumpled in the dirt. Gems on the skirt sparkled in the light from the open door of the tavern, while a man stood in the shadows nearby, watching as Brenna and Rom approached.

  “Quinn,” Brenna muttered. “Of course you were sneaking around waiting for us to flush her out. What happened? Did she say anything? What did you do?”

  Quinn lifted his head and regarded her impassively. “She tripped,” he said blandly.

  Brenna regarded him with one raised eyebrow. “Over what? Your foot?”

  “You’d rather it had been my blade?” he inquired.

  No, she did not wish that. It might have been a mercy, as the Crown would most likely sentence Louise to die, but Brenna thought it more fitting that the former countess should have the chance to face her accusers and endure the agony of a public court proceeding. Let justice do its part. Brenna had no desire to end this chapter of her own life’s story in blood and violence.

  There had been enough of that already. Her mother. Mrs. Orrin. Her father. Who knew how many more had died to satisfy Louise’s desire for power and control?

  No doubt the rest of that story would be told, and Brenna’s heart ached for her brother, who would have to learn the full, terrible truth about his family. But as for the rest? Brenna would pursue justice for everyone involved, but she no longer felt the need to uncover more about her past.

  She had mistakenly believed that if she could know where she’d come from, she could determine who she ought to be. That understanding her past would help her find her way between her duties and her desires. But when she’d learned that her parents were long dead, she’d felt nothing. No grief, no regret. All of her family that mattered would be coming home soon from Caelan. Kyril and Ilani, and shortly thereafter, a new Seagrave, who would be heir to Hennsley—its grounds and its wealth, at least. Brenna desperately hoped the next generation could avoid the Seagrave legacy of deception and violence.

  And as for her?

  “I’m not a countess anymore,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone, but Rom heard her.

  “Actually,” he said soberly, “you are.”

  “What do you mean?” Brenna couldn’t see how that was possible. “If I’m illegitimate, I can’t inherit.”

  “You can’t,” he agreed, “but you didn’t exactly inherit in the usual way. You were officially named countess by the king. Now, it’s no different than a peerage bestowed by right of merit.”

  Brenna’s jaw dropped. “Then I’m still stuck? And Kyril can’t be the earl?”

  Rom chuckled. “I’m sorry if that disappoints you,” he said. “Perhaps you should take some time to think about it. If you consider all the options and end up wishing to abdicate in favor of your brother, I believe His Majesty would understand.”

  “So you’re saying I have a choice?”

  “Of course!”

  As she watched Quinn crouch down to bind Louise’s wrists, Brenna allowed herself to consider Rom’s words. Could it really be that easy? Had she always had a choice who she wanted to be, and simply never seen it for what it was?

  Maybe it didn’t matter what the court expected of her or what they thought a perfect countess ought to look like. Maybe it didn’t even matter who her father was or who had raised her. Perhaps all she needed to remember was who she had chosen to be. A woman who loved her family. Who cared about justice. And who had chosen to dedicate her life to protecting her kingdom.

  “Can I really just be Brenna?” she asked softly, of no one in particular.

  “Of course you can,” Rom scoffed from beside her. “Who else would you be?”

  Brenna looked up at his rugged features and began to laugh. “It really is that simple, isn’t it? I know it sounds like a strange thing to say, but I feel like I haven’t been doing a very good job of it lately. And yet you just reminded me that perhaps I shouldn’t have been trying so hard in the first place.”

  “What were you trying to be?”

  “A countess,” she admitted. “I’ve been trying so hard to be the perfect countess that I’ve forgotten how to be Brenna. And I didn’t think I could be both, but… maybe I can.” She laughed and closed her eyes. “Maybe I can be a countess and an accountant, or a clerk and a spy. Or all of them at once if I want to be.”

  “Wait—” Rom turned to face her, took her other hand and lifted an eyebrow as he gazed down at her. “I know we’ve established that you’re cozy with Lady Norelle, but…you’re one of her spies?”

  “What, did you think all countesses learned how to disarm rowdy bar patrons?” she asked archly. “Or how to threaten strong, handsome and overbearing men with a knife to their kidneys?”

  “You think I’m handsome?” A grin crept over his features.

  “Trust you to focus on the least important part of that sentence,” she retorted.

  “I just don’t understand how I’ve never met you before. How long have you been with Lady Norelle?”

  “How do you know you haven’t met me before?” she suggested with a sly wink. “I am very good at my job.”

  “I would have noticed you,” Rom insisted. “And can I just say that I’ll be having strong words with both the Norelles for keeping me in the dark about all of this. And for making me think you were someone who needed protecting. I’ve been worrying myself half to death about you, when I should have been worrying about who needed to be protected from you!”

  “Careful, Lord Griffin,” Brenna said sternly. “I’m an impressionable young woman and if you don’t moderate your compliments, they may turn my head.”

  Rom’s eyes went bright. “Is that a promise?”

  “If the two of you don’t mind,” Quinn said, with what almost sounded like sarcasm, “we have a prisoner to be taken up and transported.”

  Rom looked over his shoulder. “Oh, do you need help?” he asked in mock surprise. “I had no idea. You’ve always seemed so overwhelmingly competent.”

  Quinn’s face could have frozen a white-hot forge.

  “I’d be happy to transport the prisoner,” Rom went on genially, “as long as you’re willing to assist Brenna in searching the house for evidence and compiling the report in preparation for trial.”

  Quinn regarded them both impassively. “I think I’d prefer to be as far away from the two of you as possible. I’ll tell Lady Norelle to expect you in no more than a fortnight. And no getting lost on the way home.”

  As he shouldered the limp body of Louise Seagrave and disappeared into the shadows, Brenna watched him go and wondered where, exactly, home might be.

  She honestly had no idea, but for once, the idea felt bright and beautiful, rich with possibilities.

  Home wasn’t a place, and it never had been—not Crestwood, not Evenburg, not Norleigh. Perhaps home, for her, had more to do with the people she loved.

  No matter what she decided to do about the earldom, she would still have Kyril in her life, and Ilani, and Lizbet, and Faline. And maybe, if she had read him correctly, she might just have Rom. It was a strange new thought, but she welcomed it.

  There was still much to be done. They would need evidence of Louise’s other crimes. Kyril and Ilani would be home in a few months, and her brother would be more than a little blindsided by the news of his father’s death and his mother’s duplicity. There would be a trial, and all of the Seagrave family’s embarrassing history would be paraded before the court in humiliating detail.

  But Brenna felt strangely free. She finally knew who she was, and it had nothing to do with her name or her heritage. No matter whether she chose to keep her title or not, she was a woman, a sister, a daughter, and a friend. A countess, a clerk, a barmaid, an accountant, or a spy—what she saw in the mirror didn’t matter, because she was free to choose whether or not to be content with herself.

  And, at long las
t, she knew that was enough.

  In every way that mattered, Brenna Haverly had come home.

  Epilogue

  No matter how hard she tried, Brenna couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She smiled at the guards as she passed through the gates, at the servant who took her cloak, at the debutantes who stared at her escort, and even at Prince Ramsey when he stopped to greet her politely.

  “Stop smiling,” Rom whispered in her ear. “They’re going to think you’re up to something.”

  “Maybe I am,” she whispered back.

  She smiled even wider at Lizbet, when she caught her mentor’s eye across the room, and she had a special grin for a dazzled but undaunted Batrice, who was taking in the scene as Lady Norelle’s newest and most enthusiastic protégée. But Brenna smiled the widest of all when King Hollin performed the ceremony that proclaimed a stunned-looking Kyril Seagrave to be the newest Earl of Hennsley.

  Ilani stood nearby, looking very pregnant and deeply proud of her husband, though she’d confided privately to Brenna that she was a bit concerned about how they were going to manage their new responsibilities.

  “I’ve found a replacement who will do well enough while I’m absent, but I cannot imagine who will take Kyril’s place while we’re adjusting,” she’d pointed out. “No one else in Andar knows our people as well as he does, and he’s actually quite popular in my brother’s court.”

  Of course he was. Kyril somehow managed to be popular everywhere. It had once irritated Brenna beyond all reason, but now she found it amusing, even endearing. It was a gift, the way he managed to be likable to nearly everyone, and it would serve Andar well now that her brother had found his place.

  Much as she had. After long consideration and a great deal of discussion with Lizbet and Caspar, Brenna had decided it was best to pass the title on to its rightful owner. Not because she couldn’t wait to be free of it, but because it was the right decision. For Kyril, for the kingdom, and for her.

  “How long until we can leave?” Rom muttered, as they observed the congratulatory throng surrounding the new earl and countess.

  “Where are we going?” Brenna asked, surprised. “I didn’t think we were heading out until Danward and Faline get back from their wedding trip.”

  “We’re not,” Rom confirmed, turning a slightly odd shade of red. “Lady Norelle says that our ship won’t be ready to sail for a few more weeks at the least.”

  “Are you that desperate to escape?” Brenna asked, patting his arm. “I know, this isn’t my favorite either, but I promised Kyril I’d be here for him, and you have to admit, it’s fun to watch Eland turn purple thinking about the future heir to Hennsley.”

  Considering what she’d learned about Eland’s past, Brenna thought she might not have been entirely fair in her judgements of the man who might actually be her half brother. She’d invested considerable time and patience in attempting to make it right, but he hadn’t been making it easy. He was still a pompous twit, who’d been stiffly polite up until she’d announced her intention to abdicate in Kyril’s favor.

  After that, he’d pointedly avoided her, more out of fear for his person, she suspected, than anything else. Brenna wasn’t sure whether he’d believed her former threats or was completely intimidated by Lord Griffin’s size and grim demeanor, but Eland seemed unwilling to reconcile himself to either her presence or Kyril’s inheritance. If he was likewise distressed by the downfall of the woman he had once called Mother, he had not been willing to share those feelings with Brenna.

  “I don’t care about Eland,” Rom grumbled. “And I wasn’t talking about our mission. I had something else in mind.”

  “Like what?” Brenna asked absently, as she hugged Parry Norelle in passing. The boy was already taller than her, and looking very handsome these days. It wouldn’t be long before the younger debutantes started taking notice, and then wouldn’t Lizbet be grouchy as a bear.

  “I know I should have said something before…” Rom began, only to be interrupted by the approach of one of Brenna’s former suitors, who bowed over her hand.

  “So delighted to see you’ve returned,” the fellow said pompously, pointedly failing to release her hand at the appropriate moment. “I must say, the court has been quite dull without the brilliant light of your beauty to brighten our days. Would you favor me with the pleasure of a dance, later?”

  Brenna burst out laughing. At first, she hadn’t expected any of her suitors to renew their feigned interest in her, not once it became clear that she’d chosen to give up the title. Sadly, it seemed to have gotten around that the new earl intended to settle a generous inheritance on his half-sister, and an alarming number of her former swains seemed intent on capturing it for themselves.

  “Were they always this ridiculous?” Rom snapped, clearly irritated by the interruption.

  “Worse,” Brenna told him sweetly, removing her hand from the man’s grasp, and curtseying politely. “I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to dance with you. Have a pleasant evening.”

  The fellow gaped like a fish and remained stationary, his hand still out, as she steered Rom in the opposite direction.

  “And how exactly is it ridiculous for him to call me beautiful?” she asked, eyebrow arched as she glanced up at her friend’s scowling face.

  “That wasn’t the ridiculous part, and you know it,” he said. “He wasn’t any more delighted to see you than I am to be here.”

  “And I thought I hated court,” Brenna said with a laugh. “Poor Rom. It’s a good thing the trial has concluded and we’re leaving in a few weeks, or you might need to be sedated.”

  It had taken time for evidence to be gathered, but in the end Louise Seagrave had indeed been found guilty of the murders of Stockton Seagrave and Eileen Orrin. The evidence of Louise’s numerous attempts to kill Brenna had scarcely been necessary, and she’d been sentenced to death by an implacable King Hollin.

  Brenna had felt nothing, either at the woman’s conviction or her execution. Perhaps she would someday, but she doubted it. Even Kyril had scarcely mourned, reminding her that he, too, had suffered through his parents’ coldness and cruelty as a child. Brenna had never been more grateful that she and Kyril had somehow found each other and could be reminded daily by their own relationship that they need not go on as their parents had.

  “Actually,” Rom said, looking at the floor, “I had a rather better idea what we ought to do with the next two weeks.”

  “Oh, do you have a mission?” Brenna’s already buoyant mood brightened still further. She wouldn’t mind getting out of the city and keeping her mind occupied until they sailed.

  “In a manner of speaking. At least, I’m hoping to.” Rom looked around, growled something under his breath, and grabbed Brenna’s hand. “I hate crowds,” he muttered, heading for the nearest door.

  Brenna was quite willing to follow him as he made his way onto a balcony that appeared to be deserted. She didn’t much care for crowds herself, and his behavior was growing increasingly strange.

  “Rom, what is it?”

  “We’re leaving in a few weeks,” he said, leaning against the balcony rail and avoiding her eyes.

  “Yes,” she drawled, “I’m quite well aware.”

  “And we’ll be gone for some time. Pretending to be married while we hunt down Frenish spies.”

  “Is this going to be a problem?” Brenna’s brow wrinkled in concern. “We discussed it with Lizbet, and we agreed that it was the best cover for our mission. Have you changed your mind?” Her heart sank a little. She had so been looking forward to this trip—just her and Rom, enjoying a friendship that had become ever more valuable to her since their return from Camber.

  He wasn’t just a fellow spy—he was the only person besides Lizbet that she’d ever felt truly understood her. Respected her. Even admired her. He’d never tried to take anything away from her accomplishments or her career, and actively sought her opinions.

  She would miss that, if he chose not to work
with her. She would miss him. She’d come to adore his solid, thoughtful presence, his keen ability to anticipate her moves in a fight, and even his grumbling, when life forced him to take a break and simply be himself.

  “Are you trying to say you don’t want to do this with me?” she asked. Her voice trembled a little, which only made her angry at herself. She didn’t want to let him know how much the loss would affect her.

  “No!” His response could not have been more forceful. “That’s not what I’m trying to say at all. I was about to suggest that maybe it would be easier if we… that is, perhaps we ought to…” His chin dropped to his chest and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I wondered if you might rather not pretend.”

  “I suppose we can come up with a different cover story, if you prefer,” Brenna said hesitantly, trying to conceal her hurt.

  “No, I mean… Egad, I’m ruining this, aren’t I?”

  Rom reached out and took her hands in his. “I’m really just trying to ask you to marry me before we leave. I know it’s a bit scandalous not to have a long betrothal, but I really don’t want to pretend to be your husband. I want to be yours for real.”

  For a moment, Brenna couldn’t breathe.

  He’d just proposed. Rom had proposed. She’d wished and she’d hoped, and she’d had ever so many proposals before but never one that made her feel like her world had turned inside out and presented her with everything she’d ever wished for.

  “You really… you really want to marry me?” she whispered.

  “Only since the moment you put a knife to my back and said ‘never tell me I can’t.’”

  Brenna laughed until she felt tears run down her face. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

  “Because,” Rom said, reaching up to brush tentative fingers across her cheek, “I don’t have anything to offer you. All I have is an empty title. There’s a little money, but no home, no future. I didn’t think any woman would ever want to share that with me. But you?” He dropped to one knee—which put his head only slightly lower than hers—and looked into her eyes with unmistakable certainty. “No matter how much nothing I have, I will always want to share it with you. No matter how hard things get, they’re infinitely better if you’re there. I didn’t mean to ask this soon, but when I realized we would be pretending to be married, I just couldn’t help it.” He chuckled. “If you were willing to sail across the ocean and pretend to be stuck with me, I thought maybe you’d be willing to be stuck with me for real.”