Because deep down, we already knew he was right.
Jiaran’s eyes flicked toward Zander, keen and knowing. “I understand your need for secrecy,Your Highness,” he said, like he was commenting on the weather. “But you and that sweet little sister of yours are the only sane ones in your cursed family.”
Zander stiffened beside me.Busted.
My mouth dropped open. “How did you?—?”
Jiaran snorted. “I’ve been making blades for the crown since I was old enough to run a forge. I know a Rayne when I see one—especially one who carries himself like he’s holding up the bloody sky.”
Zander exhaled and shook his head. “You’re that Jiaran. I thought you lived in Thubia.”
“Used to,” the blacksmith said, wiping his hands on his soot-stained apron as he moved to a small desk tucked in the corner of the forge. “Cyran made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Moved here a few years back.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a bundle of parchment tied with string, setting it on the desk before us.
“You’ll want to see these.”
Zander and I exchanged a look before stepping closer.
“These missives came through the black channel,” Jiaran explained. “Encrypted. Someone was foolish enough to think I couldn’t read them. I’ve been intercepting what I can before they’re passed to other hands.”
Solei moved first, slicing the string with one of her daggers and spreading the pages across the desk.
Dozens of coded messages.
Stamps I didn’t recognize.
Solei scanned the parchment she took from Jiaran, her brow furrowing as she flipped from one missive to the next. The forge light caught the tension in her jaw.
“Why didn’t you give these to me or Cyran before?” she asked.
Jiaran didn’t flinch. He wiped the remaining soot from his palms and leaned one hip against the edge of his anvil, crossing his arms. “Because I don’t work for the Order,” he said simply. “I’m loyal to those I see fit to rule.”
His eyes slid toward Zander, firm and unblinking.
“At the moment, that’s him.”
Zander shifted beside me. “I’m never going to be king. My brother Dorian?—”
“—has found a way to make himself scarce,” Jiaran cut in without apology. “I like Dorian, don’t mistake me. Good head, decent heart. But he hasn’t taken control of Theron the way he should.”
Jiaran’s face twisted into something bordering on disgust. “That brother of yours was always a smug little bastard. I once caught him throwing rocks at a bird’s nest when he was a boy.”
Zander blinked. “Seriously?”
“I thrashed him,” Jiaran said, matter-of-fact. “He cried and told the guards. But your father never punished me.”
Zander looked stunned. “I’m surprised he didn’t have you executed.”
Jiaran grunted, a dark chuckle in his throat. “Your father was a good man… once. Before your mother died. After that, well… he started liking his swords more than his children.”
Zander huffed, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward, but there was no humor in it.
“True,” he muttered.
The silence that followed was heavy with memories none of us had the strength or desire to unpack.
Solei stared at the red wax seal marked with a single distinct claw.
