Chapter 298: She’s One Of Us

Draeven stood in the center, his hands clasped at his back. Thorne stood slightly to one side, silent and pale, shadows pooled at his heels. And Kaelen stood on the other side, leaning against a pillar with his arms folded and a pained expression on his handsome face.

The moment he saw her, the pained expression vanished.

"Morning, little ward," he called, across forty feet of marble.

Draeven closed his eyes.

"Kaelen," said Thorne, between his teeth.

"What? It’s a greeting."

"It is a greeting," said Thorne, "that you are going to use on the sixth day of never."

"Hello, Morgana," said Draeven, rather desperately.

"Good morning," she said.

She had meant to say it calmly. It came out as a squeak.

Kaelen grinned.

He was hungover. She could see that now, at closer range, in the faint grey under his eyes and the careful way he held his head. But he looked, beneath the crown, impossibly alive. His blue eyes sparkled. His hair was damp. He looked like a man who had slept for two hours and would do it all again.

"You look gorgeous," he said.

"Thank you."

"That gown. It’s..." He broke off, struck, and shot a look at his brothers. "Isn’t it?"

"It is very fine," said Draeven.

"It is appropriate," said Thorne.

"It’s gorgeous."

"Kaelen."

"I’m only saying."

"You are saying it very loudly in front of a door behind which are two hundred nobles."

"They can’t hear me."

"They can hear everything. It’s a stone hall."

Kaelen subsided, grumbling.

Draeven stepped forward.

He stopped in front of her, close enough that she smelled cedar and warm metal. His hair was combed back. His crown gleamed. His golden eyes searched her face, quiet and steady, and for a moment he did not speak.

Then his hand lifted, and he offered her his arm.

"If you will allow me."

She looked at it.

It was a simple gesture. It was the thing a man did for a lady in any hall in any kingdom. But she looked at the crooked elbow and the strong forearm, and remembered what it had felt like under her hand, pressed bare against her ribs. Heat rose in her cheeks.

"Thank you," she said, and took it.

His arm tightened under her fingers.

Something passed between them, brief and warm. She felt it through the bond, a small golden pulse, like a hand squeezed in a dark room.

She squeezed back.

Behind her, a shadow fell, cool and quiet. Thorne had stepped into place at her back, so close that she could feel him without turning. And on her left side, Kaelen fell into step with his hands behind him and a grin he could not suppress.

"Better?" he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

"A little." She replied.

"We’ve got you."

"I know."

"If he says one word," Kaelen said pleasantly, "I’m going to freeze his tongue to the roof of his mouth."

"Kaelen." Draeven called out in a warning tone.

"I’ll do it politely." Kaelen replied with a smile.

"Kaelen."

"Fine." He sighed. "Spoilsport."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. It helped. Her shoulders, she realized, had come down from around her ears.

"Majesty."

The voice came from the shadows beside the door.

Corin stepped out of them. He had been standing there, apparently, for some time, as still as the carved pillars. He wore the king’s grey, newly pressed. His face was pale and composed. He bowed to Thorne, then to the others, and then, with great care, to her.

"My lady."

"Corin," she said, smiling. "You look well."

"Thank you, my lady." A faint flush crept up his neck. "I took the liberty of making inquiries. As His Majesty asked."

Thorne’s gaze sharpened.

"And?"

"If I may." Corin’s eyes flicked to the others, and then to Morgana, and back. "It is a private matter."

"Say it," said Draeven quietly. "She is one of us."

Corin hesitated. Then he straightened.

"The man posted on the council gallery this morning was a clerk named Pell. A junior scribe, ten years in the palace, no family. He was called away from his post at dawn by a written summons." Corin’s voice was low and quick. "It was carried by a boy. It bore the seal of Elder Cedric."

"Cedric summoned him?"

"No, my lord. That is the difficulty." He drew breath. "I went to the Elder an hour ago. I asked whether he had sent for the clerk. He said he had not. He said he had not sent anyone anywhere since last night. And he examined the seal himself, on the paper that Pell gave me."

"And?"

"He said it was a perfect copy."

The silence was cold.

"A perfect copy," Draeven repeated.

"He could not tell the difference. Neither could I." Corin swallowed. "The clerk went where the paper told him. He left the gallery empty for the better part of an hour. Anyone might have walked in. Or stood there."

"Or listened," said Thorne softly.

"Yes, my lord."

Thorne’s eyes were very dark.

"Where is Pell now?"

"Gone. I sent a man to his lodgings. His room is empty. His bed has not been slept in." Corin’s face tightened. "I think he left before dawn. I think he may have been paid."

"Or frightened."

"Either, my lord."

Nobody spoke.

Morgana felt Draeven’s arm go rigid beneath her hand. On her other side, Kaelen had stopped smiling. The playfulness had drained from his face, leaving it sharp and watchful, and she saw, for the first time that morning, the king beneath the crown.

"Thank you, Corin," said Draeven, very quietly. "You have done well. Tell no one else."

"Yes, my lord."

"Not Rhen. Not Cedric. Not yet."

"I understand."

"Stay close."

"Always, my lord."

He retreated.

Draeven drew a slow breath. His fingers closed gently over Morgana’s, where they rested on his arm, and she felt the faint tension in his hand ease.

"It is nothing that cannot be dealt with," he said. "Not today. Today we have a simpler task."