Merik’s mouth watered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a hot meal. It had to have been on the Jana—that much was certain. His stomach grumbled and spun.
Cam pointed to a spiral staircase in the farthest corner. “Used to be a closet at the top of those stairs, sir, but now it’s an office.”
Perfect. “Get some food,” Merik ordered. “I’ll return soon.”
“I’m comin’ with you.” She tried to follow Merik as he twisted away, but he pinned her beneath his hardest, coldest stare.
“No, boy, you absolutely are not coming with me. I work alone.”
“And then you get caught every time—”
“Stay. Here.” Merik dipped into the crowds before she could follow. Once to the stairs, he peeled himself from the crowds and hopped up two steps. He paused here, to check on Cam. But the girl was fine, having slipped into the line for stew. Though she did keep glancing Merik’s way, fretting with her hood.
With a long, shallow inhale, Merik curled his fingers. Drew in his power—just as Kullen had taught him to do more than ten years ago, two boys playing on a beach and trying to understand their magics.
Then he exhaled, sending a hot tendril curling up the stairs, into whatever room waited overhead.
His winds met no one. The room was empty.
So after a final glance to check on Cam, Merik hugged his cloak close and ascended.
*
An office and a bedroom. That was what Merik found above the dining hall of Pin’s Keep. The attic between room and roof had been repurposed into a cramped living space.
When, though, was the question. After Jana’s death, the running of Pin’s Keep had fallen to Serafin, who had in turn passed it off to servants. The first Merik had heard of Vivia taking over had been when he’d moved back to Lovats three years ago. Yet this space was so unmistakably hers.
A couch sagged beneath an open window. The back, despite its moth-eaten corners, was covered in a neatly folded quilt embroidered with the Nihar family’s sea fox standard. A matching curtain dangled from one corner of the window, suggesting that the poorly installed shutters did little to block the drafts.
Merik couldn’t tear his eyes away from the curtains. They conjured the memory of another window, another space, just like this one but tucked in a forgotten wing of the palace.
Vivia had found it. Decorated it. And for a time, she’d allowed Merik to enjoy it with her. My fox’s den, she’d called it, and he’d played with toy soldiers while she’d read book after book … after book.
Then their mother had died, and after setting the mourning wreaths aflame, tossing them off the water-bridges, and marching somberly back to the palace, Vivia had promptly locked herself in her fox’s den.
Merik had never been allowed in again.
A moth flapped in on the storm’s wet breeze, catching Merik’s eye. Hooking him back into the present. It fluttered to the brightest corner in the room, where planks served double duty as wall support and shelving.
Merik crept over. He was careful to keep his pace slow, his gaze steady as he examined each spine. Move with the wind, Master Huntsman Yoris had taught Merik. Move with the stream. Too fast, Prince, and your prey will sense you long before you reach ’em.
Yoris had managed the Nihar men at arms, and Merik—and Kullen too—had spent countless hours tracking the lean soldier. Mimicking everything he did.
Merik mimicked him now, moving slowly. Carefully. Resisting an urge for speed. Until finally, he found a useful title on the highest shelf. Judgment Square Sales, Year 19, it read, and a smile built at the edge of Merik’s lips. His smile grew when he found Garren’s name inside.
Acquired Y19D173 from Judgment Square. Traded to Serrit Linday for farm labor, in exchange for food.
“Traded,” Merik mouthed. “To Serrit Linday.” He blinked. Read the name a second time. But no—it definitely still said Serrit Linday.
Which was not what Merik had expected to find. While he certainly hadn’t anticipated finding a note that declared, Sent to Nihar Cove to kill brother, he had expected something to connect Garren to the attack on the Jana.
Instead, he’d found a completely new link in the chain. Hissing an oath, Merik snapped the book shut. Cam’s words rang his ears. What if it wasn’t your sister who tried to kill you?
But it was her. It had to be, for she was the only culprit that made any sense. Not to mention, the youngest Linday—a noble prick if ever there was one—had been Vivia’s friend in childhood. This might be another link, but the chain still led back to Vivia.
By the time Merik had returned the book to its shelf, the moth had trapped itself in a Firewitched lantern. It was dead in seconds, and the stench of smoke briefly drowned out the sharp lemon.