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“I have a mutual interest with these particular Islorians.”
“It seems so.” He sizes up the vacuous tunnel. “We’ve passed through this barren tundra, and there was nothing but a stone wall of script before. Yet now there is a grand gate and greenery sprouting, even as a snowfall threatens.” He pauses, as if waiting for an explanation.
Grass sprouting, along with tree saplings and the hint of other shrubbery, more each day. When we asked Gesine about it, she had no answer, but her frown was deep. “Mordain’s casters have their value.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” His gaze flitters, I assume, toward Gesine. He nods before returning his focus to me. “I have something for you.” He reaches into his vest.
Arrows are aimed at him instantly, freezing his hand.
He lets out a deep, slow breath as if it might be his last. “A letter, from the queen.”
I knew Neilina was communicating. Tyree admitted as much from his cell, informing me that she was disappointed in us for our failure. I struggle to keep my sneer from my expression and wave off the arrows again.
He slips the folded parchment out and slides it through the bars.
And what does Mother Dearest have to say to me? I can’t wait to find out. The forest-green seal is still intact. “How long ago did you receive this?”
“Almost a full moon cycle, Your Highness. After the prince left.” He hesitates. “He and the others have not yet returned. They have not sent word.”
“They won’t. They were captured and executed in the Cirilean square.”
Kienen flinches at the news, and I feel a stir of regret at my callousness. For all I know, they were good friends, like Zander and Elisaf are close.
And I am supposed to be Tyree’s sister. I soften my voice to add, “My brother was taken prisoner and locked in the tower when the others died. He’s likely dead, but I can’t be sure. We were driven from the city by the king’s brother and his army before I could help him.” Help him by driving a merth blade through his heart. A blatant lie woven into the truth.
Kienen’s eyes widen. “So, that is not simply a rumor. Prince Atticus overthrew the king?”
“King Atticus now. Yes. You remember him?”
“Certainly, Your Highness. From the escort south. He was difficult to read. But we did not anticipate a bold move such as that.”
Atticus is difficult to read. He has a relaxed, playful demeanor that appeals. But I’ve seen his treacherous side now firsthand, the way he used me as a scapegoat for his benefit.
Does Kienen know that Princess Romeria slept with him on that escort south? If he does, he feigns cluelessness well.
“There is an Islorian army heading this way—”
“How many days away?” Zander blurts, unable to bite his tongue any longer.
Kienen’s attention flips to him. “Two, at most.”
Zander sighs, and I can’t tell if that’s relief or worry. “They are from Lyndel, sent by my brother to apprehend us.”
“Your brother.” His eyes widen a second time as the pieces click. “You are King Zander.”
“I am,” Zander answers coolly.
“And you are now here, with our princess.”
“Your princess, who brought poison into my lands. The same poison that is now flowing through villages and towns from Bellcross to Salt Bay to Hawkrest, thanks to your efforts.”
“Zander,” I warn sharply but grit my teeth against the urge to tell him outright to shut up.
“What? I figured he should know we are not clueless to Ybaris’s scheming.” He stares Kienen down as if in challenge.
Kienen matches the stare, but I’m sure the wheels in his head are spinning, unable to come up with a reasonable explanation for why he—or I, for that matter—haven’t been cut down, if Islor already knows of Ybaris’s plan. “Your Highness, are you here of your own volition?” he asks carefully, his eyes flittering to mine.
He’s worried I’m a prisoner. That’s the only explanation he can come up with. Of course, that makes sense.
I offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m not being held or threatened. I barely escaped from Cirilea with my life. If not for the king and his legionaries, I would be dead.” My luck would have run out by now, even with Gesine by my side.
“I lost a great many legionaries protecting your princess,” Abarrane hisses.
Kienen works an answer around in his mouth, as if testing it. “Then it would seem Ybaris owes a debt to Islor’s exiled king.”
I see my opening. “On our way here, the saplings attacked our camp.”
“Yes. We found the group perished in a field south of here, along with a charred Nulling beast.” He looks to Zander. “That was you?”
“Who else could it be?” Zander’s testing him, looking for any hint of rumors that might be floating about me, about my powers. But it’s smart. Let the Ybarisans think Zander’s affinity is strong enough to kill a grif. It’ll make them think twice before challenging him.
