Hasan shook his head, cutting his brother off. “Montrose is engaged.” He flipped the paper so the headline was facing Zeyar: “Montrose Heir Proposes to Viceroy’s Daughter.” Below, Poppy Sutherland was pictured, her expression one of shock and delight. When Hasan was growing up, it was not uncommon to see the viceroy’s daughter in photographs beside him, but in the past few weeks since her return from Welkland, the papers had printed so many pictures of her that Hasan felt like he knew her face better than his own. She hadn’t been featured this much since the scandal of her adoption twenty-one years ago. Hasan shook out the newspaper, revealing the rest of the photograph. Richard Montrose occupied the bottom half, down on one knee as he beamed up at Poppy confidently, her hand in his. The pair of them looked absurd against the backdrop, a shitty old building that hadn’t been occupied in years.
“Give me that.” Zeyar grabbed the newspaper from Hasan. He flipped past the front page, heading to the page with the rest of the article. His eyes widened. “He bought her that run-down house they’re standing in front of,” he said. “And he puthername on the deed.”
“Seems like a big investment for a man who isn’t besotted,” Hasan observed.
“Besotted is strong,” Zeyar disagreed. “The paper says they’ve only been courting three weeks. What’s more likely is he needed her to say yes. Between the giant purchase and the public proposal, he all but guaranteed she couldn’t turn him down. Very clever. So, the girlisimportant to him, though thewhyof the matter is not so simple as love.”
“Should we threaten her?”
Zeyar shook his head. “She’s Sutherland’s daughter. He likely has a guard with her at all times. Threatening her will only increase the security around her and decrease the likelihood that we’ll be able to make good on our words. An empty threat carries no weight.”
Hasan crossed his arms. “Then what do you propose?”
“Act first; make threats later.” Zeyar’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “We’re going to kidnap her.”
Hasan understood immediately. “You want to do a prisoner trade. Paranjay for Poppy.”
“Exactly.” Zeyar tapped the newspaper. “Her engagement party is in three days, hosted at Montrose Manor. Everyone who’s anyone will be invited, which means the house will be full of guests. Getting in and out unnoticed will be easy. It’s the perfect opportunity.”
“I’ll send Samina to scope out the property.” Hasan’s mind raced. “We’ll need a map of the house and the grounds. Given the size of the party, they’ll need to hire Virian waitstaff. I’m sure Harithi can find out which catering company is getting the contract. We’ll need a few men to infiltrate them. Perhaps Vinay and Kaushal?—”
“No,” Zeyar said. “This will be our biggest stunt to date. We aren’t collecting a debt; we’re seizing the viceroy’s daughter. Send your team to make the necessary preparations. But only you and I are qualified enough to do the deed.”
Hasan’s lips curved up in a half smile. He and Zeyar had not worked a job together since their mother had handed them the reins of the family business. Though it seemed unimaginable now, they had made quite the team back then, with Zeyar’s precisely crafted strategies backed by Hasan’s brute strength and physical prowess. Oh, they’d argued back then, too, tussling like a pair of wolf pups?—but they’d always made it out of a job laughing. Scuffed up, a trail of destruction in their wake, but laughing.
Hasan wanted to laugh with his brother again. “Let’s do it, then. Let’s get Paranjay back.”
Chapter Eleven
Every Rose Has Thorns
Hasan tugged at the collar of his catering uniform, scowling at his reflection. “Remind me again whyIhave to be the one to infiltrate the party?”
“Because I’ve bribed several of the partygoers,” Zeyar said, examining his cuff links as he lounged on Hasan’s bed. Though tonight he was playing the role of getaway driver, he was dressed just as formally as Hasan, in a black-tie valet’s uniform. “They’d recognize me, and then our cover would be blown. Also, I’m the better driver.”
“That’s debatable,” Hasan said, but he couldn’t refute his brother’s first point. “Come on, then. Let’s make a quick offering and go.”
Zeyar jumped up, smoothing his slacks. The two of them walked down to the cellar. Hasan grunted as he pushed aside a crate of mango pickle, revealing a black tunnel with a ladder bolted to one side. He descended the ladder, Zeyar following. When they reached the bottom, Hasan’s fingers grazed the stone walls as he pressed the light switch. The amber bulbs flickered to life, humming quietly as they bathed the room in golden light, illuminating the small pantheon of Virian deities on the other end of the room.
This was the Devar brothers’ most closely guarded secret, the source of their power: the true gods of the island. After the empire had annexed Viryana, they’d desecrated the last of the old Virian temples and destroyed whatever shrines they could find, building cathedrals to the Founder on top of the wreckage, declaring him the one and only god of Viryana. But the temples had been more than just places of worship?—for the daivyakt, who had been blessed by the gods, that was where they went to renew their power by making naumya, sacrificial offerings.
Hasan took his offering, his untouched dinner plate, and laid it at the feet of Nathria, the glittering goddess of victory.
“You’ll need more than that,” Zeyar said. “If you’re caught inside the mansion, you’ll need a lot of fire. Make a bigger offering.”
Hasan bit his lip. He undid the clasp on his watch, a gift from Paranjay with a mother-of-pearl face, and set it beside his plate of food.
“My veins are a vessel for the divine power of the gods,” he intoned. “If Nathria finds my sacrifice worthy, may I be filled with her cosmic energy.” Though the goddess was earth-aligned and Hasan’s gift was fire, a warmth spread through Hasan as his prayer was heard.
Hasan stepped back, allowing Zeyar to go next. He withdrew two packs of expensive cigars, laying them at Nathria’s feet as well as at those of Dhilip, the god of speed. Zeyar repeated the prayer, then stepped back.
“Let’s go.” Hasan glanced at the watch, which ticked at Nathria’s feet. “The party will be getting started any minute now.”
• • •
No one who walked in the front door of Montrose Manor could tell that Poppy had had only three days to plan this party, of that she was certain. She had selected scarlet and gold party decorations, intentionally matching the families’ crests: the Sutherland crossed scepters, and the blooming Montrose rose. She had personally taste tested the drinks and appetizers circulating on gold platters, and she’d hand chosen every item in the six-course meal, which would be served once the dancing was over.
She had even made time to get fitted for a new dress for the occasion, with lace sleeves and a bodice with a built-in corset. The skirt bloomed outward in layers of tulle and blush-colored silk that matched the pink of her diamond ring. Her lady’s maids had pulled half of her thick hair into a braided crown at the top of her head, leaving the rest of it to flow to her waist. Gold pins with heads of diamond and pearl kept the style in place. Poppy couldn’t stop tilting her head, admiring the way they caught the light.
