The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,124

throat tightened.

They were asking a lot of questions, trying to get at the truth.

Just like Walther had. I’ll discreetly nose around.

Which made them a liability.

“What’s wrong?” Pauline asked.

I grabbed the porch post to steady myself. A visit to a Lesser Kingdom would mean days of traveling across the Cam Lanteux. They’d be unsuspecting and easy targets. My heart went cold. They weren’t on a mission. They were headed into another ambush. The princes were being eliminated—along with their questions.

My father would never have approved this. Not if he knew.

“It’s an ambush, Pauline. Bryn and Regan are headed into an ambush—the same as Walther. They have to be stopped before it’s too late. I have to go tell my father. Now.”

And I ran for the citadelle, praying it wasn’t already too late.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

KADEN

“Hello, Andrés.”

I had promised Lia I wouldn’t confront my father. I’d said nothing about my brother.

I’d heard Pauline wonder aloud to Gwyneth if it could have been Andrés who had followed her to the inn and alerted the Chancellor to where they were staying. Pauline hadn’t revealed her identity to Andrés, but she recalled that he’d asked her a lot of questions. Once she learned what the Viceregent had done to me, it made her wonder if his questions hadn’t been so innocent after all. I was sure they weren’t innocent. He was his father’s son.

I surprised him at the cemetery gate just after he walked in, quickly hooking one arm over his shoulder like we were old friends, my other hand holding a knife discreetly pressed to his side. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?” He got the message right away and fell into step with me.

I led him to Morrighan’s crypt in the center of the cemetery, a place of cobwebs, spirits, dim light, and thick walls. Once we were down the stairs, I pushed him away. He stumbled forward and turned.

His head angled to the side as he finally got a good look at me. The dawning came fast. I guessed that I looked far too much like our father. Andrés took after his mother, ashy coloring, a round cherub face, better suited to begging on street corners—but he wasn’t the bastard son.

“Kaden?” I saw his fingers twitch as if to reach for his weapon. “I thought you were dead.”

“I think that was the point. It didn’t turn out that way.”

“I know you have reason to be angry for what he did to you, Kaden, but it’s been years. Father has changed.”

“Sure he has.”

He glanced at my knife, still gripped at my side. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Answers. And maybe a bit of blood to pay for all that I’ve lost.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Marisol told me,” I answered.

He frowned. “You mean Pauline.”

“I figured you knew.”

“The belly threw me off, but her voice—I met her once. She didn’t remember me. I guess I didn’t make much of an impression, but she made one on me. Is she—”

“She won’t be back,” I said firmly, so he’d know that whatever sights he’d set on Pauline were a thing of the past. “Tell me, Andrés, how is it that you were the only one who didn’t ride with Prince Walther’s platoon the one time they encountered a Vendan brigade?”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ride because I was ill.”

“I don’t recall you as the sickly sort. This happen often, or was it just a coincidence that staying home saved your neck?”

“What are you implying, brother?” he sneered.

“Do I really need to say it?”

“I was ill for a week, mostly delirious. The court physician can confirm it. When I came to, Father said I’d been sick with a fever.”

“You were with him when you fell ill?”

“Yes. I’d had dinner with him and a few cabinet members at his apartments the night before I was to ride out, but as I was leaving, I got dizzy and fell. Father’s servants helped me to bed. I don’t remember much after that. What difference does it make? No one knew what Walther and the others were headed into!”

“Sure, someone knew. And that someone didn’t want his only remaining son going into a massacre that he had planned. I’m guessing the son was happy to play along.”

He drew his sword. “You’re talking treason.”

His eyes were wide and crazed, his voice desperate, and it occurred to me that he might actually be telling the truth. Pauline had said he was grieved by the platoon’s death. If his grief wasn’t real, why