Lord? Carys had done her best to reach the castle before anyone else. “What lord was walking with the Princess?”
“I don’t know his name,” Max said. “But he looked like a devil.”
“A devil?”
“I know you said devils aren’t real, but I saw a picture once and the huge man’s black cape and red hair looked a lot like it. Devils are the doom.”
Devils certainly were the doom. But so was the only man Andreus could think of who had red hair and might be hurrying after Carys.
Garret.
Carys used to be fascinated by Micah’s best friend. After that last ball, Garret had stayed nearby her chamber. When she finally woke, he stormed into her bedroom to tell her how stupid she’d been. Andreus had tried to get Garret to leave, but he’d pushed Andreus away and shook Carys hard, telling her she had no right to throw away her future. Carys had slapped him. Because she was shaking and weak from the Tears of Midnight wearing off, the strike had little force behind it. Garret had actually laughed at her, and when she pulled away from his grasp, he didn’t go to assist her when she fell backward onto her cushions.
“You are too important to throw your life away, Carys,” Garret had said, standing over her. “Your father and Micah might be blind, but I understand the person you are meant to be. Don’t disappoint me.” Then Garret turned to Andreus. “I will hold you responsible if she ends up like this again. And you will not like the consequences.”
Andreus had put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it, Garret turned on his heel and left. Even though Garret loomed over half a foot taller and weighed a good six stones or so more, Andreus would have welcomed the opportunity to duel his brother’s best friend. He’d always despised him. His sister said it was jealousy that fueled his dislike. And perhaps she was right. Their father had treated Garret as though he were better than Andreus and made Andreus watch when Micah and Garret sparred on the training field.
Jealousy, Carys told him, had always made him overreact.
Perhaps that was why he felt the same need to pummel Garret now. Why was he here in the castle? The Council of Elders wanted to put him on the throne instead of Andreus. Was he measuring for new draperies, certain that all would end the way the Council intended?
Maybe Garret was behind the tournament attack. Eliminating Andreus would put him one step closer to the throne. And if Garret could convince Carys to marry him, the entire kingdom wouldn’t just accept his authority, they would celebrate it.
“Max! Before you go, did you hear anything that the devil-looking lord said to my sister?” he asked.
Max shook his head. “The Princess was walking really fast and the devil man was calling for her to wait. But she didn’t. She went inside the castle. I didn’t see him after that.”
Good for Carys. She always possessed a will of iron.
But that will was straining, Andreus thought.
The Tears . . .
“Instead of helping with the ball,” he said to Max, “how about you help me with something instead?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Do I get to work with the windmills?”
“No.” He’d forgotten that he needed to check in with the Masters to find out if they’d learned anything new about the sabotage. “It’s not the lights. I’d like you to find Lord Garret—the devil—” he said at Max’s blank look. “Once you find him, I want you to follow him for as long as you can without drawing his attention. Then let me know where he went and who he talked to and whether he spoke to my sister.”
“You want me to be . . . a spy, Prince Andreus?”
Andreus winced at Max’s enthusiasm. The stakes in this game were higher than the boy could fully comprehend. “What I want you to be is careful. Stay out of sight and make sure you have something in your hands—an errand you will say you are running if anyone questions you. If you think for a second anyone is watching you and wondering why you’re hanging around, act as though you got lost in the castle and get away from there. These are dangerous times, Max. I don’t want anything to happen to you. So, if you don’t want to do this, I will understand.”
“Will this help you win the Trials and become King?”
“I think so.”
“Then I want to do this. Your sister is good with throwing stuff, but you should be King. And I won’t get caught. I promise.”
“See that you don’t,” he said, then told Max to come to his rooms as soon as he learned anything. Leaning down, Andreus pulled the boy close. Max leaned into him for a moment then started to wriggle and Andreus let him go. With a flash of a smile, Max bolted off to play spy.
Sending Max to trace Garret’s moves was risky, but Andreus knew nobles rarely noticed servants going about their work. Even if Max was spotted, Garret would most likely assume the boy was avoiding work and shoo him back to the Hall of Virtues to help with the ball preparations.
The ball.
Andreus looked up at the sun that was no longer shining as brightly. They only had a few hours before night arrived and with it the ball that the Council of Elders would somehow turn into a trial. As much as he wanted to check on the lights, Andreus knew he had to prepare. Winning the Trials had to be his first priority. The sooner they were over, the sooner he would be King and be able to get to the bottom of whoever was responsible for the damage to the wind power, track down anyone else involved in today’s assassination attempt, and see to it that he and Imogen were never threatened by the Council of Elders or anyone else ever again.
Andreus headed for his rooms. For most of his life he’d been worried about dying, but it had always been the curse that made him fear his own mortality. Now . . . he had no choice but to compete. No choice but to keep trying to win no matter who might want to kill him in the course of the Trials.
His valet had a bath waiting for him when he arrived. Andreus instructed the man to put out clothing for that night while he walked to a chest next to the fireplace and pulled out a recently sharpened dagger. Placing it on the edge of the tub of water, Andreus dismissed the valet to bathe and dress and wait for Imogen on his own.
A knock at the door came when he was starting to dry himself off. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he yelled for whoever it was to enter and closed his hand over the knife.
Imogen slipped into the room, closed the door, then looked down at the floor instead of at him. Her embarrassment at catching him undressed charmed him even as her worried expression filled him with dread.
Crossing the room, he put his hands on Imogen’s shoulders and asked, “Are you all right?”