Captain Carr glanced back at the advisors as if to take stock of what they thought of Bryn’s report. Her heart was galloping in her chest. They'd kill her if there was even a chance that she was lying. After all, killing her would be one way for Captain Carr to take the Mir throne, though not the simplest.
The simplest is for him to marry me.
Before they could make up their minds with their secretive looks, Bryn cleared her throat and stated, “Of course, once we found out about Mars’s death and I became the crown heir, everything changed. King Aleth made me marry his eldest son.”
“Trei Barendur,” Captain Carr said in his hoarse voice. “Yes, we heard of his violent passing.”
Because one of your spies killed him,Bryn thought angrily.
She temporarily went speechless as the memory of seeing Trei’s body flashed before her eyes, and the terrible aftermath: Rangar arrested, Saraj’s grief, a family torn apart.
She closed her eyes briefly, pained by the lie she had to speak. “Naturally, I was relieved Prince Trei was killed. I hadn’t agreed to the marriage. The Barendur family only ever saw me as a political pawn.”
Captain Carr folded his arms across his chest. “King Aleth has always been a harsh ruler.”
He’s nothing of the sort, Bryn thought.His manner might be brusque, but he’s twice the man you’d ever be.
Captain Carr’s demeanor shifted again. He dropped his hands and gave what was supposed to be a smile but came out as a grimace. “You’re in safe hands now. Neither I nor my soldiers would ever hurt you or use you for political gain as the Barendurs did.”
Anger screamed in Bryn’s ears. She’d overheard Carr’s very soldiers talking about how he’d wanted to force her and Elysander into bed.
The man before her was nothing less than a monster.
“I have no doubt.” She gave him a soft, weak smile. “I recall you always being so loyal to my parents.” She paused, frowning slightly. “Though I did hear alarming rumors after the siege that you had something to do with the uprising. Only rumors, I’m sure . . . ”
The smile fell off his face as she turned the tables on him. The best way to cast off suspicion was to place it on the person you were trying to win the game against. Captain Carr stiffened as he said, “False rumors. Entirely false, spread by the leaders of the uprising. I helped your brother retake the castle from the treasonous common folk. I’ve been nothing but loyal to your family.”
Her body started shaking from anger, and she didn’t try to hide it. Let him think she was shaking from relief or exhaustion. She gave a nod. “That is what I assumed, naturally.”
He turned away briskly. “You must be exhausted. I’ve given the orders for servants to prepare your former bedroom for you, and I’ve had them carry up a tub filled with hot water. Take some time to wash away the weariness of your travels. I can have food sent up as well.” He paused. “Unless you’d like to join me for supper?”
There was an undeniable effort to make his words appear attractive. As she’d suspected, he was very aware that the fastest way to the throne was to marry her. With his advanced age, she couldn’t imagine he would believe himself to be an attractive prospect to her, but then again, men seemed to delude themselves into all kinds of thinking.
Fighting back bile, she said, “Perhaps tomorrow. I would love to dine with you, but I fear I will fall asleep as soon as I step out of the bath.”
Captain Carr gave a curt nod. “Of course. Tomorrow. Once more, let me welcome you home, Lady Bryn. Your return is one of the few bright occurrences during a dark time for this kingdom.”
She bowed, all too anxious to be anywhere but in his presence.
Following the soldiers to her room, she glanced at the alcoves that she knew hid secret passages. These were the only ones whose tapestries had been replaced, clearly to hide the entryways.
She touched Elysander’s key around her neck and wondered when she would get a chance to search the passages for a way to the dungeon.
To Rangar.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
PASSAGES . . . the man in the dungeon . . . the captain upstairs . . . a scratched map . . . a new spell
As soon as Bryn stepped into her former bedroom, she dismissed the servants and shut the door.
Nothing about the room felt familiar. Scorch marks on the walls reminded her of the terrible night when she’d left. All the bedding, rugs, and curtains had been changed, likely due to smoke damage. She threw open the door to her closet, which to her surprise, still contained her old gowns.
She held the silken sleeve of one up to her nose, recoiling at the trace of smoke, though it looked to have been washed multiple times. She sifted through the gowns with mixed emotions. A part of her missed her old life: there had been joy there, true love for her parents and her siblings, and happiness sneaking sugared treats from Mam Delice in the kitchen. But these dresses felt so flimsy and insubstantial compared to her clothes from the Baersladen. She couldn’t imagine wearing lace again.
She peeled off her clothes and eased herself into the copper tub filled with steaming water that servants had prepared. The warm water unlocked her tight muscles, and she leaned her head back against the tub’s rim, closing her eyes. Her hand drifted to the scars across her ribs, trailing along them lightly.
