“Yes, do you have the names?” Desfan asked, tossing his crown on the desk.
“No.” Arcas’s eyes darkened. “The kiv in charge of the ledger that outlines royal rotations said he would get me the report, but he kept avoiding me. Last night, he finally confessed that the volume holding the record of that night was lost a week or so after the serjan’s collapse. He seemed terrified that he would be blamed, but I don’t think he lost it. I believe it was stolen.”
Desfan loosed a curse. “Does the kiv not remember who was on duty that night?”
“No. For what it’s worth, I believe him. But for the last week or so I’ve been asking around to see if anyone knew who was on the serjan’s guard that night. A couple of names were mentioned, but, Serjah . . . none of them are employed by the palace guard anymore.”
Desfan’s eyes narrowed. “They were discharged?”
“No one seems to know for sure. One man swore he heard the guards involved were offered retirement, and they all left Duvan, but I’m concerned something more sinister may have befallen them. Perhaps they saw something they shouldn’t have, and someone took action against them.”
“What about their written reports?” Karim demanded. “Surely they were all ordered to write a report about that night. The serjan collapsed on their watch!”
“Their reports are also missing.”
Desfan shoved a hand through his dark curls, a curse shooting out with his vented breath. He began to pace, too frustrated to remain still. “Why wasn’t this discovered sooner?”
“I don’t know. Bribes, perhaps? Or whoever made evidence—and men—disappear, has more influence than I’d care to fathom.”
“A kiv?” Desfan asked. “Someone with access to records?”
“Or a council member,” Karim muttered.
“That brings me to my second bit of news,” Arcas said. “I have had the royal physician tailed, as you asked. Nothing suspicious has been reported—until now. Early this morning he met with Serai Yahri in the back gardens. The guard could not get close enough to hear everything that was exchanged, but he did hear Yahri say that the physician needed to keep silent. That there were things you, Serjah, could never know.”
Desfan’s heart beat a little faster. “Anything else?”
“No, unfortunately.” Arcas’s chin dropped. “Would you like me to bring either of them in for questioning?”
He hesitated. “No. Not yet. Thank you, Arcas. And please, keep this to yourself.”
The man bowed and left the room.
Karim eyed Desfan. “Between that conversation and the one Jamal overheard between Yahri and Zephan—not to mention the way she spoke to you of abdication—I think Yahri should be brought in for questioning.”
“She will be.”
Karim’s brow furrowed. “You have that look again. The one I hate.”
Desfan smiled grimly. “I don’t think you’ll like what I do next, either.”
That was confirmed by Karim about ten minutes later as they stood outside Yahri’s palace apartment. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I absolutely hate this idea.”
Desfan ignored his friend as he stooped in front of Yahri’s door, silver lockpicks catching the light from the nearby torch as he fitted them into place. “If there’s any evidence, I need it before I confront her.”
“Why not have Arcas do this?”
“Because I need to see it for myself. I need to find it, hold it in my hands. I need to know it is indisputably real.”
If all this was true . . . Serai Yahri, the senior member of the council, was a traitor. Potentially a murderer.
This would rock the very foundation of Mortise. He needed to tread carefully.
But he would learn the truth.
The lock clicked open and Desfan removed the picks and pushed in the door. He knew Yahri was in the royal library, because she always spent an hour or two there after every council session. When he was young, he and his sisters would be with their tutor and they’d see Yahri come in. They always got excited when they saw her, because they knew their father was done with meetings and he would be coming for them soon.
He jerked back from those memories, because they didn’t belong here. Sometimes, they didn’t feel like they belonged in his head at all. They were from a different life. A life that had been torn away from him.
If that woman had plotted to kill Desfan’s father, she would hang.
Desfan stepped into her suite and Karim followed, easing the door closed behind them. Afternoon sun poured in through open windows, illuminating the suite. It was minimally decorated, with plenty of books on the shelves and vibrant flower arrangements on the tables.
He moved for her desk in the corner and Karim silently moved for her bedroom.
Desfan rifled over every inch of the desk, glanced at every paper stored in the drawers, but he found nothing incriminating. He moved to the towering bookcase, stuffed with volumes and scrolls. He started taking the books down, one by one, and flipped through the pages. It was time consuming, but he forced himself to be meticulous. Book after book, page after page . . .
A letter slipped free of the old pages and Desfan caught it before it hit the carpeted floor.
His heart thudded as he thrust the book back on the shelf and eyed the folded letter.
It was a single page, heavy paper, folded into thirds. The sealing wax bore no insignia, and the simple crimson dot had been split.
Desfan flipped the letter open, his eyes scanning the words.
Yahri,
Difficult decisions lie in our path, but hiring the Rose to dispose of Princess Serene was easy. Thank you. The time will come when all of us can be known to each other, but until then, I appreciate your support in our efforts. You took powerful steps to ensure no one learned the truth about what happened to the serjan, and I continue to admire you for that.
I know you will continue to take all necessary steps to protect the crown.
The message was signed with a symbol—an X created by the crossing of two curved swords.
But the writer of the letter didn’t concern Desfan at the moment. No, the anger vibrating through his body was for someone else. The woman who his father had most trusted, and who had betrayed him.
She had betrayed them all.
“Des?”
Desfan lifted his head, his jaw rigid as he turned to Karim. “We’re getting Arcas and arresting Yahri. Now.”
Chapter 43
Grayson
Grayson knew there was a training ground somewhere outside the palace, and whether he was allowed or not, he intended to use it. He needed the activity, something to focus on. He sheathed some weapons and asked his guards to actually follow him this time. He didn’t think the Mortisian soldiers would want to fight with him, so he would train with his guards.
He was nearly to the side door when Liam called out from behind.
He turned, along with his guards, and his brother smiled. “I’m sure you’ve got fun plans, but I have something I want to show you.”
Grayson’s eyes dipped to Liam’s fingers, which flicked out a quick message.
I have news of Mia.
The training grounds were forgotten in a single, thudding heartbeat. “Of course.” He followed Liam, the guards trailing behind them. He eased closer to his brother’s side, so Liam could see his fingers as he asked, Is it news from Ryden? Is she all right?
Nothing from Ryden. His angular jaw tightened. I’ve learned who she is.
Grayson’s stomach dropped, his boot scuffing the stone floor of the corridor as he nearly stumbled.
Liam shot him a look, concern sparking in his brown eyes.
Grayson glanced away, his throat bobbing. He had dreaded this moment almost as much as he had been desperate for it. He had wanted to know the truth about Mia’s origins for so long . . . but learning about her past meant he had to share her with it. And he knew there were reasons Mia never spoke of her life before that cell. Not only because P
apa had cruelly silenced her, but because whatever circumstances had brought her to Ryden must have been horrific.
He didn’t know if he was brave enough to hear it.
But he knew he had to. For her.
Liam spoke—clearly more aware of their surroundings than Grayson was, since he’d forgotten about the guards who observed them. “Sorry to take you from wherever you were going, but I found an interesting volume in the library and I couldn’t wait to show you.”
“That’s all right.” He didn’t have the concentration to think of any other reply. His fingers flicked less gracefully than Liam’s as he asked, Where are we really going?
Liam’s fingers flew. The library. There is a private room we can use. No one will hear us. Dismiss the guards.
Grayson glanced back at the men following them. “This may take a while. You can return to my room.”
The men shuffled away at the next turn, leaving Liam and Grayson alone to enter the library. It was late afternoon, and the lofty space seemed deserted but for a few scattered people silently searching the towering bookshelves, or sitting at small tables, bent over large tomes. Liam led them without hesitation toward the back of the library and into a small room. He closed the door behind Grayson, then grasped Grayson’s arm and tugged him to the far end, near a closed, dirty window. The sole light in the room came through the grimy glass, but the dimness wasn’t enough to obscure Liam’s fingers as they twisted, flicked, and dipped. No one should be able to hear our whispers, but some things I will speak, and others I will sign. All right?
Grayson jerked out a nod, his heart hammering in his chest.
Liam’s voice was barely there. “Her name is Mia Sifa.”
Shock at hearing a surname paired with her name hit him hard. But not as hard as the surname itself, once he actually heard it.
Sifa.
A pit opened in his gut.
Liam’s lips pursed, clearly reading Grayson’s thoughts. “Yes, she is a relation to Ser Sifa, whom you’ve had the displeasure of conversing with. The temporary second on the council is her uncle.” He pointed to an open book on a small table beside them, which Grayson hadn’t noticed. He followed Liam’s finger as it brushed over an ancestry chart.
Grayson’s eyes leapt to the familiar lines and curves of Mia’s name, reaching it before Liam’s finger did. The entry was short, just like all the others on the page. Her name. A date of birth.
And another date, only seven years after the first.
Grayson had not met Mia until she was eight, but she had already been a prisoner for a year.
Liam’s finger tapped the names of Mia’s parents.
Vil and Mari Sifa.
And then he touched two other names.
Vari and Kema.
Mia’s older sisters.
All of their death dates were the same.
Liam’s hand lifted from the book, and he signed. I pulled this registry to research Abeil Sifa, since he is currently on the council. I wanted to know about his family. When I saw Mia’s name . . . His fingers faltered, then he continued. I didn’t want to assume anything. Mia is a common enough name in Mortise. But I asked some of my contacts to trace everything about what happened to Vil Sifa’s family, and it fits, Grayson.
His whisper came out a little rough. “Tell me.”
Liam’s lips pressed together. “She was born here, in Duvan, but the family moved to Shebar when Mia was six. Serjan Saernon charged Vil Sifa with keeping peace with Ryden. There were many skirmishes in and around Shebar, but more than that, the serjan suspected the last ser to have governance of the city was taking bribes from Ryden.”
Grayson folded his arms over his chest, bracing himself. “What happened?”
“The previous ser had been taking bribes, and it wasn’t long before Vil Sifa was approached by men from Ryden who asked if he could also be corrupted.” His fingers took over. His answer was no, which of course angered Father. Sifa was left threatening notes. His favorite dog was killed, left on the front steps as a message. He began to fear for his family. Sifa hired more guards for them, but he still woke one morning to find Mia gone—stolen from her bed.
Liam’s fingers were moving too rapidly now—or perhaps Grayson’s vision was hazing. His heart was racing. He grabbed Liam’s hands. “Please slow down or speak,” he said through his teeth.
Liam paused, then nodded. “There was no note. No call for gold. Nothing. Not for three days. From what I could learn, Sifa went mad with grief and rage. He publicly blamed Ryden for her abduction and he rallied a small army of the city guard. They searched every part of Shebar and the surrounding areas, and he was ready to march his small force across the river into Ryden—an act of war that his serjan had forbidden. Sifa would have forfeited his life for the mere chance to save his daughter, though.” He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “If he had hoped to make Father afraid, he was mistaken. Father wanted a public example made of Sifa. The more he blamed Ryden, the happier Father was. It would only make his ultimate message stronger: that the next lord sent to Shebar should fear him. Bow to him.”
Liam’s fingers moved carefully, his eyes intent on Grayson. During the fourth night after Mia’s abduction, Sifa’s home was attacked. His small army fought, but when Mia was revealed to be with the attackers, Sifa ordered his men to stop fighting. They swore fealty to Ryden, or were slaughtered. Sifa and his family were forced to watch it all. He hesitated, then added. Including Mia.
Grayson could barely breathe. He had so many questions—questions that Liam likely couldn’t answer. Fates, what horrors had Mia faced in those terrifying days of captivity?
His hands fisted at his sides. His voice was low but throbbed with fury. “Did she see them die?” He didn’t have to clarify who he meant.
“Yes. She watched as Rydenic soldiers killed her parents and sisters, then set fire to the bodies. Everyone must have assumed Mia was killed as well.”
Grayson twisted away from Liam and paced across the floor. Cold rage gripped him. If his father had been in the room, Grayson would have killed him without hesitation.
I’m a killer. Mia had once said those words. She’d been so vehement, and now he understood why.
She blamed herself for their deaths. For the horrible slaughter of her family. She was the one who had been taken. She was the one who had been held hostage, threatened. It was only too easy to imagine how the soldiers would have ridden up to her family’s house, a knife to her throat. They would have made them stand down in order to spare her life.
She had done nothing wrong, but she still thought blood covered her hands. Her family’s blood.
Grayson’s pulse roared in his ears.
Liam wasn’t done. “Abeil Sifa—Vil’s brother—demanded that the serjan retaliate against Ryden, but there wasn’t enough proof. It appeared to be the work of thieves, nothing orchestrated by our father. Ryden was never officially blamed.”
It explained Sifa’s anger. All Mortisians looked at Grayson and Liam with distrust, but Abeil Sifa . . . he had faced Grayson with hatred.
“Father must have already decided to use a girl to manipulate you,” Liam continued quietly. “He must have seen Mia as a golden opportunity—a way to bring Sifa down and send a terrifying message to the next ser sent to govern Shebar, as well as control you. That’s the only reason she would have been left alive that night. It’s the only reason she was brought to Lenzen.” Liam hesitated. “Grayson, in a way, you saved her life.”
He coughed out a harsh laugh and shoved a hand into his dark hair. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“She’s alive,” he said quietly. “Focus on that. She can still be saved.” He moved to Grayson’s side and gripped his shoulder. The bite of his fingers actually helped to ground him. “I can get her out of there. And whether you agree to help me or not, I promise you, Father will suffer for all he’s done.”
The vow in Liam’s eyes was blatant, and in that moment, Grayson knew Liam was not
lying. His plan was no trick designed by Henri to test Grayson. He intended to lay waste to the Kaelin family. And he wanted Grayson at his side.
Grayson had to choose a path. He could no longer live stuck between choices, torn between those who wished to use him.
This was his choice, and he realized he had already made it.
Grayson eyed his brother. The room around them was silent except for their breathing. It felt like they were the only ones in the palace. Maybe the only ones in Eyrinthia.
“I’ll help you.”
Liam’s stare was intent. “Are you sure? There will be no going back.”
“I’m sure.”
Finally, his brother’s smooth expression cracked and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Father will never see us coming.”
Chapter 44
Desfan
Desfan, Karim, Arcas, and two other guards entered the royal library. No weapons were drawn, but they still snared the attention of the head librarian as they entered the vast room.
It was late afternoon and Desfan couldn’t see any patrons as he paused in front of the librarian, who gave a belated bow. “Is Serai Yahri still here?” he asked, his voice clipped.
“I—well, yes.”
“Where?”
The woman’s hands twisted together as she straightened from her bow. “She usually does her reading in the south corner. Shall I show you?”
“That won’t be necessary. Please wait outside.”
She dropped into another bow before she eased past them and slipped from the room. Her alarm had been clear, but Desfan couldn’t linger to assuage any fears. He strode forward, Karim at his side. They saw a couple patrons as they moved through the shelves, and Karim or Arcas quietly asked them to leave. Everyone obeyed at once, though they cast questioning looks over their shoulders.
As they drew nearer to the south corner, Karim gripped the hilt of the sword belted at his side.
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