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When Tyrell folded Mia’s letter, his tears had stopped. His hands weren’t shaking anymore. His pain and fear was buried under one furious purpose: killing his brother.
Mia could only be safe—only be his—once Grayson was dead.
Chapter 16
Grayson
Graysonre-tuckedtheedgeof Mia’s cloak around her shoulder. She was asleep, curled at the base of a towering tree, using her pack as a pillow. She shivered as a cold wind skated through the trees.
He just felt numb.
Dawn was lightening the edges of shadows, chasing the deep darkness of night away. They were hidden near Oland’s Bridge. The worn plank-bridge stretched over a narrow point of the Julne River, and it was a landmark in this part of the forest. It was used by hunters and woodsmen, though no one had arrived yet to use it.
Grayson sat beside Mia, his back against a large boulder and his ears attuned to the area. He disregarded the normal woodland sounds—the low rush of water, the hum and chirp of insects and birds, the breeze that fluttered the yellowing leaves. He listened for the snap of a twig. The rustle of a boot against leaves. The snort of a horse.
He heard nothing, but he did not relax.
There was no sign of Fletcher or his wife. That meant they didn’t have blankets, horses, or bedrolls. They didn’t have a tent. Grayson had given Fletcher the larger portion of his gold so he could purchase horses in Lenzen, so he and Mia had limited coin. They only had the food Mia had prepared for her escape, which wouldn’t stretch as far with the two of them.
They couldn’t keep waiting for the Fletchers, who might have been delayed or captured. It was possible they’d even betrayed them, and that’s how Carter had known to ambush them at the gate.
Carter.
Grayson’s hands fisted. He’d scrubbed them clean in the frigid water of the Julne last night, but he could still feel the blood on his hands. He’d scrubbed the blood off of Mia, too, and she hadn’t said a word.
He pinched his eyes closed. He hadn’t slept at all last night. He’d been keeping watch. He wasn’t even tired. The medicine Devon had given him kept him oddly energized, even though it sometimes made his thoughts feel stilted.
Devon.
Maybe the physician had been the one to betray them. If so, he’d paid for his treachery.
The callous thought made Grayson wince. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely numb.
He needed to stay numb. It was the only way he could keep moving. The only way to keep Mia safe. He’d committed to being the monster his father had forced him to become, because Mia needed him to be the Black Hand; it was the only way he’d get her safely to Desfan. He just hadn’t expected to kill his own brother last night. He didn’t even remember making that choice. Everything had been vividly sharp, and yet, his thoughts had blurred. He’d eliminated the danger. He’d gotten Mia out. His actual actions . . . He hadn’t felt fully in control, even though his every move had been coolly efficient.
He knew he’d frightened Mia. He had seen the flash of fear in her eyes after he’d killed Carter.
In truth, he’d frightened himself.
Maybe he’d taken too much of the powder. But, what other choice did he have? If he didn’t take it, the pain from his wound was too much.
If he hadn’t been drugged, would he have killed his brother? He didn’t know. But he had crossed the one line no one else in his family ever had—he’d killed a Kaelin. His mother thought he’d killed Liam, but . . . He had actually killed his own brother.
Carter had tortured him all his life. He’d threatened Grayson and bullied him. He’d been Peter’s eager accomplice in so many abuses over the years. But all Grayson could see when he closed his eyes now was a younger Carter, smiling when he received a nugget of praise from their father. His eyes glowing with pride when their mother congratulated him on mixing a particularly complicated potion. The quiet calm on his face when he rode a horse, and the gentle way he’d pat the mare’s neck.
And Grayson had ended his life. He’d had no choice, and Carter’s death had been fast, but that didn’t ease the ache building in his head.
He tugged his pack closer and found the powder. He took a pinch and placed it under his tongue to dissolve. The taste was bitter, but his shoulders almost instantly loosened. His clarity sharpened, the pain faded, and the numbness blessedly spread. He breathed a little easier.
He dragged Devon’s pack closer, finally taking the time to sort through his supplies. He felt a twinge of guilt, going through a dead man’s things. But they would need his supplies, especially if the Fletchers didn’t make it.
A change of clothing, a purse with a few coins, a small knife in a belt. Fates, the man hadn’t even been able to defend himself when Carter’s men attacked because he’d packed his weapon. Grayson swallowed and continued to dig through the bag. Some jerked meat, hard biscuits, dried fruit. Not enough to last them long, but enough to get them a little farther from Lenzen. He also found a small jar with more of Mia’s salts, and a thick lavender-scented candle wrapped in wax paper. There was also another packet of the powder he’d given Grayson, and assorted healing supplies, including a jar of burn ointment. It was labeled in a tight, neat script. Devon’s handwriting, presumably.
All that remained of a physician named Devon.
Grayson’s fingers tightened around the jar.
Mia stirred and sat up, keeping her cloak tugged around her shoulders. Her loose braid was mussed from sleep, and some dirt streaked her cheek. Her brown eyes found him, and he couldn’t quite read the emotions in them. Pity? Compassion? Worry? “Did you sleep at all?” she asked, her voice a little roughened from sleep.
