Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

“Is it about your mother?” she asked. “Has her illness worsened?”

  “No. Actually, she’s doing much better.” Bennick let out a slow breath. “My father and I . . . we had a disagreement.”

  She pursed her lips at his cool tone, her hand dropping from his arm. “I don’t want to pry, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  “It’s not . . .” He pushed a hand through his tawny hair, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He took a step back, his gaze dropping even as tension raised his shoulders. “He said something, and I can’t get it out of my head.”

  She kept her voice low. “What did he say?”

  Bennick leaned his back against the closed door, his body a hard line. “He believes the Rose has become fixated on me.”

  Confusion twisted through her; she hadn’t expected that. “Why? Because of the poison he left you?”

  “That . . . and he killed my horse and left a message on my bed.”

  Her jaw loosened, her mouth falling open. “What? When?”

  “Just before the Paltrow’s ball.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Bennick glanced away, a lock of hair falling over his lined brow. “I didn’t want to alarm you.”

  Her breathing thinned. “What did the message say?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t matter? He threatened you!”

  “And that doesn’t matter.” He pushed off the door and gripped her shoulders in a firm but gentle grasp. His blue eyes burned into hers. “He was trying to scare me, but I’m not his target. This is some game of his, and I refuse to play. I will not become distracted.”

  “But the commander thinks you’ve become a target.”

  “He thinks the Rose has taken a strange interest in me, yes. But I don’t know if I agree.” His hands smoothed down her arms, his gaze tracking the motion. “My father thinks if I return to Iden, the Rose will follow me. That he’ll be compelled to punish me for leaving, and you’ll be safe.”

  “No.”

  His eyes cut to her. “What if he’s right?”

  “He’s not.”

  “How can you be so sure? I keep debating it, and I still don’t know if I disagreed with my father because I think he’s wrong, or if I disagreed because it’s him.”

  She took his hand, twining her fingers with his. “I know he’s wrong, because we can’t protect each other if we’re apart. Whatever we face, we’re stronger together.”

  “I want to believe that, Clare . . .”

  “Then believe it.”

  He studied her for a long moment, then dipped his head. “You’re right. We’re stronger together.”

  She squeezed his hand. “You should have told me about what the Rose did. There shouldn’t be secrets between us.”

  The moment the words left her mouth, her stomach knotted. How many secrets was she keeping from Bennick? Serene’s plot against her brother and father, the letters she’d carried for James . . .

  That’s different, she told herself. They’re not my secrets to tell.

  And yet a hint of uneasiness remained.

  “I should have told you,” Bennick said. “I’m sorry.”

  She eyed him, the corner of her mouth lifting. “It’s hard to argue with you when you agree with me.”

  “Do you want to argue?”

  “No.” She eased forward, sliding her arms around his hard middle. Embracing him, she laid her cheek against his chest and whispered, “What I really want is for us to have a moment of peace.”

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, making her insides flip pleasantly. His low words rumbled through his chest. “Maybe tonight we can slip away. See some of the city. Just the two of us.”

  She leaned back, a smile playing on her lips. “Really?”

  His chin dropped as he leaned in, this time kissing her lightly on her mouth. When he drew back, his voice was rougher than before. “Maybe you could bring your garrote, so we can train. You need more practice.”

  She flashed him a scowl and he chuckled. “Oh, I’ll bring it now,” she muttered.

  A smile bloomed on his face as he stepped back, reaching for the door handle. “I look forward to it.”

  She shook her head, but she was smiling as he left. The only thing that managed to dim it was the thought of the Rose threatening Bennick. Threatening them both.

  She knew the hours would pass slowly as she awaited Bennick’s return, so she distracted herself by writing replies to Thomas, Mark, and Mistress Keller, and she was just finishing the last one when Ivonne pushed into the room without warning, her face pinched. “Sorry to interrupt, but someone is asking for you.”

  Clare blinked. “Someone is asking for me?”

  Ivonne jerked a nod, still gripping the door’s handle. “Vera and Wilf are with him now. He’s wounded, but he won’t tell us what happened—he just keeps asking for you.”

  Visions of Eliot jumped to mind, and despite her feelings about what he’d done, she still leapt to her feet and hurried from the room, Ivonne at her heels.

  Clare rushed down the stairs, ignoring the painful stitch in her side. Her palm slid down the smooth banister and she reached the common room, heart in her throat. She drew up short when she saw James slumped in a wooden chair. She hadn’t seen him since Tarvin, when she’d given him Serene’s last message. His drawn face was pale and glistening with sweat, the heel of one hand braced against his bleeding shoulder.

  Wilf frowned down at him, no sign of distress at the blood. Vera was wringing her hands and biting her lip, clearly desperate to help him.

  It was also clear Wilf had ordered her to stay back.

  Clare’s slippered feet were soft against the wooden floor as she hurried forward. “James?”

  Wilf shot her a look, his mouth bracketed in hard lines. “You know him?”

  “Yes. He’s an old friend,” she lied.

  James made to stand, but grimaced deeply and remained where he was, his face etched with strain. “Clare. I must speak with you.”

  Wilf snagged Clare’s elbow, stopping her from getting too close to the bleeding man. She shot a look up at him. “I told you, he’s a friend.”

  “What I see is a man bleeding from a hole in his shoulder, who won’t tell me why. He wants you, not a physician. And the fact that he knew to ask for you here, even if you are old friends? Well, I find that suspicious, too, especially after what happened in Lindon.” She winced at the reminder of Eliot’s betrayal, but Wilf wasn’t done. “Before you get close to him—or before I summon a physician—he will tell me exactly what happened to him, and why he’s here.” He eyed James, his expression truly menacing. “I anticipate you have several minutes before you succumb to the blood loss, and unless you can convince me you’re not a rebel—or a threat in any way—I won’t bother waking you up.”

  “Wilf!” Clare yanked her arm, but he didn’t let go. She wasn’t quite sure how he managed such a strong grip without it being the least bit painful.

  James’s throat visibly bobbed as he swallowed. “Please, there’s no time. It—It’s about Serene. Her safety.”

  Wilf’s broad shoulders stiffened. “What about the princess?”

  “She’s in danger.”

  This time when Clare tugged her arm, Wilf released her. She knelt in front of James, one hand braced on the arm of the chair. The wood dug into her palm with a grounding pressure. “Tell me what you know.”

  James cringed, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes. The clawed fingers of his hand dug into his shoulder, increasing the pressure on the wound. “What I have to say is private. Please. I can only talk to you.”

  Clare shot a look to Wilf. “Can you give us a moment?”

  He growled, the sound so deep it seemed to vibrate through the whole room.

  “Please, Wilf.”

  He was not happy about it, but he eventually retreated to the other side of the room, his sharp eyes still on them, his pox-scarred face twisted into a scowl.
Ivonne left to find bandages and Vera left with a soldier to find a physician—which Wilf didn’t protest, as he was so focused on watching Clare and James.

  She gripped the chair arm and leaned closer to him, her voice a bare whisper. “What happened to you?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He tried to straighten and hissed through his teeth. “I wouldn’t have come at all, but I didn’t think I could make it to her. But you can.”

  “Someone plans to attack her at the dedication?”

  He jerked out a nod and glanced at Wilf, who was far enough away that he couldn’t pick up everything of their exchange. “I knew he wouldn’t believe me. He’d just ask questions. It has to be you. If you don’t alert her, she’s going to die.”

  “Who is attacking? How many?”

  “Mercenaries. I don’t know how many. Twenty? Thirty? Tell Serene that one of the Mortisians on the council hired them—I’m quite certain it was Zephan, but I don’t have proof.” He stiffened his jaw, pain flashing over his face. “I arranged to have men in the crowd weeks ago, but they don’t know what’s coming, so they can’t warn her. But they’ll be ready to help, if the fight is triggered before you can get to Serene.”

  She stared at him. “Who are you?”

  He let loose a stiff laugh. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Do you love her?” The question rolled out of her mouth before she could consider the wisdom of it.

  His eyes darted over her face, his breathing tense. “She is everything to me.” He grit his teeth and ducked his head, panting out a hard, pained breath. “Please. Go. Save her.”

  Clare shoved to her feet and spun to Wilf. “There’s going to be an attack at the ceremony. We need to warn them.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You believe him, then?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned without another word and called a handful of soldiers toward him. They started for the door and Wilf only stopped when he noticed Clare following. He lifted a stern finger. “No.”

  She met his gaze firmly. “You’re all uniformed men. What if we need a bit more subtlety once we reach the square?”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “This isn’t just about Serene. Grandeur and Imara are in danger as well.” And so was Bennick. The thought made her heart beat faster. “Please, Wilf. I need to help if I can.”

  Wilf opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, looking irritated.

  Behind them, Ivonne returned with bandages and she crouched in front of James, who was shaking with the pain.

  Clare folded her arms, her shoulders braced as she faced Wilf. “We’re wasting time. Are you taking me with you, or am I sneaking out after you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he snapped. “Just stay close.”

  Chapter 33

  Clare

  “What do you know about the attackers?” Wilf asked as they hurried down the street.

  “They’re mercenaries,” Clare said, running at his side. “Maybe twenty or thirty.”

  Wilf cursed.

  They reached the edge of the crowd in minutes, but only because so many had gathered to hear Serene speak. The streets of Halbrook were clogged with people, stretching far away from the actual square Serene was in.

  Wilf swore again, then glanced back at the four soldiers with them. “Move as quickly as possible, but don’t cause a scene. We don’t want to trigger the attack. As we move in, one of the princess’s guards will spot us and know something is wrong, and they will get the princess to safety. Keep your eyes peeled for the mercenaries, but stay in a group so we’ll be more noticeable to the princess’s bodyguards.”

  The men nodded, their faces set grimly.

  He shot a look at Clare. “Stay right behind me. I’ll send you ahead only if we have to.”

  She nodded, and stepped quickly to follow Wilf as he shouldered into the crowd. She kept as close to Wilf’s back as possible, the four soldiers trailing behind her.

  Even though her footing remained sure over the cobbled street, Clare vibrated with the need to reach the square before it was too late. Serene was the target, but anyone could be hurt. Grandeur, Imara, the guards—even innocent bystanders.

  Panic twisted her insides as they pushed their way into the square, but they were on the far side.

  A dais had been constructed for the event, so the royals could be seen. Serene stood at the front, surrounded by her guards, with Grandeur and Imara slightly behind her. All of them were far too exposed, considering there was a small army of mercenaries hiding in the square.

  At least the guards were alert. Bennick, Venn, Cardon, and Dirk were all eyeing the gathered crowd, searching for any sign of danger. She prayed they would spot Wilf quickly—he was huge and pushing through the crowd, so he had to catch their attention once they got closer.

  Serene’s speech was underway, her voice carrying through the square, punctuated by scattered cheers. “The road will provide easier access to Zennor’s Midlands, opening new trade partnerships with our longtime ally, as well as paving the way for trade to more easily reach the southern cities of Devendra . . .”

  Clare bumped into a man and he tossed her an annoyed look. She kept moving.

  “It is a great time for our kingdom,” Serene continued smoothly. “Alliances—both new and old—will bring us greater prosperity, and a brighter future for our posterity.”

  The soldier behind Clare knocked into her and she stumbled against Wilf’s wide back. She steadied herself by gripping his thick arm, and the recent wound in her side twinged uncomfortably as she twisted a look over her shoulder.

  The soldier crumpled to the ground, a crossbow bolt buried between his shoulder blades. The other guards were also falling, all of them shot.

  Shouts burst out of the nearby men and women in the crowd as they scrambled back from the fallen bodies, pushing each other in their haste to get away.

  Wilf shoved Clare in front of him, sheltering her with his body against the sudden surge of the crowd. With panic breaking out, he abandoned the subtler plan and bellowed, “Mercenaries!”

  A man from the crowd threw himself at Wilf’s side, actually managing to tackle the giant warrior, but Wilf’s shouted warning tore through the crowd. Everyone was suddenly moving. Elbows jabbed, screams pierced the air, and hands shoved.

  Clare drew her dagger and ducked around the seething mass of arms and legs so she could assist Wilf, but he hardly needed help.

  He rolled, nearly crushing his attacker beneath him, and then a knife flashed as he cut the man’s throat.

  Clare looked hastily away, her stomach churning. She strained to find Bennick, but the stage Serene had stood on just seconds before was now empty. She prayed that meant they’d all made it down safely, and that the mercenaries hadn’t surrounded them.

  Wilf grasped her arm with a firm grip and started dragging her back the way they’d come, away from the stage.

  Clare dug in her heels. “Wait! We have to help them.”

  He flashed her a hard look. “We won’t make it to them in this mess, and the risk isn’t worth it. We gave them warning—they’ll be fine. I have to get you to safety.”

  She knew he was right, but it still took a moment to wrestle with the need to find Bennick and make sure he was all right. But when Wilf pulled her forward, she didn’t resist.

  They cut through the crowd, dodging around every knot of people in their way. Pain burst in Clare’s side when a man fleeing the chaos of the square unintentionally knocked into her, hurting her still-tender side.

  Wilf latched onto her elbow, jerking her in front of him. He protected her with his arms even as he continued to herd her forward. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she gasped, her body shaking from the pain. Or maybe it was the adrenaline.

  Probably both.

  They were nearly to the edge of the crowd when Wilf grunted, suddenly pushing against her back. “Move for the alley,” he snapped.

 
Clare altered her course without hesitation. They entered the narrow street and Wilf hissed, his body tensing behind her. “Stay against the wall,” he ordered, even as he drew his sword. Brandishing a long sword in the crowd would have been nearly impossible, but in the alley he finally could.

  She glanced up at his face. It was rigid. Controlled. As he twisted to face the opening of the alley, she got a view of his back.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth. Two crossbow bolts were stuck in him. One was embedded in his thick upper arm, the other in his lower back.

  “Wilf, you’re hurt!”

  “Shut up and back up,” he huffed at her.

  She peered around him and spotted three men who stood shoulder to shoulder, just out of Wilf’s sword range. They set aside their empty crossbows and drew their own swords.

  The one in the middle was glaring openly. “This is for Galvin.”

  Wilf cranked his neck to the side, popping it. There was something chilling about his calm. “I assume he’s a dead friend of yours?”

  The man seethed. “You’re dead. And so is your girl.”

  Wilf lunged, moving his bulky body with surprising fluidity as he spun the sword in his hands. If Clare had not seen the bolts buried inside him, she would not have thought him injured.

  She stumbled back. There was no room to fight beside Wilf, even if she dared to join in.

  He fought fiercely, but with a horribly efficient ease. He was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The mercenary on the right was dead in seconds. The man on the left managed to lay a cut to Wilf’s arm, but then he was dead, too.

  The man who had spoken remained alone, his face flushed as he snarled. “You will suffer for their deaths.”

  Wilf swung his sword and the man leapt back, avoiding the swipe only barely.

  Clare heard a noise behind her and turned. A fourth mercenary stepped out of a side door only a few paces away. He turned toward them, his crossbow clutched in both hands.

  He lifted the loaded weapon and Clare flinched, but he wasn’t aiming for her. Clearly dismissing her as a threat, he aimed for Wilf’s unguarded back.

  She wouldn’t be able to reach the mercenary in time to even try to stop him. “Wilf!”