Grayson took the left path, holding his breath as he passed the olaris bush. The violet flowers were in bloom, which meant their perfume was at its deadliest.
One didn’t stop to smell flowers in this garden.
Queen Iris knelt on the path in the back corner of the garden. She glanced up from her work, eyes lighting at the sight of him. “Grayson!” She nodded to the small white berries dangling in front of her. “Do you recognize these?”
“Vellerberries,” he said at once, tone even. The abdominal pain they evoked was excruciating; his stomach cramped at the mere memory.
Iris smiled proudly and took up a towel to wipe the dirt from her hands, taking care to clean each finger. She came to her feet and straightened the black sash at her waist, gesturing to the round iron table set off the path. “The tea arrived just before you did.”
Beside the table was a long glass cage, filled with dirt, rocks, and other foliage. Somewhere in there, Grayson knew, a snake hid. With summer approaching, Iris would have servants carrying out her menagerie of venomous reptiles. She liked them to have a change of scene.
Iris took her seat, leaving Grayson to sit across from her, his back to the snake’s cage. The spot between his shoulder blades itched.
Iris poured tea from the steaming pot. “Honey?”
“No.” Never add anything to your drink, she’d taught him. It was often how poison slipped past lazy tasters.
Iris passed him a cup and he eyed the dark brown tea rippling inside before sniffing deeply.
She chuckled, pouring her own cup. “You needn’t be so obvious. Some hosts would be insulted.”
Grayson watched her sip her tea. It could still be poisoned—her cup could be lined with an antidote, or his could have been lined with poison. But he couldn’t see or smell anything wrong, so he took an experimental sip. Bitter, but no poison he could detect. Taking a chance, he swallowed, then nodded to her cup. “You didn’t add honey.”
“No.” She peered at him over the rim. “But Tyrell did yesterday.”
Grayson stole a look at the innocuous pot, studying the amber honey inside.
“It’s quite undetectable,” Iris told him brightly. “It was an idea of my father’s, which I’ve finally perfected. I cultivated blossoms toxic enough that, when the bees take the pollen, they literally make poisonous honey. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Grayson set the teacup aside, his shoulders tight. “What is it you wanted to discuss?”
She shifted the teacup in her hands, amusement playing in her gray eyes. “How was your trip to the northern mountains? Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I don’t enjoy anything.” At least, that was what people said of the Black Hand.
His mother raised an eyebrow. “Captain Reeve is a spy for your father.”
“I know.”
“He’s been spying on you for months.”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you curious about the private report he made to your father?”
Yes. “No.”
Iris took a sip of tea. “I think you should be.”
Grayson leaned back in his chair, portraying a calm he didn’t feel. “I did my duty to Ryden. There was nothing else for him to report.”
“Reeve told your father you saved his life during the peasant ambush.” She frowned. “It was an easy chance for you to be rid of an annoyance. Why save him?”
Because life had worth.
That answer would mean nothing to her. Grayson sighed. “Reeve’s death would have been suspicious. The mission was a test—I didn’t want Father to think I had anything to hide.”
“Hmm.” Iris blew a little on her steaming tea. “The captain shared another interesting story with your father.”
Unease rolled up his spine. “Oh?”
“He said he battled a skilled fighter on the outskirts of Gevell while perusing fugitives. The fighter was cloaked and hooded, but was an expert with two daggers.”
Sweat gathered on his palms, making his gloves feel too tight. “He mentioned the incident to me,” Grayson said slowly.
“Why weren’t you with him?”
“If you know Reeve’s report, you know I found no evidence the widow or her children were anywhere in the village. I ordered Reeve back to camp but he refused to come. I didn’t think it worth the fight, so I left him to his own devices.”
“Did you?”
Grayson’s pulse snapped high and fast, pinned by his mother’s stare.
Iris’s next words were soft. “Not many men can best a captain in Ryden’s army, let alone with only daggers. Reeve had a long sword and still lost.”
His face remained a stiff mask, even though panic spiked. “It sounds like he’s lucky to be alive.”
“You know what I find curious? Reeve was rendered unconscious, not killed. That doesn’t sound like most expert warriors. In fact, I can only think of one.”
Grayson held her stare, his hard face betraying nothing. Or had it betrayed everything?
Slowly, her mouth curved. “Relax. I don’t intend to share this with anyone. Truthfully, I’m surprised your father didn’t figure it out. But then, he has a great deal on his mind and Captain Reeve didn’t air any suspicions. He glazed over the incident, really. Perhaps as a way of thanking you for saving his life—not once, but twice?”
Grayson didn’t respond.
Iris set her cup down and laced her fingers under her chin,elbows propped on the table. “You don’t have to tell me the truth. I can see it. Your face reveals little—you’ve mastered your mask—but your eyes are gateways. I see into your heart. You fought Reeve. You won. You helped that criminal and her brats escape. You undermined your father. You, Grayson, are a traitor.”
His lungs were frozen. He didn’t blink.
Iris reached out a hand, palm
