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Perhaps death should no longer be one of them.
The idea of Tes killing him as the traitor was still sound, but if she hadn’t been able to do it despite her anger at him, she certainly wouldn’t after she read that journal. He gave it a week before she reappeared—this time openly. If she believed half of what he’d written, his Tes would march right up the runner in the middle of court and challenge her father.
It was her strength that had initially led him to find a way to protect her. He’d had nightmares of her being struck down, taking their child into death with her. To confide in her had been to risk disaster, so he’d concocted a plan to see her to Llyalia instead. Had all gone as he’d intended, he would have seen Ryenil overthrown for his crimes, and his wife would have had no reason to charge into the fray.
So much for that.
She wouldn’t stop now, either. Their passion might still be her weakness, but she was as bold as ever. In fact, if his behavior hadn’t given her so much pause, he would likely be dead. Another failed plan. The only thing he’d gained from a year of pain was Speran’s safety—a relief, but he wanted Tes unharmed, too.
Now, he needed to get as much support into place as possible before his wife returned. If she wouldn’t use him as her foil, then he would become her silent partner. Gods knew every other plan he’d concocted had fractured like a poorly forged sword in an apprentice’s hands. Nothing had gone right since he’d seen Tes ensconced in Llyalia.
Perhaps they truly did work best together—an irony he would do best to remember.
Unfortunately, he had no way to communicate with her, and even if he did, she might ignore him. She probably wouldn’t be willing to kill him after reading the journal, but that didn’t mean she would forgive him for all that he’d put her through. He’d long been aware of how much she detested having decisions taken out of her hands.
He’d sworn not to do that very thing before fear for his family had consumed him, and now, he would pay the cost of breaking his word. It was up to him to adapt, not her.
His only real choice was to pass his messages along and hope she listened.
Before he could think better of it, Ber reached out to Toren. It took a moment—at first, all he received was muffled annoyance. But finally, his brother’s voice grumbled through Ber’s head.
“What do you want? I’ve barely slept this night thanks to you.”
A slight smile crossed Ber’s lips, but he kept the amusement from his mental tone.“Tes appeared abruptly, hmm?”
“You never know when to stop, do you?”Toren asked.
“It seems not. I’d thought to be stopped by Tes last night, but alas, not even that worked out.”Ber let his eyes slip closed.“As such, it seems I must live. Have Tes send her plans through you so that we can coordinate.”
A moment of silence.“I’m not sure she’ll be amenable to that.”
“She can express all the rage she wants once the danger is passed,”Ber argued.“Dungeons. Banishment. I’ve dealt with worse. The important point is that she claims the Centoi throne. And since she’s let me live, she might as well use my knowledge of what’s happening here when making her plans.”
“For the Gods’ sake,”Toren grumbled. Ber would bet his entire fortune that his twin had just sighed loudly enough to wake one or both of his spouses.“Fine. I’ll tell her. Later, when I’ve had a chance to rest.”
“Thank you, Tor.”
He cut off the link to the sound of his brother’s muttered curses.
Chapter 12
Rumors
The dainty spring breeze ruffled Tes’s hair, and the gentle sunlight promised ease to her tired, aching muscles. Unfortunately, she was too tense to allow the pleasant weather to relax her. Not so for Speran. He kicked and waved in his little fortress of bolsters that propped him up enough to see the world. Already, he tried to push himself up to sit unassisted, but he hadn’t gained the strength for it yet at barely four months old. Though it probably wouldn’t take long, considering his persistence.
Tes smiled down at him before taking a bite of her bread. Her son watched with fascination, but his interest wasn’t for her. No, his eyes tracked the bread as she lowered it. Perhaps soon, she would introduce more solid foods. But not yet. When he was ready, he would reach for it. He had a fair measure of both of his parents’ independence and determination already. He’d been the one to cry until she’d formed the blankets into a bolster so he could see the world on his own.
At times like this, she couldn’t help wondering about the kind of man he’d grow up to be. A good one, she hoped. That went without saying. But unlike his father, Speran had a modest well of natural magic, more like hers. His innate talents wouldn’tmanifest for some time, thank the gods, but it was possible he would have a gift for magecraft. Or he might follow a warrior’s path, depending on his inclination.
Dearest gods, let me live long enough to see for myself.
The sun’s glow dulled, if only in her mind, and her shoulders slumped with the weariness of it all. She’d hoped that eating a small luncheon in the gardens would help her mood somewhat, but it didn’t appear to be working. Not even the vee of flowering hedges behind her had cheered her, though she generally adored the soft, honeyed scent of the little red blooms.
On the far side of the square of lawn where Tes had settled, a pair of noble ladies strolled along the adjacent footpath. They cast a few subtle glances her way—and a couple of more lingering looks at Speran. It took all of Tes’s willpower not to pull her son close. But grabbing him would be a wasted reflex, providing only gossip for the ladies.
Their smug titters drifted across the clearing with more ease than the two likely realized. “When did you say she arrived?” the first noble asked her companion. “I would swear that baby looks like a certain king.”
“Mildren!” the second lady chided, though her shocked tone rang falsely. “She arrived from some country town already with child. The babe might have dark hair like King Mehl, but His Majesty hasn’t traveled in some time. I think—”
