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I take a calming breath as I shut my book. “How’s your arm?”
Atticus pats the spot with his palm. “It got a little tender loving care from the priestess.”
“Wendeline spends her days patching us up.”
“Nothing compared to the merth bolt through it six weeks ago. Remember that day?”
“Some parts are a little foggy.”
He smirks, but then looks to Elisaf and jerks his head. A sign for the guard to leave us.
Elisaf slides from his seat and vanishes down the path.
Atticus watches him go and then takes his place, leaning back, his powerful thighs splayed, his arm slung over the back of the chair.
He’s far from unappealing physically, but now that I know what kind of brother he is to Zander, any attraction I could have had to him has fizzled.
I plaster on my best aloof expression. “Is there something I can help you with?”
He cocks his head. “You really don’t remember me.”
“And what should I remember?”
He picks up one of the books I haven’t gotten to yet—a cloth-bound text on Kettling’s history—and leafs through it. “My men and I spent weeks escorting you from the rift down to Cirilea.”
I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself. “And did you and I spend any time together?”
“Beyond the obligatory? No.” Blue eyes flip to me. If I didn’t know our secret, I probably wouldn’t read anything in them behind the usual mixture of curiosity and wariness. But now that I know what transpired between us, in those scant moments, I see the hints of longing and hurt. Maybe even a touch of guilt.
Princess Romeria fooled him as readily as she fooled everyone else. She could have used him unwittingly to learn of all the things Zander has accused this accomplice of. Did she make him promises?
His focus returns to the book. “I imagine that worked well for you, given you were ferrying these vials of poison. Wouldn’t want us to catch on.”
This impromptu visit must be about the murders in Hawkrest.
“I just keep playing over and over in my mind how you would smile and wave, and the whole time, you and your brother had these grand plans to murder us all when we’re most vulnerable.”
“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing else I can say.
He tosses the book back to the table and does a perfunctory scan around us, I assume to make sure there are no eavesdroppers besides Elisaf. He’s intelligent enough to know my guard will hear the entire conversation, now or later. “My brother is making enemies.”
“Isn’t that what kings do?”
“Not this many, this fast.” He picks at a loose thread on the rose fabric on his chair. “This idealistic dream of his to end the tributary system and give mortals a place in the court and land for villages … it will never happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would require overwhelming support from Islorian’s immortals, and he doesn’t have it. And he underestimates his adversaries’ conviction.”
“I guess it’s a good thing he has such a competent brother leading his army, then.”
“Yes. Full of soldiers who need their tributaries as much as men like Adley and Stoll. How far do you think they’ll follow before they turn and start fighting for the other side? How far would you, if someone told you that you were risking your life in battle for people who wish you to starve?”
“There can be a new system. One of free will and compensation. There are humans who will offer it still, who enjoy offering it. We saw it at the Knoll.”
His pristinely white, perfect teeth flash with his mocking laughter. “I see you’ve been bitten by the same bug.” His intense gaze lands on me. “This idea that our king has been entranced by the Ybarisan princess who wants to end Islor’s immortals is gaining momentum among the people. Whether it is true or not won’t matter soon, but I’m beginning to fear that it is, and it is steering all his decisions. It would explain what stayed his blade that night, why he guards you like a precious jewel.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And why he has placed a murderess next to him on the throne.”
“You know why. He wants to find out who conspired with her.”
