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“Why would they?” Celine said. “Ever Kings before you kept house lords powerful, laden in coin and mates. The blood crown does not sit atop their heads, but they were like kings all the same.”
“Erik was changing things,” Aleksi said. “It angered some folk.”
“Larsson would’ve done this with or without Livia,” I said. “If he has the blood of Thorvald, clearly, he was biding his time.”
“Then why now?” Sander scratched his dark, mussed hair, studying the map as if it might offer up answers.
“That is what I intend to find out.” Unknowns stacked heavy and hot in my gut. Why did Larsson wait all this time if he was my brother? We’d met during my fifteenth turn. I was more vulnerable then. “The darkening is clearly some part of his attempt.”
Tait flicked his smoke into the sea and puffed out a long cloud. “Livia was here for weeks. What took so long for him to take her if this was all about healing the darkening and taking the crown?”
“What does it matter?” I snapped.
“It matters,” Sander offered, rolling the map. “Think of it. Your traitor waited, tried small attacks without drawing attention to himself. Until now. There is a reason he felt ready to betray you. He might have more support.”
I did not want to think of it. All I wanted to do was plan how I got my hands on Livia. Part of my mind wanted to shadow any of the other threats, Larsson included, as though all I needed was my songbird back and all would be well.
But the prince was right. There was a reason Larsson acted now.
“Lord Joron of the House of Tides was not pleased, but not as disgusted with the notion of a queen as Hesh of the House of Blades.”
Celine blew out her lips. “Joron only has a female heir. Perhaps he now sees merit in having a queen. Means his house has a chance of not passing on to a new male line.”
“This Hesh, though,” Jonas said, rubbing his chin in thought. “You suspect he was uneasy?”
“He is the High Farer of the Ever Sea, a war man. He lives for battle and blades and power. He does not want the Ever to change, so no, he was not pleased.”
“Then he has my suspicions,” Jonas said.
The prince could have his suspicions, but until I found my queen, every house of the Ever was guilty until they proved their innocence by kneeling at her feet.
Candlelight from sconcesdoused the sea-battered walls of the Tower in gold light. Shells and stones added a touch of whimsy to the refuse and dust at the entrance of the pub.
“Pesha is the one who knew Larsson best. She sticks close to the main rooms,” Tait said. “But she could be at the ladies’ house. We’ll need to send Tidecaller after her. Better yet, let’s send the princess. I’d love to see a pampered royal step foot in those rooms.”
“Hearttalker,” Mira shouted. “Thinking I am some pampered princess who plays with glass knives will be a grand mistake.”
“Heartwalker,” Tait grumbled under his breath. “Send her to the ladies’ house, Erik. I beg of you.”
“We go to the pub first,” I said. “Stormbringer.”
“Aye, My King.” Stormbringer’s broad shoulders cleared a swift path through the crew. He dipped his chin, adjusting the patch over his left eye socket. “What’s the word?”
“Keep the men close to the ship. Inform Tavish we will be in the pub, and if anyone finds Pesha, bring her to me.”
Stormbringer flicked his fingers away from his forehead in a simple salute, then barked the commands to the rest of the crew.
Inside the main tavern, my blood heated. Not so long ago, I’d had my first taste of my songbird within these walls. Her sighs, the sweetness of her on my tongue, the way she’d tangled my hair around those slender fingers and claimed what she wanted was a moment I’d not soon forget.
Gods, I was desperate for her to be back in my arms.
Savory hints of roots from the coves and herbs from dried grasses along the shores tangled with the hint of sweaty bodies and arousal. Doors to the rooms with cots and rough burlap quilts were closed. A full house. Each space would be filled with sailors and the body they’d chosen to love for the night.
I looked back to prepare the royals for debauchery, no need for more attention to ourselves, but Mira strode through the crowds with Sander and Aleksi, unbothered by the chaos.
Jonas was lost to us, chatting with one of the pub maids wiping down a table. The woman tucked her sleek, fiery hair behind her sharply tapered ear. Part siren, if I had to guess, with her crimson lips and the way she kept humming and touching the place over the prince’s heart.
“Gods.” Tait took hold of Jonas’s arm. “Are you a royal or not?”
