“Fair enough.” Keris rested his boot on the opposite knee, taking the measure of the prince. He was in his fifties, his brown hair heavily laced with gray, his skin weathered. Though it was too dark to see the color of his eyes, Keris suspected they were amber as a wolf’s. Cormac was a big man, both in height and in breadth, but Keris also heard the faint wheeze in the man’s breath that indicated poor health. “Things are coming up rosy for Cardiff these days. An alliance with Harendell, border open to free trade, the burning of witches outlawed, and Ronan’s daughter now queen of Harendell. Yet you look the opposite of pleased, my friend.”
Cormac sipped his drink. “You shamed my niece.”
Keris grimaced. “My only regret is not cutting off Lestara’s head and staking it on what remained of Vencia’s gate.”
“A mistake I’m sure you’ll have great cause to regret.” Cormac fell silent as the barmaid approached and set a bowl of stew on the table, along with a heel of bread. He paid her, and when he and Keris were alone again, he said, “But it is my nephew, not my niece, whom I wish to speak of with you.”
“James.” Keris tapped his fingers on the table. “That was quite a secret to keep all these long years. Not once did I hear a whisper that Edward’s mistress was actually a Cardiffian princess.”
“Siobhan had been a spy in Verwyrd since she was fifteen,” Cormac answered. “Her cover was deep. After her death, it was agreed to keep her identity a secret to protect my nephew.”
“Why? His mother being a princess didn’t make him any less the king’s bastard.”
The older man didn’t reply, only took another sip of his drink, watching Keris as though waiting.
Understanding struck Keris like a slap to the face. “Not a bastard.”
Cormac gave a slow nod of confirmation.
Edward hadn’t just aimed to make James king of Ithicana—he’d aimed to make him the heir to Harendell’s throne. With James’s ties to Cardiff, he’d have been the most powerful man in the known world. It was a bloody ambitious plan that made entirely too much sense, and it might well have come to fruition if Edward hadn’t so sorely misjudged Ahnna’s loyalty to her family. “Does Alexandra know?”
“Edward took extreme measures to keep the knowledge secret to protect James.”
Keris silently debated how much he wished to reveal to this man, decided the answer was nothing, so he only said, “That wasn’t my question.”
Cormac traced the tip of one finger around the rim of his glass, expression considering. “I think if Alexandra knew the truth, James would be dead.”
“Like his mother.”
The older man grimaced. “Siobhan’s death was Katarina’s doing, there is no question. The assassin and the poison were tied back to her agents in Riomar with little effort made to hide that she was responsible. Edward, naturally, suspected Alexandra, but no amount of investigation could implicate her beyond Amarid’s propaganda machine casting blame her way.”
Keris frowned. Though it made sense that Katarina desired to throw a wrench into the workings of peace between Cardiff and Harendell, there was something about the…obviousnessof how it was done that bothered him like an itch that refused to be scratched. “Why are you telling me all this, Cormac? What do you want from this soft creature who does nothing but read, drink, and spend his powerful wife’s gold?”
Instead of answering the question, Cormac ate, dipping his bread into the stew and devouring the meal like a man starved. Only when he was finished and the barmaid had taken the dishes away did he speak. “James is the rightful heir to the Twisted Throne. We invested a great deal of effort in aiding Edward in his plans to secure James’s ascension, not only because his ties with Cardiff would ensure peace, trade, and prosperity, but because he would be invested in vengeance against the Crimson Widow. Ahnna Kertell destroyed decades of labor, because without Edward to name him heir, no one will believe it.”
“Because you have no proof.”
“Edward’s word was always the proof.” Cormac drained his cup, then slammed it down with enough force that the table shuddered. “He wanted this as badly as we did, and stars as my witness, we were damnably close to seeing everything we worked for to fruition.”
Such as taking Ithicana with a coup,Keris silently thought.
“No one will believe Cardiff’s claims of James’s legitimacy,” Cormac continued. “It is too self-serving, too obviously in our interest, and William will only deny it. Alexandra will deny it. All of Harendell will believe them, because Edward revealed the truth to no one.”
“You telling me the truth doesn’t change that fact.”
“No. But ifEdwardtold you the truth, then all would be forced to listen, for you are the empress’s consort. A prince of Maridrina. Brother to two queens.”
“While I am enjoying watching my stock rise on the tide of your desperation, Cormac, there is a flaw in your plan: Edward never once mentioned any of this to me.”
“Are you sure?” The prince rested his elbows on the table, and it groaned beneath his weight. “Everyone is aware that you and Edward carried on a merry correspondence and that he held you in high esteem. Letters went back and forth, your exchange of words well known and uncontestable, yes?”
Keris blew out a long breath, disliking where this was going. “Yes.”
“We know he sent a message to you just before his death.” Cormac reached into the interior pocket of his coat and withdrew a letter with a cracked seal, which he handed to Keris. The paper was identical to what Edward used, the broken wax sealed with the king’s ring, and as he unfolded it, the writing was in Edward’s hand. Keris took in the contents—all gossip from the month leading up to the murder, amusing but trivial. But Keris also saw the message within the anecdotes, the coded one Edward had often used to reveal more salacious details.
Refolding the forged letter, Keris tapped it against the table. “You want me to lie. You want me to use the weight of my name—the weight of mywife’sname—to take the crown from William and put it on James’s head.”
“He is the rightful heir.”
