Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  He’d been interrogating the Rose for an hour, and the man hadn’t broken.

  The Rose was not unaffected. He flinched and hissed. He strained against the ropes that bound him to the wooden chair. Sweat slicked his skin, glistening alongside the blood that streaked his face.

  But the Rose remained silent when Bennick repeated his question, his voice cold, his emotions carefully leashed. “Who hired you?”

  The Rose sagged in his bonds, his face a swollen mass of purpling flesh. Several cuts oozed blood, though it was hard to tell if they were new, or simply reopened from Bennick’s first assault, when he had tackled the Rose off of Clare.

  Bennick tensed at the thought of her. Of the memory of the Rose on top of her.

  He kept seeing that moment Clare had flinched away from his touch. The fear that had flashed in her eyes, the unspoken pain. He saw the blood on her lips. Felt her tears against his skin like they were blades. He had not been able to hold her tightly enough to stop her shaking.

  He had to shove the memories away. Kick back the terror, fury, and helplessness before they could rip through the shield of ice he’d erected.

  He needed to feel nothing right now. It was the only way he could stop himself from outright killing the Rose.

  His fist slammed into the assassin’s jaw and the man’s head snapped to the side. “Who hired you?” he asked again.

  He could feel Venn bristling by the door. They were in one of the cold storerooms in Lord Francin’s cellar. The air was musty, the earthy scent of the pale dirt floor mixing with that of the cool stone walls. Two guards stood outside the door, but everyone else in the manor was probably asleep.

  Bennick had left Clare only after sleep had claimed her; she hadn’t asked him to stay, but she hadn’t needed to. He had stayed close, murmuring soft words and soothing her with gentle touches. Once her red eyes had closed and her breaths had gone deep and even, he’d slipped away. He left several guards at her door and checked briefly on Wilf, who was sleeping. He learned that the commander had gone to bed an hour ago, and that was just as well—his father might be the commander of Iden’s prison, but Bennick was the captain of the princess’s guard. The Rose belonged to him.

  He had brought Venn so he wouldn’t be alone. So he wouldn’t go too far.

  But Venn hadn’t stopped him yet, and a part of him doubted Venn ever would.

  He glanced down at his hands, saw the blood smeared over his throbbing knuckles. He thought of Clare’s gentle touch as she had cleaned his hands mere hours ago, and he felt a needle of guilt.

  He stomped it out and hit the Rose again, gritting his teeth against the agony in his hand. “Who hired you?”

  The assassin opened his mouth and spat a glob of blood onto the dirt floor. It splattered near Bennick’s boot, but he didn’t know if the Rose had been aiming for him, or if it was a coincidence due to Bennick standing so close. Saliva and blood dribbled from the corner of the man’s mouth and his head rolled a little as he craned his neck to look up at Bennick. One eye was swollen shut, the other already turning black. His jaw worked for a moment before he finally spoke, his words hoarse. “Does it feel good?”

  Bennick’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  The Rose’s split lip tipped up at one corner, blood glistening on his teeth. “Hitting me. Does it feel good?”

  Bennick’s hand flexed at his side, his fingers stiff and sparking with pain. Pain he definitely deserved to feel. “Who hired you?”

  The Rose wheezed out a short laugh. “You may have noticed, Captain. I don’t register pain. Not the way other people do. You can hit me until you break your hand, but I won’t say anything I don’t want to.”

  Bennick grasped a handful of the Rose’s brown hair and yanked his head back, forcing their gazes together. He leaned in, his hand fisting in the Rose’s hair until the man winced. His voice was darkly level. “Who hired you?”

  The man’s nostrils flared. “You should ask me the question I want to answer.”

  Bennick released him, only to hit him. While he shook out his hand, the assassin spat more blood on the ground—along with a tooth. “You’re not in control here.”

  “Neither are you, Captain.” The Rose stretched his neck. “Why don’t you stop pretending you are?”

  Bennick had never wanted to kill a man so badly. But he needed answers to ensure Clare’s safety, as well as Serene’s, and he would get them.

  And then he would kill him.

  To prove he was in control, he didn’t even hit the Rose again before repeating his question. “Who hired you?”

  The assassin rolled his shoulders as best he could with his arms wrenched back, his wrists secured to the back of the chair. “I’m quite certain that little secret is the only reason I’m still breathing. Forgive me for wanting to keep it.” One eyebrow lifted, straining against a barely clotted cut. “However, there are other secrets I could share. For a price.”

  A growl vibrated up his throat. “I’m not here to bargain with you.”

  “But you will. Because if you don’t, Clare will be dead ten times over before you reach Duvan.”

  Bennick heard the sound of his fist hitting the Rose before he registered the pain of the impact.

  When the Rose lifted his head, strands of limp hair stuck to a bloody cut on his cheek.

  “You have no power to threaten her,” Bennick said, his voice edging toward a snarl.

  The Rose sniffed, his nose dripping blood. “So protective of the decoy. But then, we both know she’s more than that to you. Dear, beautiful Clare—”

  Bennick had a knife pressed against his throat in the space of a blink, and he could feel his eyes burning as he glared at the man. “Speak her name again, and the next thing to pass your lips will be your last breath.”

  The Rose’s eyes flared with an emotion Bennick couldn’t read. It wasn’t fear, anger, or pain. It was closer to resentment. Then he blinked, and there was nothing in his eyes as he calmly said. “Someday I will kill you.”

  His mouth twisted in a cold, dark smile. “If you do, I swear to the fates I’ll drag you with me.”

  The Rose’s eyes narrowed. And then his expression smoothed. “Lovely threats, Captain. But aren’t you curious how I can save both your decoy and your princess?”

  Bennick’s grip on the knife tightened, and the edge pressed deeper into the assassin’s skin. He could feel Venn watching him. Could feel the blistering fury that pounded through his friend’s veins, because it was starting to course through his own body.

  He needed to stay calm. Cold. Detached.

  He pulled back the knife, spinning the blade in his hands. “What do you know?”

  “Many things,” the Rose said. “I know which of your stops in Mortise will be hosted by men and women who plan to kill the princess. I know the names of all the notable people who want the alliance to fail—and the ones who will take action to make sure it does.”

  “Give me their names.”

  “It’s not that simple.” The Rose’s legs flexed; with his ankles tightly bound to the chair legs, the movement was impeded. He still somehow managed to look like he was reclining, perfectly at ease. “You want to keep the decoy and the princess alive. I want to keep breathing. So. You will take me with you to Mortise, and I will identify threats as they become relevant.”

  “No.” Venn peeled away from the door, his voice hard as he moved to stand beside Bennick. “As soon as we’ve bled everything useful out of you, you’re dead.”

  The Rose blinked, his focus shifting to Venn. “You’re Venn Grannard. Youngest man to ever be promoted to the royal guard. I can’t imagine why you hate me.”

  Fury swirled in Venn’s eyes. “You’re a sick, sadistic killer. I hate everything about you.”

  The Rose’s head listed to the side. “Hmm, it seems more personal than that. Did you perhaps have feelings for the maid I killed in Halbrook? What was her name . . . Fates, she told me while she was crying for her life . . . Ivonne?”


  Venn lunged, his fist cracking against the Rose’s jaw. Then he shot a look to Bennick, one that clearly said, I’m not apologizing for that.

  Bennick didn’t blame him. He faced the Rose. “Why do you think we would trust your information?”

  The Rose spat out more blood. “Perhaps because you have no other choice? Face reality, Captain. Even if you avoid every pre-arranged stop in Mortise—which would offend every Mortisian, as you well know—and take every precaution to ensure a safe arrival in Duvan . . . Eventually, someone will get through your defenses. And you will always blame yourself. Always wonder if something I knew might have made the difference between life and death.”

  Bennick’s hold on the dagger flexed. He hated every word the Rose said. Hated the corner he was being backed into.

  Because the Rose was right. If Clare or Serene died in Mortise, Bennick would always blame himself. And he would always wonder.

  “Take me to Mortise as your prisoner,” the Rose said. “Keep me alive, and I will give you the identity of each enemy as they become relevant. It’s a near-perfect solution; you won’t be able to kill me, because I won’t divulge everything all at once, and I will steer you safely to Duvan one stop at a time.”

  Venn ground his teeth. “You would try to escape at the first opportunity.”

  The Rose smiled thinly. “Then you’d better guard me well.”

  Bennick’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts racing. He could feel Venn’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look away from the Rose.

  He wanted to say no. But the same force that had kept him from killing the assassin also screamed for him to carefully consider his options. This was not a time for rash decisions. He knew that enemies lay in Mortise. If the Rose could identify them . . .

  Fates, the last thing he wanted to do was bring the Rose with them to Duvan. He hated the thought of the assassin so close to Clare.

  But if it saved her life . . .

  His hold on the dagger tightened when he realized there was only one answer he could give right now. Because in the end, this choice wasn’t his to make.

  “The princess will decide your fate.” He turned to Venn. “We’ll take him to Stills.”

  Venn’s nostrils flared. “He deserves to die.”

  Bennick didn’t disagree, but he sheathed his knife. He had to swallow back the words that wanted to come out. “If he attempts to escape, we’ll kill him.”

  The Rose smiled slowly. “You won’t regret this.”

  Bennick ignored him and turned on his heel, knowing Venn would follow his lead—much as he might not want to.

  He’d only managed one step before the Rose spoke again. “You still haven’t asked me the question I really want to answer.”

  Bennick paused, throwing a look over his shoulder. “Unless you’re going to tell me who hired you, we’re done.”

  The lantern’s glow cast a yellow light across the Rose’s battered face. His voice was low. “I saw you that night, at the Paltrow’s ball. I was in the garden, and I saw the rebels strike. That’s when I learned she was a decoy. I heard Clare’s name. I heard you scream it as she bled out in your arms.”

  Bennick’s lungs compressed as that horrible memory crashed into him.

  A grin stole across his bloody face, and the effect was chilling. “That night was one of the greatest gifts the fates ever gave me. Because I knew then that my success would mean more than just your failure. When I took Serene’s life, I would ruin your career; but when I ended Clare’s life? Well, I knew that would rip out your heart.”

  His jaw ached as he clenched his teeth, his breath coming out on a hiss. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “You exist.”

  Bennick stared at him, bewilderment slicing through him. “Who are you?”

  “Finally, the right question.” The Rose’s shoulders eased back against the chair, his expression going so smooth, it made Bennick’s spine stiffen. “You were twelve years old the first time I saw you.”

  “Was this at the academy?” The Rose was a few years older than him, so it was possible they’d spent some mutual years there. But while Bennick had had rivals, he could not think of any actual enemies. Certainly no one with this level of loathing.

  “No.” The Rose shook his head. “It was at the royal prison in Iden.”

  Confusion drifted through him, tensing his body. “I don’t remember you.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. Our meeting was brief, and I meant nothing to you. But when I saw you . . . That was the first time I felt the urge to kill.”

  Bennick stared at him, left without words. Beside him, Venn was also silent.

  The assassin rolled his neck. “I was in the commander’s office. We were arguing when you walked in. I could see instantly that you favored him.” A cold smile, devoid of all humor, stretched his bloody lips. “I favor my mother.”

  The words meant nothing to Bennick. Not for an eternal moment.

  And then there was no air in his lungs. No thoughts in his head, except an endless echo of denials he didn’t have the breath to utter.

  The Rose’s attention was fixed on Bennick. “You knew the commander sired other children. Is it really so surprising that one of them learned about you?”

  Bennick shook his head as he fell back a step. His throat constricted, stopping any words that tried to claw their way out. It felt like the ground was spinning. Like his entire world was spinning.

  “I envied you that day,” the Rose said quietly. “Seeing you standing there in his office. Well dressed, bright-eyed, and eager to please our father. I wanted to be you. I should have been you.” His eyes narrowed. “Your life should have been mine. Would have been mine, if he had only claimed me as his firstborn.”

  Bennick’s heart pounded. There was no way this killer—the Rose—shared his blood. It was impossible.

  It would explain so much.

  Why the Rose had singled him out; why he hated him.

  Why his father had been so desperate to send Bennick back to Iden, to keep him away from the Rose.

  Why he had wanted to kill him before he could regain consciousness.

  “You’re lying,” Venn snapped.

  “If I were interested in telling lies, I would tell you that there was no link between me and Commander Markam. But there is.” The Rose focused back on Bennick. “The truth can be a curse. Half of the curse is that we’re so persistent in seeking it out, even when instinct screams that we’d be better off not knowing.” He cocked his head to the side. “Your instincts are screaming at you now, aren’t they?”

  Bennick’s jaw nearly cracked as he ground his teeth.

  “My mother was a young widow,” the Rose said. “Her late husband had been one of Markam’s soldiers, and she was still living at one of the northern outposts. She caught the commander’s eye.” He shook his head. “I never met him. He left her before I was born. But she always told me that my father, the great Commander Markam, had to leave us for our own safety. That he had many enemies, and we would be targets. That’s why we lived on the northern edge of Devendra in a drafty cabin. He sent coin sporadically to support our simple lifestyle, and my mother was desperate for the day he would return.

  “I was beaten, spat upon, mocked as a fatherless whelp. But I took every thrown fist without ever telling anyone I did have a father. That he was protecting me by keeping his distance—just as I was protecting him by keeping my silence.” Tension bracketed his mouth. “My mother died when I was sixteen. I made the trip to Iden alone, prepared to grieve with my father. When I arrived and gained an audience with the commander, well . . .” The corner of his mouth ticked up. “At first he tried to tell me there was some misunderstanding. That I wasn’t his. When that failed, he offered me gold if I would leave him alone. That’s when you came walking in. I saw the man’s eyes light up, and I knew he would never look at me like that. He didn’t want me. He wanted you.” His jaw stiffened. “I could see his fear. He worried I would say somethi
ng to you, so he was quick to usher you out. He threatened to imprison me if I didn’t leave. So I did. But I swore that he would respect me someday. That I would give him true reason to fear me.” The Rose’s thin, empty smile was back. “I leave the roses for him. So he knows it’s me. They were my mother’s favorite flower.”

  Bennick’s stomach churned.

  “Fates,” Venn breathed into the heavy silence.

  “I love that he lost your adoration,” the Rose said to Bennick. “That something happened to dim your view of him. You were the son he chose, but you turned your back on him.” A grin slashed across his face. “I love the poetry of that.”

  The door creaked open and Bennick knew without turning that it was his father. The room grew colder. Darker.

  The Rose’s smile widened. “Ah, Commander. I’ve been expecting you. When the captain came in earlier, I was sure it was going to be you, sneaking in to murder me.”

  His father’s voice was gruff. “Ben. I told you I would handle his interrogation in the morning.”

  The Rose chuckled. “You’re a little late, Commander. Or should I say, Father?”

  Silence.

  Bennick’s spine was so rigid, he barely managed to turn and face his father.

  If he had been clinging to any hope that the Rose had been lying, he would have had to abandon that now. The commander’s face was splashed with anger, guilt, and horror. He took a step toward Bennick, one hand lifting. “Ben . . .”

  Bennick strode around him, his chest tight and his throat locked.

  “Ben!”

  Fingers grasped his arm, but he jerked away and kept walking. He didn’t look back. Not when Venn fell into step behind him, or when his father ordered him to come back. Not even when the Rose’s laughter echoed off the cold stone walls.

  Chapter 41

  Mia

  Mia was sketching at the table when Tyrell entered the room. She looked up from the pinecone she’d been studying; the one Grayson had given her.

  Tyrell’s movements were slower than usual. Almost cautious. It had been five days since he’d come to her cell in the middle of the night, completely drunk. She hadn’t seen him since, though having a few days between visits wasn’t uncommon. What felt different today was his hesitancy. She wondered if his mind, like hers, was flashing to the emotional confessions he’d made in this room the other night. His cut lip was still in evidence, though visibly healing, and the bruising from his drunken fighting had mostly faded as well.