Frederic said nothing, his face grim.
The viscount sighed. “I regret to say that my brother has been dead for many years, and his son, my nephew, was encouraged to treat my manor here as a second home.” He shook his head, and I barely refrained from shaking mine. He thought that was where he went wrong?
“You speak of Marcus,” said Cassian.
“Indeed.” A wave of some emotion passed over the viscount’s face, and he looked suddenly older than he had before. “I am afraid my nephew has long envied my son’s place as my heir. And it seems that yesterday he seized the opportunity to attempt to remove my son from the line of succession. Thankfully he was not successful.”
“Thanks to Evie,” said Celine, her eyes steady on his.
“Pardon me?” He looked confused by her words.
“It is thanks to Evie that he was unsuccessful. Or did your son leave that part out of his recounting?”
“He left nothing out,” said the viscount stiffly. “And indeed, our gratitude lies with the young lady.” He still hadn’t looked at me, and the sting of his words took me by surprise. I had not thought this man had any capacity left to hurt me. “Even now arrangements are under way to provide her with a suitable reward.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Frederic placed a cautionary hand on mine where it rested on the table. “Gold, I assume?” he asked.
“Of course, Your Highness.” The viscount gave a half bow from his seat.
I wanted to protest that I wanted none of his gold, but Celine’s eyes were telling me not to be an idiot, so I held my tongue. And after a moment’s reflection I had to agree with her. It was unlikely to be more than I had legitimately earned from three years of unpaid labor in his household. This wasn’t a reward, it was my due.
“We will talk to Marcus ourselves, of course,” said Cassian, not distracted from the primary question.
“I am afraid that will not be possible,” said the viscount, his eyes hooded.
“Excuse me?” Frederic’s voice was pure ice.
“I am most sorry, Your Highness. Such a crime against my house and the crown must be met with the swiftest justice. My nephew has already been sentenced to banishment and has left this island with nothing to his name.”
Frederic stood up, his chair clattering loudly to the floor behind him. “Banished? Already? You did not think to consult us first?”
The viscount considered him with lidded eyes. “It is not customary. It is my role to see justice served, and I wished to honor you with the speed of my actions.”
“Fred,” said Cassian quietly and a silent exchange took place between the brothers.
When Frederic turned back to the viscount, his fury had frozen to ice. “We will speak of this again.”
The three of them stood in unison, me a beat behind as Celine prodded me to my feet.
We were going, it turned out, in search of the Earl of Serida. My fear that we would find him still abed turned out to be groundless. Instead we found him entering the manor, his face etched with lines of deep anxiety.
“Your Highness,” he said on sight of Frederic, giving him a low bow. “I have come from the docks, and I have some unsettling tidings.”
“As do we,” said Frederic. “But perhaps they would better be discussed in my suite.”
And so, for the first time since we had arrived, I saw the inside of the suite of rooms assigned to the crown prince. I had never had occasion to enter them when I lived here, but I knew them to be the grandest of the manor’s guest rooms. Opulent red and gold proclaimed the viscount’s wealth more loudly than it did his taste. It was the wrong decoration for an island home.
“It seems we have been betrayed,” said Frederic as soon as the door was closed. His words snapped me back into the moment. Betrayed?
“It is certainly a matter of grave concern to see one of yesterday’s party, the viscount’s own nephew, shipped off in such a hasty manner,” said the earl.
“The question,” said Cassian, thoughtfully, “is whether he is really responsibly for the sinking, or whether the viscount just wants it to appear that way.”
My eyes grew wide. What conspiracy did they suspect?
Chapter 13
The earl mopped his brow. “Very troubling indeed. You have spoken to the viscount, then?”
“We have,” said Frederic. “He claims it was an attempted assassination of his son, and that his nephew has been banished in punishment.”
“That is our custom, certainly,” said the earl slowly. “Banishment, I mean. As it is your own family’s.” He eyed the princes somewhat warily as he spoke, but neither of them commented on his assertion. The royals had a special island, far in the south, for the banishment of traitors—and had used it even on their own family.
“However, this haste is unusual, and—dare I say it—unseemly,” the earl added.
“It certainly appears clear that the viscount did not want us to talk to his nephew,” said Cassian, his eyes grave. “Upon consideration, however, I am inclined to think Marcus did truly commit the crime. The obvious victim was Julian, and Marcus is certainly the one with the strongest motive against him.”
“Julian himself has accused Marcus,” I said. “I ran into him in the corridor.” Everyone looked at me. I drew a deep breath. I had told myself that my silence harmed no one, but now I had seen that wasn’t so. It was time I stopped thinking of myself. “I have a confession to make.”
Celine snorted. “As long as you’re not going to try to convince us you sank that boat.” A chuckle rippled through the group, releasing some of the tension. I managed a weak smile.
“No, indeed. But I did not find Julian merely injured below decks. He was also locked in a cabin. It’s why it took me so long to free him.”
Celine gasped, and Frederic’s face went white. I forced myself to meet their eyes and face their judgment.
“You’re fortunate you weren’t drowned with him,” said Frederic tersely.
“You really are a heroine,” said Celine. “I wish I’d found him instead. I’ve always fancied being a heroine.”
Cassian rolled his eyes, as I glanced between them all. Were they…concerned for me? Not angry? My knees suddenly felt weak, and I wished I had a chair to sit on.
“So it was most definitely an attack on Julian, then. Surely the viscount himself wasn’t party to an attempt to kill his only son!” exclaimed Celine.
“No…I cannot imagine it to be so,” said Frederic thoughtfully. “But neither can I imagine that after so many years of such close companionship, it was coincidence that Marcus chose now to act.”
“Whatever do you mean, Your Highness?” asked the earl. “It seems to me the matter has been most neatly resolved.” He looked hopeful.
“Marcus is not unintelligent, that much is certain,” said Cassian. “He must have known there was a chance his plan might fail. If Julian had gone down with the boat, Marcus would have found himself heir. But, if he didn’t—as turned out to be the case—Marcus must have known he faced banishment without any resources. He doesn’t strike me as the type to risk such a thing.”
“Unless he knew he had somewhere to run,” said Frederic. “Perhaps to those who instructed him to make such an attempt, for instance?”
I swallowed. What were they saying?
“Our first stop was marred by a tragedy. The type that strikes fear into the heart of every commoner,” said Cassian, when the earl still looked confused. “What if our second stop had been marred by the type of tragedy feared by every noble? The death of their only son and heir.”
“It is subtle, this attack,” said Frederic, “with everything designed to look like an accident.” He frowned at his brother. “We must write to Father.”