She hadn’t managed to gouge Tyrell’s eyes last time, but her nails had caught his skin. She doubted the small cuts were still there, though. He’d hurt her far more than she’d hurt him.
Her arms and back throbbed in memory.
“Hello,” he said.
His voice was deep and the book in her hand shook. But she managed to keep her expression hard, and she was proud of herself for that.
He wandered over to the table, rapping his knuckles lightly against the wooden top as he eyed the shelf in the corner. He scanned the carefully labeled jars of food stores, not paying her any attention.
Mia’s body tightened and she shifted slowly, keeping him in her sights as she eased back a step.
His eyes cut to her, and she froze. He lifted his chin. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
Her throat was too dry to speak. She merely watched him, her pulse roaring in her ears. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but there was nowhere to go.
Tyrell leaned against the side of the table as he faced her. “My father has ordered me to visit you.”
Considering King Henri’s last ordered visit had ended with Tyrell beating Mia with a belt, this revelation didn’t bring any level of comfort. Terror flooded her body.
Tyrell must have seen something in her eyes, because his eyebrows lowered. “I’m not here to hurt you. Those aren’t my orders.”
If Mia felt any relief from his words, it barely registered. She gripped the book in front of her like a shield—or a weapon, if he came toward her.
The prince gripped the table’s edge with both hands, his posture still managing to look lazy as he reclined against it. “Trust me when I say I would rather be anywhere else. But with Grayson gone, my father worried about your lack of company. So, for as long as Grayson is in Mortise, I have been ordered to visit you.”
“No.” The word popped out of her, a quiet denial.
Tyrell cocked his head, and the action felt predatory. “No?”
She swallowed, her teeth aching as she ground them.
The corner of his mouth curled up. “Lost your tongue?”
Mia’s grip on the book of poetry was vice-like. She could feel her knuckles creak as they protested the pressure. “I don’t want you here.”
“That doesn’t matter.” He eyed her. “If you want to blame someone for this, blame Grayson.”
Shock roared through her. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“He tried to make a fool of our father. Threatened him. Demanded your safety from me and all others.” Tyrell crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his dark head. “The king doesn’t respond well to threats. So, he’s ordered me to visit you twice a week for an hour each time. That’s Grayson’s punishment, not that he’ll learn of it until he returns. There is no negotiation on your part. The king will be watching, and I will not disappoint him.”
Mia stared at Tyrell, her thoughts spinning so quickly she felt dizzy. Grayson had threatened the king? What had he been thinking?
But she knew the answer already. Like always, he would have been thinking of her.
She was relieved he didn’t know the consequence of his actions. The knowledge that Tyrell was going to visit her would have tortured him.
It was torturing her.
Had she truly been dreading the emptiness of the weeks ahead? Now she had something to dread even more.
Her lungs tightened, but she forced herself to breathe deeply. She would not have a panic attack. Not now. Not in front of Tyrell.
He was once again studying the cell. “Fates. It’s horrible in here. No window. It feels like the walls are closing in. You’d think you’d be grateful for my company.”
It took every bit of strength she had to keep her voice from shaking. “I would rather be alone in here for an eternity than spend a moment with you.”
A thin smile ghosted around his mouth. “That’s a considerable amount of loathing.”
“Did you expect anything less? After what you’ve done to me—to Grayson?”
His eyes flicked to the mostly faded bruise on her face, and she could not stop herself from taking a step back.
The skin around his eyes tightened. “The last time I was here I was following orders. As I will do now. So.” He edged out a smile. “How should we pass the time, Mia?”
Chapter 16
Desfan
“You did what?”
Seeing Serai Yahri’s shock, Desfan’s grin was effortless. “Well, I mentioned a week ago that I was working on a love letter to Serene. I decided a gift was in order, and I thought reforming our system for the care of orphaned children would appeal to Serene. She has, as I’m sure you all know, paid particular attention to such charities in Devendra.”
And Desfan couldn’t stop thinking about that boy, Ori. If Mortise cared better for the waifs in their cities, perhaps Ori would not have been beaten or mixed up in street gangs dealing in olcain.
Besides, if he was going to rile up the council, he might as well do some good at the same time.
The sunlight filtering through the tall council room windows caught in Yahri’s silver hair and highlighted the wrinkles on her face, making her look even older as she stared at him. She could not seem to find her voice.
Ser Zephan did not have that problem. “Withdrawing such a large sum from the royal treasury demands discussion.” His dark beard did nothing to hide the color rising in his face. “Beyond that, this level of reform should have been voted upon.”
“I do apologize if I’ve caused offense,” Desfan said, setting a hand over his heart. “Causing distress was never my intention. But I was under the impression that I am the regent, and that I alone act in the stead of my father.”
“The serjan would not have disregarded our protocols. You have blatantly offended everything this council stands for!” Zephan moved to rise, but Yahri snapped at him and he remained seated. He closed his mouth and glared at Desfan.
He wasn’t the only one glaring, either. And Serai Essa just looked . . . appalled.
It seemed his plan to upset the council was working. He could almost feel Karim’s stiffness as his friend stood behind the throne.
Clearly, Serai Yahri was taking the lead on the council’s response, as was her right as the senior member. Her thin jaw was hard as she addressed him. “Serjah, while I’m sure I’m not alone in admiring your noble sentiment to help the orphans, Ser Zephan is right that such a major endeavor should have been carefully debated within this space. It should not have been decided without discussion on the details of the reform and the sustainability of such a new course. And it certainly should not have been all thrown into a letter and sent to another kingdom without this council’s knowledge. Your promise to Serene to reform the orphanages in Mortise will now be seen not as a gift, but as part of the negotiations, and we must now be responsible for seeing that everything goes according to the plan you outlined. Surely you can see the less than ideal situation you have placed us in.”
Ser Jamal, the youngest and newest on the council, cleared his throat. “I think this makes a good betrothal gift. It shows that we have looked to Devendra and found something they do well, and now we want to emulate their system. It shows good faith.”
Zephan turned his glare on the youngest council member.
Desfan tipped his head. “Thank you, Ser Jamal.”
Ashear, who was generally more mild-mannered, frowned. “While I think Jamal may have a point, Yahri and Zephan are both correct that this should have been discussed with us. Could you not send a rider to reclaim the message, Serjah?”
“I’m afraid not. I sent it days ago. I forgot to mention it until now.”
Essa sighed and shook her dark head. “Then it is done. We must discuss the best way to salvage this.”
“Let us go over your plan for continued funding,” Yahri said, her sharp eyes on Desfan. “I’m sure you have a plan, Serjah.”
The words were a challenge, and Desfan had to smile. “Always.”
“Thank you.”
Karim rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t exactly a compliment, Des. You might just get a knife in your back.”
Desfan and Karim were both dressed in the plainclothes they’d used for years while at sea. Desfan was more comfortable in them than any of the fine kurtas or tunics he wore these days. It was just the two of them, as it had been the last few nights they’d ventured out. Karim didn’t like it, but he kept his complaints mostly to himself. Probably because he worried Desfan would go without him if he kept insisting on more guards. Desfan had opted to leave his dual blades at home, as they tended to draw more attention. He had a dagger and a curved sword buckled to his sides.
Karim shook his head as they went around a cart of silks that had stopped in the middle of the street. “Zephan has always been against you, but Essa and Ashear have seemed generally supportive—until today. You offended everyone, except for maybe Jamal, and that could have also been a weak attempt of his to get on your good side, thinking it might advance his political career.” He shook his head. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to make enemies in your attempt to flush them out.”
“It will be worth it if I can learn who I can trust.”
Karim grunted, accepting this.
Desfan stole a look at his friend. “Any luck with finding the boy, Ori?”
“No, not yet.”
Too bad. Desfan had a feeling the boy from the warehouse would be able to shed light on the seller—or the buyer. He’d clearly been viewed as an enemy by the people at the warehouse, which made Desfan wonder if some kind of double-cross had happened at some time.
Karim changed the subject. “Who are we trying tonight?”
“A man who goes by the name Fang. He used to sell all manner of drugs from his cousin’s tavern, The Red Cobra.”
Karim leveled a look at him. “Just how many drug masters do you know?”
Desfan smiled a bit grimly. “Enough. When I was younger, I had to change dealers often. Not all of them were willing to sell to me, once the royal guard managed to track me down. I’d have to find someone new each time that happened. Same for tattoos, in case you were curious.”
“I wasn’t,” Karim replied easily, even as he scratched his bicep. Because his shirt was sleeveless, Desfan could see the small, knotted tattoo on his brown skin. It was an exact copy of one Desfan had, an ancient symbol of Eyrinthia that every sailor knew—My life, tied to yours. It used to be a superstitious symbol, a way for sailors to bind themselves to the sea—as if marrying her would somehow tame such a fierce and dangerous mistress. But time had changed the meaning until it became more widely known as a show of fealty, or the sign of a life-debt. They had gotten them when Desfan was fifteen and Karim sixteen, because even though they had been forced together, they had forged an unbreakable friendship.
As far as Desfan knew, it was the only tattoo Karim had. Well . . .
“Did you ever tattoo Razan’s name over your heart?”
Karim stumbled, his head whipping toward Desfan. “What kind of fates-blasted question is that?”
He shrugged. “You really liked her.”
Karim’s jaw worked. “She lied and nearly got us killed.”
“So, things were complicated. But you liked her.”
“I did. Then I hated her, and now I’m indifferent.”
Desfan eyed Karim’s curled fists. “You don’t look indifferent.”
“Well, I am.” He scowled. “What is the point of this conversation?”
He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I guess I’m curious. I haven’t seen you pay attention to anyone since Razan, and that was years ago.”
“I need a woman like I need a knife in my back.”
“That’s a rather intense response.”
Karim rolled his eyes. “This conversation is over.”
“Is it really?”
“Yes.”
“You’re grumpy tonight.”
“I’m always grumpy.”
“Thus your need for a woman.”
Karim punched his shoulder and Desfan laughed as he stumbled.
Karim’s mouth twitched, and they walked in a short silence until he asked, “What about you?”
Desfan glanced over at him. “What about me?”
“Is there anyone you have an interest in?”
He snorted lightly. “It wouldn’t matter if there was. Princess Serene will be my wife. That’s the end of it.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Desfan’s hands fisted in his pockets. “I keep thinking about the night Yahri brought up abdication. How I felt. There was no doubt—no temptation. Fates know I’m not ready to rule anything, and even though I sometimes want to run away from all of this . . . I refuse to leave.” He looked through the shadows at his friend, who watched him closely. “My father began arrangements for my betrothal to Serene, and I will see it through. I will be the serjah Mortise needs.”
He had done a lot of things over the years. Things his father detested, things his mother would have hated. Maybe, in part, that’s why he had done them. But of all the things he had done, he knew he could not turn his back on his parents, and that is what he would be doing if he gave up the crown.
They reached The Red Cobra and ducked inside. Desfan tugged the lightweight hood of his vest lower over his brow, further shadowing his face. Karim fell into step behind him as they weaved their way through the crowd. Laughter, pipe music, and the thump of tankards hitting the stained tables filled the tavern’s large room.
Fang wasn’t there. At least not yet. So Desfan steered Karim to the bar and they ordered drinks. Then they joined a game of dice. Finally, after about an hour, Fang appeared in the doorway. He had two bodyguards, and they cut through the crowd and went straight for a table in the back corner of the room.
Desfan dumped the yellowed dice from his cup and they clattered over the table. Spectators hooted at the roll, but he didn’t look—he was focused on Fang, who sat at his corner table with a mug gripped between his hands.
Karim scooped up the winnings and shoved the coins into Desfan’s hands. From the corner of his mouth, he said, “He doesn’t look happy.”
No, Fang did not. The man’s eyes were narrowed, his lips curved into a snarl as he nursed his ale.
“Perhaps we should reconsider approaching him,” Karim murmured, taking the cup of dice passed to him.
“No,” Desfan whispered. “He could be upset from the loss of the olcain. He could be exactly who we need.”
Karim threw his dice. “Fine. We finish this round.”
Desfan nodded and the game of dice continued. He kept sneaking glances at Fang. The man was probably in his fifties, his dark skin leathery from too much sun. His guards sat with him, one of them talking rapidly into Fang’s heavily pierced ear.
Of all the drug masters they’d approached thus far, Fang was the first Desfan worried would see through his disguise. His voice lower than before, he said, “You take the lead.”
Karim’s chin dipped in silent agreement.
They both lost coins this round, and no one thought twice of them leaving the game; there were always others eager to join in the game of chance.
Karim led the way to Fang’s table, cool confidence in every step. They were nearly there when one of Fang’s guards rose and put a hand on Karim’s chest. Desfan took the role of guard and put his hand on his belted knife.
“Easy,” Karim said, his voice softer than usual. “I only want a moment with Fang.”
“Not tonight,” the guard barked. “Get out.”
Karim lowered his voice. “I’m not a buyer. I’ve got something he’ll want. Trust me.”
Desfan didn’t see the knife the guard pressed warningly against Karim’s stomach, but he saw Karim tense. “Get. Out.”
Desfan stepped closer, but before he could do anything, Karim lifted a hand, palm up. “Rev? The package, please.”
It was Desfan’s cover name, and he forced himself to listen. But even as he drew the packet of olcain from his pocket, he was eyeing the exit. He shouldn’t have dragged Karim into this.
Karim took the offered pouch and held it between two long fingers. “Fang will want to see this.”
The second guard had risen, and he plucked the pouch from Karim’s grip.
Activity in the tavern continued, no one seeing—or more likely not caring about—the tense group in the back. The guard checked inside the draw-string pouch and his eyes widened. He handed the bag to Fang, who took it carefully, eyeing the powder inside. Without looking up, he flicked his ringed fingers, the red and green gems twinkling in the lamplight.
Karim was shoved into the seat across from Fang and Desfan took up a position behind him. No one bothered taking their weapons—clearly, Fang wasn’t worried about his advantage.
He probably had the fealty of half the men in the tavern—or at least held their debts, which bought a certain level of loyalty.
Fang tugged the strings of the bag, closing it. “Who are you?” he asked. His voice was low, nearly lost in the commotion of the room.
Karim fell easily into the role Desfan had been playing the last few nights. “Vek. I’m a man with a dream, and I think with my olcain and your connections, we could make it happen.”
“Do you have more of this?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough to make a worthy profit. You won’t find purer powder in all of Mortise.”
Fang lowered the pouch to the table. “I’ll need to see it all.”
“In good time.”
Fang’s gaze turned lethal. “Where did you get it?”
“That doesn’t matter. I’ve got it. Lots of it.”
Fang leaned in. “You will tell me where you got it, or you’ll wake up gutted on the street.”
Karim’s throat bobbed. “One could argue I wouldn’t wake up from that.”
Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2) Page 16