Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia Book 2)

by Heather Frost

  Desfan had forgone his double swords for the sake of time, but he had a knife sheathed at his waist. He doubted Yahri would make him draw it—especially once he showed her the letter he’d found.

  She had hired the Rose to kill Serene.

  She had lied about the night of the serjan’s collapse, and had bribed or destroyed all evidence.

  She would be in a cell tonight, never to step foot in this library again.

  Karim touched Desfan’s arm, a silent order to stop.

  Desfan did, and he was aware of Arcas and the other two guards pausing behind him.

  Karim’s voice was barely audible as he whispered, “She’s not alone.”

  Desfan strained his ears and caught the low male voice. It was too quiet for him to decipher the words, or who the speaker might be, but this unexpected development was enough for the guards to quietly draw knives—the bookcases were too close together for a sword to be effective here.

  Arcas leaned in. “We’ll approach from the other side. They’ll be boxed into the corner.”

  Desfan nodded, and the guards followed the kiv back down the narrow aisle.

  Karim took the lead and Desfan didn’t bother arguing. They eased forward until they were at the end of the aisle, the bookshelf hiding them from view.

  “. . . don’t know why you chose to make your move now,” Yahri’s voice was low and shaky. More so than usual. But she spoke measuredly, as if trying to hide her nerves. “I didn’t know it was you. Your secret was safe.”

  “I could not take that chance.”

  Desfan jerked at the familiar voice, confusion ripping through him.

  Jamal?

  The youngest member of the council continued smoothly, “I knew my mistake might cost me everything, if you put it together.”

  “Ahh,” Yahri exhaled in dawning surprise. “You’ve been framing Zephan to be the mysterious writer, but you didn’t know he’d already left Duvan when you sent your latest message. If I had thought about it, I would have realized that. But it was a close thing, so I assumed he’d merely left it for me before he left the city. But it’s you. You’re the one who has been manipulating all of us.”

  “I’ve been so careful,” Jamal said. “I have to fix my mistake.”

  “I assume you mean to kill me.”

  “Yes.”

  Desfan shifted silently, but Karim caught his elbow, holding him back. His bodyguard’s glare spoke volumes, but Desfan set his jaw and pulled free. He moved around Karim and peered around the edge of the bookcase.

  Yahri sat in a cushioned chair, her cane planted between her legs and gripped by both hands. Her fear was obvious in her white-knuckled grip, but her drooping shoulders were pushed back and her chin lifted as she stared across the few paces that separated her from Jamal.

  Jamal’s stance was relaxed. He wasn’t the least bit nervous about admitting treason, or the fact that he was about to commit murder.

  And he was not alone. Eight men stood with him, five of them dressed as palace guards—perhaps they were guards. The other three men wore the clothes of servants, but their stances made it clear they were trained fighters.

  Desfan lifted his fingers, signing to Karim that there were nine enemies, not counting Yahri.

  Not the best odds, but if Arcas and the other two guards could get into position, they could surround them and have the element of surprise. They just had to give Arcas a little more time.

  “Honestly,” Jamal drawled, “I feel I should thank you. Your habits are so predictable. You chose the most silent part of the library, as you always do, during the quietest part of the day. You’ve made this very easy for me.”

  Yahri was staring down nine men, and yet she still managed to look regal as she lifted a silver eyebrow. “Don’t you think my death will be suspicious?”

  Jamal laughed. “Woman, you’re ancient! No one will question your heart giving out.” He lifted a small vial, the afternoon sunlight highlighting the crimson liquid. “I assure you, it will look completely natural.”

  She grunted. “It does seem as if you’ve thought this through.”

  “I have. And I must say, my plans are looking a lot less complicated without you. You’ve been talking to the other council members, trying to learn who else has been receiving my letters.”

  “I thought I was being discreet in my investigations.”

  “Oh, you have been. But not all of my allies require blackmailing, Yahri.”

  The councilwoman didn’t seem surprised by this. “No, I imagine some were simply blinded by greed, and they were only too eager to betray me to you because you gave them so many pretty promises. Some would love the fact you hired the Rose to kill Princess Serene, thus ending the alliance. Others would be interested in your protection. That’s why you’ve been trying so hard to befriend Desfan, I assume? You thought to make yourself invaluable to him, let your voice be the one in his ear, guiding his choices on who will replace the council members you decide to dispose of.” Her head tilted to the side as she studied him. “Of course, some would be content with a promise of wealth, which you have in great supply because you’re a drug master. You’re the one who bought the olcain.”

  Desfan’s jaw loosened in shock.

  Jamal also seemed surprised. “Very good,” he murmured. “However did you figure it out?”

  “It wasn’t too difficult. All your new, nice clothing. The new mansion on Dorma. The renovations to your estate in Yamir. It didn’t make sense, until I took into account the increase of drugs in Duvan. That was something Desfan failed to recognize because he wasn’t looking far enough back to relate the overall increase in drugs to the most recent olcain, which was merely your newest market.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  “I didn’t support him in his investigation because I didn’t think he should be dedicating all his time and efforts into something so trivial. Not when there are so many other things happening. But I did have a conversation with Kiv Arcas about it.”

  “You told him about me?” There was a hint of anxiety in Jamal’s raised voice.

  “No, unfortunately. I didn’t actually realize everything until this conversation. But I told him the investigation into the olcain might make more headway if he looked into all the drug activity over the last year.” She sighed, a long-suffering kind of sound that Desfan had heard from his tutors all his life. “Say what you will about Desfan, but that boy is tenacious. He will figure everything out, I have no doubt.”

  “Perhaps I’ll arrange an accident for Kiv Arcas,” Jamal said. He shook his head, fingering the bottle of poison. “Not that any of that matters to you.”

  “Because you’re about to kill me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I had to ask, because you keep putting it off.”

  Desfan was torn between the desire to curse the woman, and to smile at her boldness.

  Jamal huffed a short laugh. “You have been a unique challenge, Yahri. When I initially wrote to you, I knew I was taking a risk. You’re unflinchingly loyal to Mortise, which is annoying. But when I learned about all the lengths you took to make sure you were erased from the night of the serjan’s collapse, I knew I could use that to manipulate you into helping me.”

  “How did you know?” Yahri asked.

  “I have employees in the guard. You were seen that night, when you stole the ledger.” Jamal’s head listed to the side. “Tell me, what is it you were so desperate to hide? When writing the letters, I had to pretend I knew more than I did. But now I can admit I’m curious. Did you poison the serjan? Did you want the throne?”

  Yahri’s eyes narrowed. “If you think that, then you’re more of an idiot than I thought possible.”

  Jamal’s shoulders tensed and Desfan silently cursed. Yahri had pushed him too far.

  Karim read the situation even without seeing it, and he crept forward, not as shielded by the bookcase anymore.

  At least Jamal and his men had their backs turned.
He hoped Arcas was nearly in position; he and Karim might not be able to take on Jamal and all his men—especially since Desfan had left his swords behind.

  Jamal’s anger bit through his rigid tone. “I’m smarter than you, Yahri. I’ve outsmarted all of you. I should be the senior seat on the council. After you’re dead, I think I’ll convince Desfan to give me your seat.”

  The woman snorted. “He won’t be fooled forever. He’s not an idiot.”

  “Sometimes I wonder why I even wanted you in my employ.”

  She stiffened her slightly curved spine. “I was never in your employ, Jamal. You blackmailed me, and I nearly reported you at once. But I knew if you were coming after me, you were going after others. I knew I needed to get to the bottom of everything. I needed to know who was working with you, what your plans were—and I needed to discover your identity.”

  “Too bad you figured it out too late. Now you won’t be able to tell anyone. And when they search your rooms, they’ll find evidence that shows you hired the Rose to kill Serene. And who knows? There might even be some olcain in your room.”

  Serai Yahri snorted. “I highly doubt Desfan will believe me to be a drug master, Jamal. But do go on with your silly plans, because the more you try to get away with, the sooner you will be caught.”

  Jamal took a threatening step forward, and Desfan and Karim both tensed.

  Jamal’s voice was a deep growl. “I wish I could strangle you, or shove a knife in your heart. But this will be a natural death.” He lifted the bottle of poison. “Although I assure you, it won’t be painless.”

  Anger flashed in Yahri’s eyes. “Then you’d better get on with it. I won’t tell you anything, and I will not scream and bring an innocent to their death.”

  Jamal took another step forward and Desfan nodded to Karim, prepared to attack. Because whether Arcas was in position or not—whether Yahri was still considered a traitor or not—they needed to act before she was killed.

  Jamal’s men turned as one to look down one of the aisles, their backs still turned to Desfan and Karim.

  A guard stepped into the open space, a bloody knife in his hand. Desfan recognized him as one of the men who had left with Arcas only moments ago, and he immediately tensed.

  Jamal straightened as he faced the guard. “What are you doing here?”

  The man’s face was grim as he spoke quickly. “They came to arrest Yahri. I just killed Arcas, but the serjah is here. He probably heard everything.”

  Chapter 45

  Clare

  The morning of the prisoner exchange dawned brightly, the summer sun gilding every rooftop in Stills with golden light.

  Clare hoped it was a sign from the fates that all would go smoothly.

  Bennick walked her through the plan as they stood in the inn’s common room. The exchange would happen on an open field just outside the city of Stills. Devendra would stand on the east side of the field and watch the Mortisians approach from the west. The prisoners would be in front of them, a perimeter of soldiers guarding them. Each side had been allowed twelve soldiers for the exchange, which included royal bodyguards.

  The Mortisians would stop at a careful distance with the Devendran prisoners, men and women who had been imprisoned in Duvan for years. Ser Ashear, the nobleman Desfan had appointed, would then come forward, and Clare would meet him at the edge of the Devendran line and they would exchange the requisite speeches. After that was concluded, Clare would retreat to a safe distance and the prisoners would be released. Ser Ashear would remain behind with a small retinue and they would dine at the inn.

  “I’ll be with you at every step,” Bennick assured her. “Venn and Dirk will be assigned to you as well, which will leave Serene here with Cardon and Wilf.”

  Clare nodded, carefully watching Bennick. He had been quiet since leaving Lord Francin’s four days ago. Distant, and distracted. They hadn’t had an opportunity to be alone while traveling, but Clare could see the tightness in his shoulders, the deep frown on his face when he thought no one was looking. And she wasn’t the only one who had noticed his heavy mood.

  She had caught Venn standing close to Bennick several times, their heads tipped together, concern etched in Venn’s serious expression. Even the commander kept sending looks to his son, though Bennick had stalked around him any time he’d tried to approach.

  Somehow, Clare knew the change in Bennick had to do with the Rose.

  Just the thought of the assassin sent chills through her body, lifting the hairs on her arms. Every nerve still felt raw after his attack, and the fact that he remained nearby terrified her more than she would ever admit. Even now he was locked in a room above them. It didn’t matter that he was under heavy guard. The tang of fear remained on her tongue.

  “There will be a large crowd,” Bennick said, drawing Clare’s attention back to the present moment. “We’ll keep them back as much as possible, and we’ll be watching them for any sign of trouble.”

  The innkeeper had told them the city was overflowing with nobles and commoners alike who had gathered to see the exchange. The small border city was completely overrun. Every room in every inn had been rented, and even then the people kept coming, choosing to camp in the nearby fields rather than miss this historic moment.

  Perhaps the most surprising spectator had arrived at the inn this morning, seeking an audience with the princess before the exchange.

  The middle-aged woman’s posture was regal, her dark hair piled into an elaborate bun atop her head that made her willowy frame seem even taller. The bright pink of her dress contrasted beautifully with her warm brown skin. When she greeted Clare, she curtsied gracefully, her Mortisian accent thick as she said, “Princess Serene, it is an honor. I am Serai Tamar Nadir.”

  The name sparked recognition, though it took Clare a moment to recall why—she was to be their first Mortisian host. “Serai Nadir, you honor us with your presence. I didn’t realize you would be attending the exchange.”

  The woman straightened, her hands clasped neatly before her. “I live too close to miss such an important moment in our history. And it would be my privilege to help escort you to my home afterwards, so we can celebrate the day.” Moisture entered the woman’s eyes, though she pushed out a tenuous smile. “Forgive me, I did not intend to become emotional. My husband was killed in a border dispute nearly twenty years ago. We had been married only a year. I’ve been praying to the fates for peace ever since.” She swiped at tears that leaked from her eyes, and Dirk stepped forward, a handkerchief in his hand.

  Serai Nadir took it, murmuring words of thanks as she dabbed her eyes. After a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and met Clare’s gaze. “Standing here with you, Princess . . . This is a dream come true.”

  Clare’s lips pressed into a smile, her throat surprisingly tight. “It would be an honor to have you stand with me.” She glanced at Bennick, hoping she had not overstepped. He gave a subtle nod.

  Serai Nadir grinned. “Thank you, Princess.”

  Clare was grateful to have Tamar Nadir with her when it came time to stand on the grassy field. The woman’s assured presence was calming, and Clare admired the way she did not seem affected by the stares—or the few glares—of the Devendran crowd. And her genuine joy brought back Clare’s own desire for peace. She had seen so many shadows of late, so much evil. She needed the reminder that there were good people in Eyrinthia—that peace was possible.

  Banners bearing the Devendran standard snapped in the warm breeze and the prisoners bound in front of them stared toward the trees bordering the far side of the field. Their yearning for home was palpable, and it made Clare all the more grateful that this exchange had been brokered. It was a beautiful prelude to the alliance between their kingdoms.

  A warm breeze tugged at the tendrils of hair that had escaped Clare’s bun. The soft strands brushed against the column of her neck, which was growing stiff under the weight of Serene’s silver crown. She was focused on mentally rehearsing her spee
ch, so she hadn’t realized how long they had been standing there until Venn twisted slightly toward Bennick.

  “They’re late,” he whispered. “How long do we stand here?”

  Clare looked to Bennick, who stood beside her. His jaw was set, his eyes trained on the distant treeline. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

  Behind them, the large crowd of Devendrans was growing restless as well. Speculating whispers cut through the air and unease rippled from them.

  On Clare’s other side, Serai Nadir shifted her weight. “I don’t know what could be keeping them,” she said quietly. “The roads were clear.”

  A furrow grew between Imara’s dark eyebrows. “Perhaps something happened to delay their journey.”

  “There,” Dirk said suddenly.

  Clare darted a look to the trees, her pulse thrummed faster when she spotted the column of men threading their way through the edge of the woods. Sweat broke out on her palms and she wiped her hands discreetly on her skirt, her insides tightening when the first Mortisian soldiers stepped onto the sun-drenched field.

  Their swords were sheathed but their eyes were alert. Behind them, a ragged line of prisoners stumbled into view, hands tied to the man in front of them, looking ready to fall over from exhaustion. As they drew closer, Clare could see many tears in their dirty clothes. Her heart constricted when she saw that not one of them seemed to have the strength to look up. Every head was bowed. They were completely submissive. Defeated.

  A quick count of the Mortisian soldiers—and the prisoners they led—proved they had kept their word. Twelve soldiers. Twenty prisoners. Some of the tension in Clare’s shoulders eased as she released a slow breath.

  Ser Ashear was easy to pick out. The nobleman’s clothes were clearly expensive, colorful and flecked with gold designs that matched the gold necklace hanging from his neck. His eyes were riveted on Clare, and she could read nothing in his expression.

  The spectators had all gone quiet, bringing an eerie quietness to the field.

  The Mortisian line halted several paces away, maintaining a careful space between them.