Larylis pushed off the windowsill and paced before the desk. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He may not have emotion magic like Cora, nor was he a seer like Emylia, but the last time he’d had this horrible feeling—when he’d feared his wife was in danger at Ridine last summer—he’d been right. He’d received a warning from Cora back then, and he could have dismissed it, yet his instincts had picked up on a danger he had no explanation for.
And it was happening again.
He knew why. Knew which piece of the puzzle disturbed him the most.
If there was a traitor in the castle, someone who could enter the cell and kill a man without getting caught by the guards or gaoler, they could have silenced the prisoner sooner. Or freed him. Why act only after he’d talked?
The skin at the back of his neck prickled, and he recalled an echo from history. He strode over to one of the many bookshelves lining the study walls. The massive collection of historical records and tales were a new addition after Larylis and Mareleau had inherited Verlot Palace as their secondary residence. Larylis could always think better and clearer when surrounded by books, and with every step he took toward the shelf, the sharper his mind became.
He picked up the book he was looking for and opened it toward the back. Flipping pages, he scanned the text until his gaze landed on the name and date he sought.
King Samuel. The Battle of San Dohrinas. Year 159 of the Eagle.
He read the brief record of the battle, pausing when he found the paragraph he was most interested in.
After days of withstanding torture, the spy in King Samuel’s custody revealed where Borfian’s forces would invade and gave three locations that they would attack. King Samuel divided his army and sent forces to each location, leaving only a small garrison in San Dohrinas. The city proved to be the true object of Borfian’s attack, and the fortress fell in a fortnight.
Larylis closed the book and returned it to the shelf. The case he’d just read about wasn’t the first or last of its kind, but it was the most recent he’d studied. The king had done his due diligence to ensure the spy’s information was correct. Enemy forces had been spotted in two of the locations, so he’d trusted the third would soon follow. Yet in the end, the two forces had been a bluff and the third hadn’t existed at all. The prisoner had gotten captured and tortured on purpose, all to misdirect the king. And even though King Samuel hadn’t fully abandoned the city, he’d divided his numbers enough to give Borfian the win.
That was whatthisfelt like now. Like they were being toyed with. Divided. On purpose.
The spy had given three pieces of intel: that Syrus and Norun had allied, that Darius was physically present in Norun, and that he’d summoned a fleet from Syrus. The first could be easily confirmed. They’d already suspected the alliance between Syrus and Norun. The second could soon be confirmed as well. As for the last…
Well, the fact that the prisoner had been silenced was proof enough that what he’d said was true.
But what if it wasn’t?
Larylis gritted his teeth. The whole situation felt like a mind game. A battle of facts versus instinct. He couldn’t call off his scouts. He couldn’t ignore the potential that the fleet truly was coming. But he wouldn’t sit around and wait to be made a fool of either.
* * *
“The corpseand the prisoner are not the same man,” the gaoler said, gesturing toward the cloth-draped body inside the cell. The burlap covering did nothing to hide the smell.
Teryn breathed through his mouth, desperate to get this meeting over with so he could leave the dungeon. He’d been in one of these cells before, and his stay had been anything but pleasant. Though at least there hadn’t been a rotting corpse back then.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” said a frail voice. Teryn did his best to ignore it, for it was coming from the pale apparition that hovered over the dead body. It locked hollow, pleading eyes on Teryn. “Please. I’m not supposed to be here.”
Teryn averted his gaze to the gaoler. The man was an inch taller than Teryn, which was saying something, for Teryn was used to being the tallest in most crowds. His arms were roped with muscle and scars, and his deep-set eyes were lined with creases. His lips were thin yet wide and he had a head of shaggy brown hair that reached his shoulders. Though Teryn hadn’t interacted with many a gaoler before, he looked exactly like a man who chained and beat people for a living.
He’d also been Teryn’s primary suspect for murdering the prisoner.Had beenbeing the key, for the gaoler had an alibi. Everyone, it seemed, had a damn alibi, from the guards to the cooks to the dungeon sweepers.
“That’s not the same man, Majesty,” the gaoler said again. “I’ve beaten the living piss out of the prisoner. I’d know him if I’d seen ’im.Heis not the same.”
Teryn shifted his gaze from the gaoler to Captain Alden, who stood off to the side. She shook her head. “He looked like the same man to me. I only saw him with bruises on his face.”
The gaoler nodded eagerly. “I put them bruises there. But not those ones. They ain’t even in the right places. Whoever put ’em there wanted the bastard unrecognizable.”
“I’m not supposed to be here,” the ghost lamented, stepping away from the body.
Teryn assessed the semi-transparent figure before asking the gaoler, “What did the prisoner look like before you, uh, beat the living piss out of him?”
“Older man. Gray hair. Slender. A real wily bastard. Bad attitude. Thinks e’s cleverer then ’e is.”
Teryn’s gaze flashed to the ghost. He could only assume the spirit belonged to the corpse, and even though Teryn couldn’t be sure the man’s hair was gray, for the apparition was colorless, he matched the physical description enough.
“I’m tellin’ ye, Majesty.” The gaoler crossed his enormous arms over his chest. “Not the same man.”
“Thank you for your time,” Teryn said. “You may go.”
