“I don’t know that we can anymore.” There’s a rattle of hinges, then quiet.
Eugene sucks in a breath. He—he can’t think about his parents right now. This was just supposed to be a visit to fish for info, but now Cressienandindefinite captivity are in the mix.
And almost as unsettling as everything else…this feelsright.
Another man might be sensibly distressed by the situation—and he is, at least a little—but this is what he used to live for: risk, danger, intrigue. His head feels clearer, sharper than it has inweeks.
And that might just be why, as Torch leaves, Eugene notes he only heard one set of footsteps.
He waits for a few moments, then says into the empty air, “You knew my parents.”
The deep-voiced stranger, whom Eugene has mentally dubbed Stranger, shifts with a creak of a stool as if surprised to be addressed. They clear their throat. “I did.”
“Anything you can tell me thatisn’ttop secret?”
“I really ought not to,” Stranger starts.
“Not even public knowledge stuff?” Eugene wheedles. “Things I should know, since I was born here?”
“You weren’t,” Stranger corrects him, then seems to realize their mistake and emits a resignedugh. “I suppose, if we’re not letting you go yet, I might as well…The last I saw Marietta, she was barely showing. She was involved with one of the Councilorof the East’s subcommittees, and she and Andreas had become the queen and king’s primary printers for royal records years before. They wound up getting close with the queen. Even gave her the first copy ofFlynnigan Rider. And Enver was…different, then. Closer to the man he was as a duke.”
“I heard the, uh, Directions Council can’t overrule him anymore,” Eugene prompts.
“Cardinal Council, and correct. Following whathedubbed the Night of the Poisoned Dagger, he enacted a series of ‘emergency’ measures that became permanent—taking the throne himself, appointing his own council, stripping us of the power to oppose him.” Stranger shifts in their seat again. Eugene resists the urge to pick at that very intriguinguswhile Stranger’s on a disclosure roll. “He claims he’s only waiting to transition power until Verette’s old enough to take the throne. And he let her grow into a leader the people love and hope for…so much so that that hope alone is enough to placate most who would resist. That’s the game, you see. Because year after year, he says Astera’s not stable enough to let her take over yet, and promises the next will be the one.”
“But we were invited to Verette’s coming of age ceremony,” Eugene says, with no small degree of confusion.
Stranger lets out a bitter chuckle. “Dear boy…Verette has come of age at least four times. Perhaps six? I’ve lost count.”
Before Eugene can ask what on earththat’ssupposed to mean, the door creaks. “We need you,” Torch rasps.
Eugene hears Stranger’s chair legs scrape. “Are you certain we can leave them—”
“Yes,” Torch interrupts. “One’s unconscious and they’re both tied up.”
“Say hi to Solena for me,” Eugene hollers as the door closes.
Then he yanks his hands free of the shoddy bindings—the People’s Daggerreallyneeds to stop relying on a clove hitch—and pulls his blindfold off.
He turns to Cressien. The minister is already sitting upright. Eugene whipshisblindfold off and finds him wide awake. Cressien drawls, “That was certainly illuminating.”
“But they drugged you,” Eugene says, utterly confounded.
“They held a kerchief over my nose and mouth,” Cressien replies with a scathing lip curl. “I held my breath and went limp so they would think it worked. Now are you going to do something about these ropes or not?”
Another complication manifests once Eugene unties Cressien: The minister attempts to stand, and immediately topples into Eugene’s side with a vexedoof.
“Excuseyou,” Eugene says blithely, propping Cressien up again.
Minister Cressien mutters, “Don’t test me,” then tries to take a step and collapses face-first into the ground.
“I thought you didn’t inhale.” Eugene helps him back to his feet.
“May have underestimated,” Cressien wheezes, “the potency.”
Eugene studies the room again. It looks practically the same as before: drab stone everything, with a stool in the far corner, the chairs they were tied to, and the rope. Not much to use,no idea when Stranger or Torch will return. He stuffs the rope into his satchel. “Can you walk?”
“Of course I can,” Cressien says indignantly, only to lurch to starboard.
