Chapter 196: You are the father!

LYSANDER

Uncle Cornelius’s study smelled the way it always had, of old leather and cold pipe ash, and I had stopped noticing it years ago. This morning, I noticed everything. The tear in the spine of the history book I’d been reading, for instance. I still wondered what had been on that damned page that someone had ripped out. But now, it hardly mattered. There were more pressing concerns.

Like the ring of dust around the glass that had sat untouched on the desk for weeks. Or the far wall, behind which I knew, without needing to look, a hidden chamber waited for royal blood, concealing an eldritch terror.

I stood by the window, a mug of coffee growing cold in my hand. Bradley stood before the desk, his hands clasped behind his back, maintaining the posture of a man at attention despite my having told him twice to sit.

"So, that is the shape of it," I said at last. "I leave today, with enough of an escort to make a spectacle of my departure. By the time I am out of the estate, everyone will have heard about it, and those waiting for an opportunity to strike will know exactly when to expect me."

I turned from the window.

"We have every reason to believe they will make their move along the way, or perhaps at Lily of the Valley itself. So I will be sure to let them believe they have the advantage. They probably already know by now when I’m leaving, they know the road I’m expected to take, and they’ll have every reason to believe I’ll reach Lily of the Valley on schedule. So et them prepare for my arrival. I’ll take a detour to the family manor and approach by another road, arriving a day later than expected. By then, whoever is waiting for me will have spent a day watching an empty road or wondering why I haven’t appeared. Perhaps a little conflict between our enemies will occur."

Bradley remained silent, waiting for me to continue.

"Only a handful of people would have enough time to prepare mercenaries. You, a select few elders, Edelina, and of course my cousin. If our enemies act on that information, they’ll expose themselves without ever realizing they’ve been played."

I took another sip of coffee. It had gone cold.

"Either way, we give them enough rope to expose themselves."

"Luna Edelina is not stupid. I’m sure she’s planned for every possibility. What happens if this foolproof plan of yours fails? What if she’s already anticipated that you’d make a move like this, and the mercenaries decide to do what they did with Alpha King Cornelius? Wait until they have a sure-fire opportunity to strike?"

"Then so be it." I shrugged. "I have a healer from the Age of Legends traveling with me. Word must have spread by now that I survived an assassination attempt, and with a healer like that at my side, they’ll have every reason to proceed with caution. They won’t risk making a move until they’re certain they can kill me."

"You intend to be the bait, at the end of the day," Bradley said.

"I intend to be a very visible one." I set the mug on the sill. "The moment anyone makes a move, you’ll receive a message from me. Then we act. A legitimate arrest, with witnesses and an attempted solid assassination on record. There will be no more guesses, no more half-proofs, and certainly no more letting our suspicions run ahead of the evidence. This time, the Spiritual Elder will be present in the elders’ circle when we confront them. Whoever is holding the knife will have to answer for it, and the truth will be dragged into the open."

"A decent plan."

I turned to face him. "You say that the way a man says he likes soup he didn’t order."

The corner of his mouth twitched, barely. "I dislike the part where the Regent volunteers himself as a target. It is a plan I would have proposed for someone else."

"That is the trouble with being the only person available." I leaned against the sill. "At least this time, we’re prepared. The infirmary, the courtyard, the great hall. Every time, we’ve been the ones scrambling to catch up, reacting after the damage has been done. I’d like to be standing in the right place for once when the blow lands."

Bradley nodded slowly. His gaze had settled on the floor between us rather than on me.

"I assume that means I stay."

"You stay. Send the next best sentinel with me, someone you trust to follow orders and, more importantly, to disobey them when it counts." I paused, considering the matter. "Someone sensible. I need a paragon of common sense in this house while I’m gone. I’m half-convinced they’ll try to kill more of those poor retainers, and I’d rather not return to another courtyard situation."

"I’ll see to it."

"Bradley."

"Your Majesty."

"You are different today."

He lifted his head then. The face I found was the same one I had known since boyhood, square, stubborn, lined at the eyes. But something behind it had changed overnight. It was like looking at a house with every shutter closed, familiar enough from the outside, yet refusing to give away anything of what lay within.

I had seen him in worse states. I had seen him with blood to the elbows, barking orders through a broken jaw, and standing beside my uncle’s death ground with the expression of a man who would sooner have taken his place. I had never seen him distracted.

"You are somewhere else this morning," I said.

"I have a great deal on my mind, Your Majesty."

"You do. And I have asked you before to tell me when it is more than usual."

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the desk, close enough that he would have to look at me if he wanted to avoid appearing rude.

"We have not known each other as long as you and my uncle did. I understand that, and I will never replace him. Nor will I insult you by pretending I can." I studied his face for a moment. "But something is wrong, and I would rather hear it from you than watch you carry it around until it becomes something neither of us can afford. Is it the plan you disagree with, or is there something else?"

"I do not disagree with the plan."

"Then what is it?"

He was quiet for so long that I began to hear the clock on the mantel, its slow, tired ticking a sound I had known since childhood.

Then he reached inside his jacket.

"The results of the tests came back last night," he said. "It is why I came to the dinner table in the first place."

I breathed out through my nose. "Fuck. I’d forgotten about that."

"It is understandable."

"What do they say?"

He held out a folded sheet. The edges had been creased almost to felt, as though the paper had been crushed in a fist and painstakingly smoothed out again. I took it, unfolded it, and read.

The first line was clinical. The second was worse. Near the bottom, a figure stood out in bold type.

Ninety-nine percent.

I read it again. Then once more, as though repetition might somehow change what it said.

"This cannot be true."