“I’ve been conducting trails on elements harvested from the rainforest, which involved testing dozens of mixtures, including this one.” Methodically, Jeryn closed his fingers around the vessel. “Someone from Winter gave this to Rhys. And it wasn’t fucking me.”
Flare’s countenance tightened.“Sir Indigo.”
Our clan swerved toward the woman.
“Who the hell is that?” Posy and Vale asked in unison.
Avalea checked the king’s expression. “Someone close to Your Majesty.”
“Someone with access to your lab,” Eliot surmised.
“Or someone who guards it,” Poet murmured shrewdly.
“Correct.” Jeryn’s teeth flashed. “The motherfucker has sided with Rhys.”
“The secondary informant,” Aspen realized.
Winter stalked closer. “In the knights’ camp, he would have disguised his rank.”
As Jeryn described the man, nothing came to mind from the traitor camp. But it did from my seven years afield.
Shoulder-length dark hair. Uncommonly steep cheekbones and pale skin. Small, needle-like scars pitting one side of his profile.
Recognition gripped me by the jugular. I recalled his impertinence in The Shadow Orchard, shortly before my return to the castle. At the time, I hadn’t been able to place him, yet the man seemed remotely familiar. To my chagrin, I mistook this as confirmation of his Autumn origins, believing he held a lieutenant’s rank, a new appointment by Queen Avalea in my absence.
In my recollection, a mannequin had been used to train squires that day. Afterward, our troop burned the inanimate figure, and the knight approached me beside the pyre. Thereupon, he spoke out of turn, flouting hierarchy and delivering an insolent remark.
Out of character for an Autumn soldier of his status. Unless it had been deliberate.
A traitor would not be expected to stand out. This, assuming he wasn’t subverting expectations, attempting to hide in plain sight like Aspen.
Next, I remembered his ensemble. He had worn simple garb befitting his rank, other than the sword and perhaps that simple metal pin on his collar. As for the steel spurs lining his heels…
My eyes clicked to Jeryn’s steep-tipped boots. Fuck. A knight of Winter posing as a defender of Autumn.
I seethed. “I met him.”
In fact, I had encountered Indigo of Winter more than once. Back when Briar was poisoned and Jeryn traveled to Autumn to heal her. Standing in the fortress’s courtyard with the rest of Jeryn’s security detail, Sir Indigo had been dressed in different attire. A heraldic surcoat beneath a silver cloak and ornamental engravings on his armor.
Not a lieutenant, then. Rather, a commander.
A deceiver would voluntarily step down in rank if he possessed strategic patience. One culture alone displayed such traits to the extreme.
That accounted for why Indigo seemed familiar yet unidentifiable. I could recall every Autumn warrior’s face. But not the face of Winter.
Jeryn clarified the rest, starting with Indigo’s motive. The bigoted knight loathed born souls and displayed outspoken tendencies on the matter, including when Jeryn first bargained for Flare in Summer. Indigo was there, questioning his sovereign’s judgement. A grave infraction that hadn’t ended well for him.
This occurred before Jeryn and Flare were shipwrecked in The Phantom Wild. Later, after Jeryn was retrieved from the rainforest, the knight suspected his ruler of protecting Flare’s whereabouts. And while Flare had eventually been accepted by Winter’s citizens, it had taken them years to earn that freedom; even then, not everyone was on their side.
All this time, Jeryn had been keeping this enemy close, the better to monitor the knight. Thus, aligning himself with Rhys made sense for Indigo. It gave him a spiteful outlet to revolt, to act as a secondary informant.
According to Jeryn, the knight had been intermittently traveling to his ancestral home to care for elder relatives. This gave Indigo an excuse to disappear on occasion.
Hence, this knight gave Rhys the elixir. And at this juncture, Indigo would have learned about the treehouse attack. Likely, he’d removed himself from Autumn and relocated elsewhere. Summer’s borders stood to reason, though perhaps he went back to Winter, since no one openly suspected him, and his job as a spy wasn’t done.
The curl of Jeryn’s lip chilled my bones. “I will deal with him.”
“Need I remind you he’s a valuable pawn,” Poet interjected. “He’s worth more alive than disemboweled.”
