“Why did he tell you, then?”
He exhaled hard. “Things in the castle have been . . . tense. The court is unsettled with having emissaries from Mortise here, even though no announcement has been made about Serene’s betrothal. Threats have increased and the rebels are growing bolder. All that considered, the commander felt I needed to be told about you so I could begin guarding you immediately. After what happened yesterday, I’m glad I was there.”
Clare was, too. And she thought she understand the reason behindBennick’sdeception.“Whenwewereattacked,youcouldn’t risk the king finding out you were there. What the commander did was treason. And you . . .”
He tipped his head. “Also a traitor, by that definition.” His expression turned grim. “I shouldn’t have used Venn’s name. Or maybe I should have told you everything right there in the street.”
“There were more pressing concerns at the time.”
His mouth twitched. “True.” He glanced down as his boot scuffed over the short grass. “I know you’re upset with me for lying, and you have every right. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the king. Or my men. It would be safer for them if they didn’t know, so they can maintain full deniability.”
Clare didn’t feel any need to protect the commander, but Venn and Cardon? They’d only been kind to her. And Bennick, well . . . kindness had been his dominant trait, too.
With her anger dissipated, holding a grudge was like fisting sand. Impossible. She lifted her eyes to meet his. “I won’t tell the king.”
Relief easedout thelinesthathadbracketedhis mouth.“Thank you, Clare.”
She nodded once.
“I’m, ah, sorry for pushing you yesterday,” he said, a little sheepishly.
It was such a small thing, she actually smiled. “Which time?”
Bennickflashedanapologeticsmile.“Iwasratherpushy,wasn’t I?”
“You were. But you did save my life.”
He bowed deeply.“All in a day’s work.”She chuckled, and when he straightened,his hands shiftedover his pockets.His eyes sparked. “I nearly forgot. I believe this belongs to you.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small figurine.
She froze at the sight of the dented tin soldier.
“I found it in the tavern,” Bennick said. “It must have come out of your pocket when you fell.”
Her fingers shook a little as she took it. Her throat closed and the backs of her eyes burned.
“Clare?”Heshiftedcloser,concerntightening histone.“Is something wrong?”
“I thought I’d lost it.” Her voice rang hoarse. She gripped the soldier so tightly the edges dug into her palm.
Bennick tensed at the tears streaking down her cheeks. “Please don’t cry.”
As if she could stop. Her breath hitched as she choked, almost a laugh.
“Fates,” he muttered. “I’m useless with tears.” He stepped closer, angling his body so he blocked her from the rest of the field. He glanced around them, looking anywhere but at her. He didn’t say anything. His hands opened and closed at his sides, but she didn’t feel impatience from him. He’d probably stand there all day, if that’s how long she cried.
It took a few moments for her tears to stop. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed sharply, hating the ugliness of the sound. That he’d had to witness any of this made her cheeks burn. She swiped at her wet face. “I . . . didn’t expect to see it again. Thank you.”
The skin around his eyes tightened. “If I give you something else, will those tears start again?”
She huffed a short laugh. “I hope not.”
He grunted in agreement, then tugged a small knife from his belt. Clare’s eyes widened—it was Eliot’s. “Thank you for letting me borrow this. I’d already thrown my knives before we got to the tavern, so this little blade saved our lives.”
Clare’s fingers curled around the leather handle as she peeked up at him. “Thank you.” She was thanking him for more than the dagger and he seemed to realize it.
He dipped his head. “If you’re ready, I can teach you how to use it.”
Clare slid the toy soldier into her pocket, then flexed her hold on the dagger. “I’m ready.”
Chapter 10
Grayson
Grayson tugged at his stiff collar as he waited for the throne room doors to open. His brother Tyrell stood beside him in the shadowed corridor, using the tip of his dagger to clean beneath his nails. At eighteen, Tyrell was only a year older than Grayson, but he wore that year with great superiority. Whenever he smiled, he always showed the sharp edge of his teeth.
Being around him tensed every muscle in Grayson’s body. Even though he’d surpassed his brother in skill, Tyrell was still an exceptional fighter. As the youngest, they’d been forced to be better than their brothers. When Grayson became King Henri’s enforcer, Tyrell had been put in charge of training the castle guards. He loved terrorizing new recruits.
“Liam’s returned,” Tyrell said suddenly, as if they’d been conversing. “I wonder if he brought news and Father wants to share it with us.”
Grayson frowned. “When did Liam get back?”
“Last night. You should pay your spies more.”
Grayson didn’t have spies. Now that he could protect himself, he didn’t really care what his brothers did.
Tyrell straightened, sheathing his knife. “My sources tell me Liam looked sun-browned. I assume he’s been in Mortise.” Grayson made no response and Tyrell switched to another topic; he was such a gossip. “Mother showed me some new additions to her garden yesterday.” It sounded deceptively pleasant, much like the term mother. But Queen Iris’s garden grew only poisons, since bottling death and pain were her life’s passion. “Mother asked about you.” Tyrell leaned his shoulder against the stone wall so he could face Grayson. “She wanted to know if I thought you enjoyed serving Father.”
Grayson kept his mouth shut, focused on a chipped gray stone in the opposite wall.
Tyrell snorted
