Chapter 26

Ceven

IT TOOK LONGER for Ceven to track down his brother than he would’ve liked. The oldest prince of Peredia had an odd schedule of meetings and trips to Gods-know-where that Ceven regarded with a hint of suspicion. But that didn’t bother him as much as King Calais’s parting words.

You’d do best to kill that girl now while you have the chance. Before it’s too late and she dooms us all.

 He cursed himself for letting it get under his skin. He knew the king had a tendency to say things to unnerve others, throwing them off their guard. It was a common tactic he employed in every conversation to gain the upper hand. And yet, there was always some truth to it.

Tarry had trailed beside Ceven in silence after the encounter. He didn’t pry, thankfully. Ceven knew opening that discussion would only raise his bodyguard’s suspicions of Evangeline further. Besides, more important things were at hand. Like finding his blasted brother.

Ceven hadn’t reached out or spoken to Barto since, but he assumed he and Rasha were staying busy. Tarry had intercepted another messenger bird sent their way, but this time it involved correspondence with the king. He was sure Rasha planned on telling this information to the king sooner rather than later, if she hadn’t already. After all, Castle Peak was a fortress, and it would be the only way to get their soldiers inside unless they wanted to start a war. Ceven didn’t know how long it would take for their soldiers to travel here. A week at best, by horseback, if that was their means of transportation. But depending on when they had sent the note, they may have even less time.

He and Tarry had been gathering potential allies where they could in the meantime, whether it be through soldiers of lower rank in the army that Ceven had trained, or those who had looked up to and respected Tarry and Xilo. It was always good to know who had their backs, in case things turned sour.

This morning, they caught wind of Sehn’s return, something about a meeting with the nobles and territory that could be overturned to them in exchange for financial gain. Ceven didn’t care as he stormed the halls towards the circle room that his brother had fastened into his new study. The Old Council had it used centuries ago, when they ruled, as a meeting spot for important guests and collaborative planning. It was odd that Sehn would want to use the space now when he had never showed interest before. He wasn’t even king yet, and he was already making changes.

Two Royal Guards stood on either side of the twin doors. Ceven recognized the yellow-feathered one. Troy. Ceven rolled back his shoulders and straightened his spine, even puffing out his feathers a bit. This Aerian was the same one that had stood by and watched as Vane tortured Evangeline.

Troy nodded in respect alongside his broad-shouldered Aerian partner but didn’t meet Ceven’s eyes.

Ceven entered the room, with Tarry close behind him. It was less toasty than his own suite and smelled of peppermint. Sehn stood up from the circular table that crowded the space, its dark wood etched with an image of a time before King Calais, and his father before him. Four figures stood hand-in-hand. An Aerian, a Caster, a Rathan, and a human. Around them was an artful representation of the castle and its people encircling them. Everyone wore a crown.

The image wasn’t familiar. Ceven had only been in this room once, when he’d stumbled upon one of his father’s meetings. The king had smiled at him, patting his head, as his guests frowned in impatience. It was before they branded him a bastard, when the king still loved him and Ceven had wanted nothing more than to make him proud. When he had foolishly believed he would amount to something more in the kingdom.

Now all of that belonged to Sehn.

His brother smiled and waved his arm, offering them seats around the table. Ceven wondered why the king would have kept such a controversial table within the kingdom as he sat in the chair fashioned out of dark wood and purple velvet, across from Sehn. Tarry propped against the wall behind him. Ceven had expected more guards inside, but there were none he could see. It was just Sehn, a cold fireplace, and a freshly brewed cup of tea on the table.

“You’re back,” Sehn said, a hint of surprise in his tone. “But since you always carry a scowl in my presence, I can’t be sure if dear Evangeline is well or not. Or if Delani survived.”

Ceven’s gaze narrowed. He had never mentioned Lani’s name to Sehn, or why Evangeline was in the west wing. “I didn’t die, if that is what you were hoping for. And I find it interesting that you knew where and exactly why she’d be there. Anything else you’d like to share with me?” Ceven trained his features to match Tarry’s. Impassive and detached.

Irritation flashed across Sehn’s face as he took a seat. He had revealed something he shouldn’t have. “Of course I’m glad you all returned safely.” He flicked back his hair, cool casualness back in his figure.

Ceven rolled his neck, easing his tension and the desire to leap across this table and throttle a man he wished he couldn’t call brother. “What is your plan?”

Sehn leaned back in his chair, looking like the epitome of leisure. And why wouldn’t he be? None of this affected him. He couldn’t care less about Evangeline, and as the heir to the throne, he could take his time doing whatever the blazes he pleased.

“I have many, but I’m sure there is one in particular you’d like to know more about,” he said.

Ceven was going to deck him in his smug face.

As if time wasn’t of the essence, Sehn straightened, taking a sip of his tea. He offered Ceven some.

“You know I don’t like it.” And last Ceven remembered that his brother didn’t either, but he was always good at molding into new environments. It didn’t surprise Ceven that his brother had gained new characteristics from his time in Sundise Mouche. “Get to the blasted point, Sehn.”

He frowned and muttered, “Still lacking in manners.” He glanced at Tarry. “If you would give us some privacy.”

“He stays.” Ceven knew whatever plan his brother had in mind, it was going to involve Tarry and Xilo anyway.

“This only affects you. And as it is very personal, I’d suggest some privacy. The fewer eyes and ears, the better advantage we have.”

Ceven folded his arms, gripping the brown cotton of his shirt. He hadn’t bothered to dress for this occasion, and since returning from Eyvan’s home, he rarely did now for anyone’s sake, much less Sehn or the king. “If you’re suggesting Tarry is going to betray me, you’re wrong. He stays.” There had been a time when he believed Tarry and Xilo would obey only the king—as the Royal Guard code called for. But his bodyguards had kept his secrets, had even helped him go against the king’s direct orders. Maybe it was because of their unique background: they hadn’t been born into the Guard and trained since birth, like other Aerians. They had to earn it, fight for it. Ceven was proud to have them at his side.

Sehn looked at Tarry. “Leave us.” His tone and posture changed. Like he was king.

Tarry didn’t move, and Ceven’s lips twitched at Sehn’s lost expression, even if it lasted as briefly as a flicker of flame. Then his spitting smile was back.

“I wonder if you’d still disobey my order if I were king.” Sehn waved his hand as if they were discussing different teas. “I guess in time we’ll test that loyalty, but for now, I’ll concede.” The leather chair crinkled as he leaned closer, his hands folded on the table. “I have many ways to go about this, but in the end, our mutual enemy will be removed and we will both come out on top.”

Mutual enemy, as if the king had tried to have Sehn killed, belittled, or thrown out of the kingdom like he had Ceven. Still, none of it would have mattered, at least not enough to murder King Calais—until Evangeline got involved.

“Will we?” Ceven raised his brows.

“We’ve made a pact, brother. Neither of us can back out now.” He raised his arm, showing the dark tattoo, a line in the shape of a sword cutting through a circle, matching Ceven’s on his upper arm. The mark of their blood promise. The promise that Ceven would help Sehn kill the king and, in return, Evangeline was to be acquitted of her previous crimes and was not to be injured in any way. Then the two of them would be free to leave Castle Peak.

The unwavering bold lines may show proof that they were both bound to their oath to one another, but Ceven was sure his brother would think of a way to weasel himself out of it. Or use it to his advantage. Ceven would have to be smarter than his brother, which admittedly was a challenge. Ceven preferred to negotiate with swords; he’d always hated politics.

“I have set up the stage, so to speak. There will be an execution, and this time, King Calais will be the executioner.”

Ceven frowned. Executions were rarer nowadays since the Red Wash, when the king had hundreds of humans slaughtered, let alone one that got King Calais’s attention. He rarely bothered with the beheadings, hangings, or torches, letting others do his dirty work. “Why would he bother doing it himself?”

Sehn smothered his smile into his porcelain cup. The glass cup clinked against its saucer. “Because this isn’t any normal execution. It will be one of great magnitude. It will shake the core of this kingdom.”

“Because we will execute the king himself during this?” Ceven hated having to ask, but he hated even more the lack of straightforwardness his brother possessed.

“Of course.” Sehn’s smile didn’t waver, and Ceven was sure his face had to hurt. “During this time, I will have an inside man. One close enough to the king. They will strike when he is vulnerable and least expects it. From there, I’ll create a distraction, and then I want you to finish the job.”

Ceven met Tarry’s gaze. The Aerian hadn’t moved once. He was good at that—having people forget his presence until it was too late. “What if this fails?”

“I have other back-up plans. Trust me, no matter what happens, Evangeline will be safe and the king will be dead.”

“I don’t trust you, which is why I’m asking.”

Sehn raised his arm again, showing the mark. “You don’t have to trust me. If Evangeline becomes injured in any way, this mark will melt into my skin and I will lose my arm. Just as if you fail to kill the king, you will lose yours in return.”

Ceven gripped his arm, as if it were already falling off. Sehn had made him aware of the consequences and he didn’t like it—but at the time he had little choice.

“But to keep you in the loop, I have placed valuable people in the castle loyal to me. During this execution, they will be ready to attack if all else fails.”

“Is that one of your back-up plans? What’s the other?”

Sehn raised his marked arm again, and if he did it one more time, Ceven would rip it off himself. “Allow me some secrets, brother. Besides, it matters not to you, since you will still benefit.”

He didn’t like the sound of that, but a knock on the door interrupted any further discussion. Sehn stood and Ceven followed, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A Caster woman with short dark horns curling around her black hair waltzed in. Her navy dress wrapped around her lithe form, showing off swirling Caster tattoos marking her legs and arms.

“Welcome, Avana,” Sehn bowed, and she curtsied before taking a seat beside him. She was half his size, even with her heels.

Ceven didn’t have to look at Tarry to sense his discomfort. It matched Ceven’s feelings, the unease and suspicion nestling into his chest as he retook his seat. It didn’t help that this was the same woman who had traveled beyond the walls with Evangeline—and who had betrayed her to Ryker and had her thrown into the dungeons.

“Why is she here?” If he had it his way, he’d make sure they barred her from the city, or maybe threw her into the dungeons. If only to get a taste of what she had done to Evangeline.

A small smile teased her painted lips, as if to calm him. “Good evening, Prince Ceven. I mean you no ill-will. I will keep everything we discuss private.”

“Too bad you didn’t keep the same promise to Evangeline.”

Satisfaction roared in his gut at her bewildered expression. Good, he wanted to knock her off her guard.

She cleared her throat. Maybe it was because she couldn’t breathe properly with her collared dress buttoned to her neck, like Sehn’s silk blouse. “And I’m sure she neglected to tell you the full story, the important part about what Ryker had already known. That I had no choice but to play along, for both of our sakes.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Ceven growled.

Sehn raised his hand. “Enough, I didn’t bring you here to argue. Avana, if you would.”

Her fingers tapped the table. Rings adorned both hands. If he were closer, he’d be able to tell if they were real or fake. “As you may not know, I’m not the only Caster here. We have found another, one I’m embarrassed to say is my brother.”

Ceven stared, and then it sank in. The Caster that Evangeline was working with—it had to be one and the same.

She continued, “Unfortunately, he was not here on as amiable terms as I was. In fact, he was here to assassinate the king, of his own volition. I guess he didn’t agree with the treaty between our countries.” Her eyes slid to Sehn, who nodded in encouragement. “And I have it on the Council’s word that they did not sanction this and respect Peredia’s decision to eliminate him on grounds for treason, and hope all will be forgiven for a prospering and everlasting treaty.”

Sehn then turned to Ceven, and repeated the statement, as if Ceven were too slow to understand, “The execution will be the beheading of Raiythlen Quincara, the Council’s former spy and now a wanted traitor to both of our countries.”