The commander finally turned to face him. “It’s good to see you, Ben.”
Bennick bit back the first retort that sprang to mind. “How is Mother?” Normally he avoided speaking about her to the commander, but Gweneth Markam was a woman of delicate health, and her deterioration had been quickening of late.
“She is actually doing well,” the commander said. “Better than she has been in months. She tires easily, but the physicians have given her some new powders, and they help immensely. She even managed to ride a horse.”
Bennick’s jaw loosened. “Really?”
“Yes. She’s also been taking walks in the garden. The summer weather seems to be agreeing with her. She even asked if we might spend the winter in Zennor.”
“Will you?”
The commander’s shoulders tightened. “This year will be a difficult one, politically speaking. The king will need me in Iden.”
“Of course,” Bennick snorted. His mouth twisted wryly, bitterness coating his words. “You never have put her before your career. I don’t know why I thought you might this time.”
“She understands my dedication to Devendra.” His eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t know why you don’t. You’re a soldier. You should—”
“Do not tell me what I should or should not understand. Not when it comes to you.”
His mouth snapped shut, and he lifted his chin, his gaze sharp. “Very well. We have other things we need to discuss.”
“Like why you’re the one escorting the Mortisian prisoners?” Bennick asked. “I would have thought it beneath you.”
“The exchange must go smoothly. I volunteered to oversee it, and the king agreed it would be best. I also wanted to see you.”
Bennick snorted. “Sentimentality? From you?”
His father’s eyes darkened. “You’re in danger, Ben, and it was clear from your letters that you refuse to realize it.”
“Danger is part of my job.”
“This is different. You’ve been targeted by the Rose.”
“I’m not his target.”
“I think that’s debatable. He sent you poison.”
“I don’t see that as a threat.”
“Then you’re blind.” The commander straightened. “The last message I received from you was the note purely addressed to you. Have there been any new notes?”
“No.” Frankly, it bothered him. The Rose had been completely silent during their stay with the Paltrows. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but it had him on edge.
The commander’s eyebrows pulled together. “You mentioned in your letter that the last note was found in your room.” He shot a look at the space around them. “You also said there was not an accompanying message for the princess.”
“Correct.” He was still grateful for that, because it meant Clare had been easily left out of the latest terror. He had found the note the evening before the Paltrow’s ball, and he had decided against sharing it with Clare. There was no advantage to frightening her with it—especially after she had been injured, and needed to focus on healing.
Besides, the message had been for him.
He’d found it on his bed, which had been covered in thorns and blood.
Captain Markam,
Did you receive my gift? I don’t normally give poison to anyone, let alone a bodyguard. But I couldn’t resist. Do you like playing this game with me? I must say, I’m enjoying myself.
Could you do something for me? Could you please keep the princess alive? I’ve heard rumors that others want to kill her, but if you could keep her breathing long enough so I can be the one to end her, I would greatly appreciate it.
Oh, and your horse was a very beautiful creature.
The Rose
Bennick ground his teeth just thinking about the letter. He remembered the moment he read that final line—realized where the blood had come from. His horse had been a loyal companion for years, and the Rose had slaughtered him in his stall in the middle of the night. No one had heard anything.
As much as he hated to see his father’s point, he had to admit the Rose seemed fixated on him. He just didn’t know why.
“He’s taunting me,” Bennick allowed. “But I’m merely a part of his larger game. His target is Serene.”
“The princess may be his ultimate target,” the commander said. “But the threat against you is real. The Rose is known to escalate things, and that is the pattern I see with you. He started by sending you a vial of poison—now he’s killed your horse.” His jaw stiffened. “You may refuse to see this as a threat, but that is the only objective way to see any of it.”
He pulled in a breath, trying to keep his pulse from snapping. He needed to keep his temper in check, keep things as professional as possible between them. “It doesn’t make sense for him to target me. It isn’t his normal process.”
“Exactly what has me worried.”
Bennick shook his head. “I’ve had this conversation with Wilf and Venn, and I still think I have no personal connection with the Rose.”
“But you do.”
His stomach dropped at the unexpected response. “What do you mean?”
The commander lifted an eyebrow. “Two years ago, the Rose killed one of the captains under my command, and I hunted him. While I didn’t catch him, my search would not have gone unnoticed by him. It would not be hard for him to make the connection between us.”
“So you think he’s targeting me because of a grudge he holds against you?”
“It makes sense. Well, as much sense as anything where that deranged killer is concerned.” He shook his head. “Regardless of why he’s targeting you, I think you need to consider the fact that your presence here is making the situation with the Rose worse.”
Bennick frowned. “What?”
“Your presence has antagonized him, and I think it’s clear his fixation with you has only grown.”
“Which could work in our favor,” Bennick said. “For whatever reason, he’s obsessed with me. Wilf thinks he might believe we’re competing somehow, and that in his effort to win, he will be more likely to make a mistake. He’s already done things he has never been known to do on a hunt before.”
“True. Which is why I think it would be best if you returned to Iden.”
Bennick jerked, his body straightening away from the wall. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious. We can say you fell ill, or were injured. You can leave in the morning with a group of my men. I’ve already discussed this with Grandeur, and he has graciously offered Captain Dervish to take your place. Your men can stay under his command.”
“No.” The shock was wearing off, and heat flashed through Bennick’s body, curling his fists at his sides. “I’m not leaving.”
“Why?”
“Because this is my job.”
“Ben—”
“I’m not returning to Iden,” he cut in firmly.
A growl percolated up the commander’s throat. “You’re being a fool. Your presence here could very well be making things worse. If you’re suddenly gone, the Rose will be divided. Torn. He will want to complete his mission in killing Serene, but he has also made this personal with you. My gut tells me he will choose to go after you first, before you’re out of reach. He’ll be angry that you left his game. He’ll want to punish you—taunt you with what he has planned for Clare and Serene.”
“You’re making a lot of predictions about his thoughts.”
“He killed one of my men. I’ve studied him, and I know he’s a sick-minded killer, and the fates will rot me before I let him hurt you.”
The impassioned, protective words took Bennick by surprise, not that his hard expression revealed that. He was still too angry to show anything else. “I’m not leaving.”
A muscle in the commander’s jaw ticked. “If it will set your mind at ease, I’ll stay with the decoy.”
“No. I disagree with your assessment of the Rose. I think the best thing I can do is
stay so the Rose can remain fixated on me—he’ll be less likely to hurt anyone else, and more likely to make a mistake.”
“You’re being hunted, Ben.”
“Then I hope he finds me so I can kill him.” He turned for the door, done with this entire conversation.
His father snagged his wrist, jerking him close. Every muscle in Bennick’s body tensed at the sudden contact, but he didn’t jerk away as his father leaned in, his voice low and sharp. “I refuse to stand by and do nothing while you blatantly ignore the danger. The Rose is stalking you. If you’re not willing to see that, then you are blind, stupid, or both.”
Bennick ground his teeth. It took every bit of control he possessed not to break his father’s hold and only meet his glare. “Let go of me. Now.”
The commander’s fingers tightened around his wrist, then suddenly released. His father took a step back and his nostrils flared, frustration pouring off him in waves. But his tone was surprisingly even as he spoke. “Please, Ben. I know our history is not good, but I’m begging you to listen to me. Just this once.”
“I listened to what you had to say, but I refuse to return to Iden. The Rose will make a mistake, and I’ll catch him. He will stand trial for every crime he’s ever committed.”
There was no softening in the commander’s stance, but the edge in his voice made it clear that Bennick had won the argument, at least for now. “If you manage to catch him,” he said darkly. “Do all of Eyrinthia a favor and kill him. He doesn’t deserve a trial.”
Chapter 29
Mia
Mia was still eating breakfast when the cell door swung open and Tyrell walked in.
Seeing him was a shock, because it had been ten days since she’d seen him. She’d started to wonder if he no longer intended to follow King Henri’s orders to visit her.
It was also a shock because last time he’d been in this room, she had hit him with a chair, and he had triggered one of her panics.
He didn’t quite look at her as he closed the door. “Good morning.”
She watched silently as he moved for the table and lowered himself into the chair opposite her. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.”
His lips pressed into a line. “My father sent me away from Lenzen on an errand. I wasn’t avoiding you.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
He ignored that. “Are you well?”
Surprise flashed through her. Though his eyes were still not quite meeting hers, she could see the concern in them. “I’m fine.”
He dipped his chin. “Good. I . . .” He swallowed, his throat bobbing. He shook his head a little. “Good,” he repeated.
There was an awkward silence and Mia picked at her slice of bread. “You’ve never come so early in the day.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I was anxious to see if you were well.”
“Oh.”
This was a new version of Tyrell, one she hadn’t seen before. She didn’t know what to expect from him.
His hand slipped into his pocket and he withdrew a deck of cards. “I thought we could play a game today.” He nodded to her plate. “You can finish your breakfast first.”
“I’m finished.” She pushed the plate aside, truly not interested in the remains of her breakfast. Not with him acting so strangely.
He began shuffling the deck. “Do you know how to play Assassins? It’s a Mortisian game.”
Mia eyed the worn cards in his hands. “Grayson taught me.”
He snorted, sounding more like himself as he dealt. “He’s terrible at it.”
Mia gathered her cards and viewed them. She rearranged them in her hand, then took another from the pile.
In two turns, Mia laid down a winning hand.
Tyrell stared at the cards, his eyebrows lifting.
Mia smiled, a slight edge to the action. “I’m not terrible at it.”
“No,” Tyrell said quietly, dropping his cards. “No, you are not.”
He gathered the cards and shuffled them between his long fingers. “How long have you been a prisoner here?”
She frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious.” He watched the cards as he dealt. “My father gave the impression that it’s been a while.”
“I’ve been in here since I was seven.”
Tyrell froze, the deck hovering over the table. “How old are you now?”
“Sixteen.”
He stared at her. “Nine years.”
“Yes.”
He muttered under his breath, finished dealing the cards, and then they each looked at their hand. “What did you do to catch the king’s attention? I can’t imagine you as a criminal. At least not at seven years old.”
Mia shuffled the cards in her hand. “You don’t know me.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” They went three rounds before Tyrell won. He didn’t crow his victory, just gathered the cards and shuffled again. “I haven’t traveled much beyond Ryden, but I’ve been to Mortise. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re Mortisian.”
She surprised herself by nodding.
“Is your family still in Mortise?”
In her mind, she heard her mother screaming. The horrible sound ripped through the already terror-soaked night. She saw the fear in her sister’s eyes—
She shook her head, cutting off the memories before they could swallow her. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
Tyrell said nothing, just passed out her cards.
She fanned them out, forcing herself to concentrate.
She won this time.
She grabbed the cards before Tyrell could and shuffled briskly. The stiff fluttering of the cards was the only sound in the room.
“You can ask about me, you know,” Tyrell said.
“There’s nothing about you I care to know.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You wound me.”
“If only.”
He snorted a laugh as he gathered his pile of cards. “Liam taught Grayson and me how to play this game. I was probably only six years old. He found a deck somewhere. It was the first card game I ever learned. I loved it.”
Mia glanced up from her cards, catching the almost wistful look that crossed his face.
His eyes remained on his cards as he spoke. “I stole Liam’s deck and convinced Grayson to play with me at night, when no one would know.” He smiled a little. “I’d forgotten about that. But we would sneak into a sitting room no one ever used, and we’d play for hours. In the beginning, we both brought our knives, worried that it was a trick and the other might turn on us. But at night, in that room, we could just . . . play.” Lost in his thoughts, his smile faded.
Mia’s gut tightened. “What happened?”
“Peter caught me sneaking back to my room one night. He beat me for keeping secrets, and then he held a knife to my face and told me to lure Grayson into another game. I did. Peter and Carter were lying in wait, and the moment Grayson entered the room, they tackled him. They beat him, and then Peter made me burn the cards.” Tyrell set down his cards—a winning hand—and lifted his gaze to meet her stare. “I suppose you hate me for that. Betraying him like I did.”
In truth, she just felt horribly sad for both of them.
He swept up the cards, not waiting for a response. “I think I’m done with this game for now.”
“You’re leaving?”
He shook his head. “The hour’s not up. What were you planning to do this morning?”
“I was going to paint,” she answered honestly.
“Excellent. I can watch you.”
“No.” The word came out reflexively.
“I really think I can. I’ll try not to blink too much.” He shrugged. “If you want me to participate, I suppose you can paint me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
He flashed a smile. “I truly don’t mind posing for you.”
“I’m not painting you.” But her fingers did itch to paint, and afte
r Tyrell had shared that story from his childhood, she didn’t feel like arguing with him. She also knew he wouldn’t relent until she painted something.
She wouldn’t paint him, though.
She rose from the table and moved for the chest in the corner that held her supplies. She carried the bottles of paint to the table, then crossed the room to find a canvas. She had run out of blank ones, so it was time to paint over something. She found one of a mountainside, and decided that would do. It wasn’t her best work.
She took it to the table, where Tyrell was fingering a bottle of yellow paint. He watched as she wordlessly put her wooden easel into place and stood up the canvas. Then she tied her curly hair back into a knot so it would be out of her face while she worked. She didn’t like the thought of Tyrell watching her paint, but it wouldn’t be the most offensive thing he’d done to her. Not by any account.
She returned to the table, pried off the cap to the white paint, and dipped a brush.
Tyrell watched her wordlessly until the moment she lifted the paint-covered brush to the canvas. “Stop!” He leaped up from the chair and lunged for her, snagging her wrist.
Mia flinched back, her spine stiff as adrenaline shot through her. “Let go of me!”
His fingers flexed around her wrist, his expression twisted in anger. “What are you doing? Why are you trying to paint over that?”
She frowned, her heart hammering against her ribs. “That’s what bothered you?”
A muscle in his jaw feathered angrily. “Why would you destroy that?”
Mia tugged at her wrist, but he didn’t let go. “I paint over my canvases all the time. I only have so many.”
Tyrell’s eyes narrowed. “And Grayson never bought you more?”
“He couldn’t always get them.” King Henri had spies everywhere, and they were always watching Grayson. He had to be careful with what he brought her. Too much, and the king noticed. Mia shook her head at Tyrell. “Besides, your mother hates art, so supplies are hard to find in Lenzen.”
“They’re not lost relics,” he snapped. “He could have found them with a little searching.”
Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2) Page 27