Freed from Gravity (Bound and Freed #2)

Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

SENAN

Sunlight glints off the glass cabinets along the wall in the king’s private office. I scan the titles on the faded spines until my eyes go crossed. Where is Boris? It’s not like him to be late to his own meeting. When I try to open one of the cabinet doors, the thing doesn’t budge. What’s the point in locking up books? It’s not like anyone wants to read about Fae History. Talk about boring.

Boris’s wide mahogany desk sits in front of the balcony. Our father used to keep a bottle of whisky in the bottom drawer. I wonder if Boris has kept up with the tradition.

I sink into his chair. At least this one is comfortable.

Maybe a little too much so.

With all this warm sunlight stretching over the desk, I could lean back and go straight to sleep. Especially if I had a drink ? —

“What do you think you’re doing?” a deep voice clips from the balcony.

I leap out of the chair and shoot my eldest brother a grin. His black wings vanish, but his irritated scowl remains.

“Sorry. You were late, and I got tired of waiting,” I say, rounding the front of the desk to make room for him.

“That means you can sit at my desk and go through my things?”

“I didn’t go through anything.” Not yet anyway.

Boris drags out his chair and sinks down on the plush cushions. “Have a seat—in one of the other chairs.”

I drop down a little too quickly, and my arse immediately regrets it the moment it collides with unforgiving wood. Next time he suggests a meeting, I’m bringing my own pillow.

Boris removes a stack of parchments from the corner of his desk, tucking them safely into one of the drawers.

“What are those?” And why does he need to lock them up?

He grimaces as he fastens his shoulder-length hair into a leather queue. “Records from The Pit. The guards arrested five stardust dealers already this week, yet there seems to be more dust than ever in the city.”

How is that possible? “I thought William Felt was dead.” One of our father’s last acts as king was to execute the infamous dealer. I still remember the wet sound of the man’s head thumping on the balcony outside the throne room.

“There are rumors of a new operation near Dread Row, but no one can find the culprit. The man is like a fucking ghost. Whoever he is, he must be producing more dust at a much quicker rate.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Boris snorts. “Come now, Senan. We both know you’re better at causing problems than fixing them. Leave the ruling to those of us who know what we’re doing.”

That’s not fair. I can fix problems too. Look at what I did for that Tuath a few weeks ago. Not that Boris knows about that.

Then again, maybe he’s right. It’s not as if I’ll be expected to do much in Nimbiss. The role of ruling will fall on my wife’s shoulders. I’ll just be there to provide their kingdom with heirs.

My stomach churns at the thought.

A man with brown and white wings lands on the balcony, and I resist the urge to groan. Counsellor Windell stalks into the room, his jowls swinging in time with his black robes. Sunlight reflects off his bald head as he comes to a halt next to Boris.

What is that twat doing here?

“Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty, but these are urgent.” He sets a folder on the corner of Boris’s desk. His dark eyes land on me, and his lips twitch, no doubt wanting to pull into a sneer. “Did you tell your brother the good news?”

Boris blows out a breath. “I’m about to.”

“Good news” to Windell inevitably means bad news for me. I’m almost too afraid to ask. “What news?”

“Counsellor Windell has graciously agreed to accompany you to Nimbiss in three weeks’ time.”

Three weeks? Is he fucking joking?

If I’m in Nimbiss, I’ll miss Samhain. I’ve never been that concerned about the holiday before, but this year Allette is going through the portal, and I had planned on joining her. It’ll be our first time.

Maybe our only time.

Not that I can say as much aloud. Wouldn’t want my brother growing suspicious. “Why do I need to go to Nimbiss?”

Boris’s smile tightens. “To meet with your betrothed. Speaking of Princess Leeri, she has written to you again.” From the top drawer, he withdraws a letter bearing the Nimbiss seal and hands it across the desk.

I don’t want to meet the woman, let alone read her simpering letters. As soon as I get back to my room, it’s going straight into the fireplace like all the others.

Not once have I written back. You’d think by now she would have gotten the hint.

“What’s the point in meeting her?” It’s not as if I’ll be able to call off the betrothal if we don’t suit. Boris has told me in no uncertain terms that his word on who I am to wed is final.

“Gods save me…” Boris mutters, rubbing his temples. “To woo her, you fool.”

I’ll save my wooing for Allette, thank you very much.

“Can we do it after Yule?”

“No.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There’s that infamous Windell sneer I loathe so much. “I’ll leave the two of you to your meeting,” he says. “But before I forget, my son’s marriage contract is in the folder as well. If you could sign it sometime this week, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Which poor woman has the misfortune of marrying Philip Windell? Maybe I should send her a card with my condolences.

I blink at the shadows, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness while Allette’s soft, even breaths tickle my neck. My dream hangs like a low fog over our bed, the memory a stark reminder of the way things used to be before Boris wanted me dead.

Inching out of the bed, I shuffle to the door and run a hand through my hair to try to tame the wild strands.

We both know you’re better at causing problems than fixing them.

That statement has never been as true as it is today.

Look at the mountain of problems on our doorstep, all thanks to me.

Time to stuff the depressing thought as far down as it will go and let it marinate in the anger I keep locked deep inside.

This place is a good deal larger than it appears from the outside, unlike Scathian towers, where bigger and bolder is “better.” Maybe there will be an open burrow for us, and we can live here in peace for the rest of our days, unbothered by the outside world.

Imagine that, living out our happily-ever-after right under Boris’s nose.

Too bad I would never be able to rest or relax for fear of him finding us.

Quiet conversation drifts from the living room where Braith and her parents speak in low tones. Everyone twists toward me when I pop my head into the balmy space. “Is there room for one more?”

Braith’s mother launches off the sofa, stumbling a little over her black skirt. “Simon! You’re awake! Here. Take my seat.”

“There’s no need to move on my account. I don’t mind sitting on the floor in front of the fire.” The rug looks almost as cozy as the sofa, and there isn’t a scowling woman there.

From the armchair, Braith’s father shakes his head, his deep chuckle warm and welcoming. Firelight dances across the glass of amber liquid clutched in his large hand.

“No, no. Sit next to our Braith. I insist.” Braith’s mother crosses the room, sinking onto her husband’s knee like a rotund little bird perched on the edge of a thin limb. She nudges a plate of biscuits toward the empty spot.

Short of offending our host, I have little choice but to sit on the sofa next to a glowering Braith. I get the feeling that Allette’s friend doesn’t like me. Who can blame her? Look at what has happened to Allette because of me.

I forego the tea but snag a biscuit for myself and lean back against the cushions. Gods, I’m starving. Breakfast feels like it was ages ago. When I take a bite, I expect sweetness, but whatever is in my mouth tastes like turnips and dirt.

Everyone is looking at me, so I can’t spit the thing out.

Has anyone ever noticed how loud it sounds when you chew in complete silence? My mouth is closed but all I hear is the grinding of my teeth and the occasional clink of Braith’s teacup against the saucer.

After a good deal of struggling, I manage to swallow the bite.

What should I do with the rest of the biscuit? I can hardly put it back on the plate with a giant chunk taken out of it. Would I get away with slipping it between the cushions?

Maybe I will take some tea, after all. Anything to wash away the dust in my mouth.

I pour myself a cup and set the rest of the biscuit on the edge of the saucer. This time, I have the foresight to sniff the tea before drinking it.

It’s a good thing too, because the muddy liquid smells like unwashed feet.

Braith’s mother claps her hands dramatically, her glassy, bloodshot eyes narrowing as if she’s having difficulty focusing on my face. “So, Simon, where do you hail from?”

“Kumulus City.” Hopefully, she doesn’t ask me where in the city—or why I’m putting the teacup right back down without drinking a drop.

“And how do you know our”— hiccup —“daughter?”

“Oh. Um… I met Braith in a pub one night. She and Wynn were out drinking and dancing.” At least that part is true.

“Did she tell you that she is working at the castle?” Another hiccup. “We are so proud of her, our Braith. The king doesn’t hire very often, but he wanted our girl.”

Braith’s teacup rattles when she slams it onto the coffee table. Her father presses a hand to his mouth as if to keep himself from interrupting.

“I did hear that,” I say.

Josie preens. “I’m not sure if you know, but she is quite the artist as well.”

Groaning, Braith massages her temples with her fingertips. “Mum…”

“Did you do the mural in our room?” I ask Braith.

“Of course she did! Isn’t it beautiful?” Josie says. “My boys are obsessed with the stars. You should see the one in her sister’s room. It’s a rose garden.”

I shouldn’t mention that I did see the other room, in case Josie takes issue with it. Wouldn’t want to be put out on our asses with no place to go.

Braith hides her face behind her hands. “Mum, please.”

“What? Am I not allowed to be proud of you, sweetheart? You’re such an accomplished young woman; I don’t know why you’re still single?—”

“Simon and Wynn are mated,” Braith grits out.

So that’s what is happening here. Braith’s drunk mother is trying to find her daughter a mate.

Turns out, matchmaking is quite entertaining when my love life isn’t involved.

“It’s true,” I say, hoping to save the poor young woman from her mother’s meddling.

“Well, I didn’t know that, now, did I? You must tell me these things.” The older woman clicks her fingers. “What about the other one? Terrence, was it?”

If my brother didn’t already have a wife, I would absolutely be taking advantage of this moment.

Braith’s father pats his wife’s thigh, a smile tugging at his lips. “Calm down, Josie. Can’t you see you’re embarrassing the poor girl?”

Once again, I come to Braith’s rescue. “Terrence is married, I’m afraid.” I am a wonderful brother, and Aeron doesn’t even appreciate me.

“Not all marriages last forever,” Josie counters, swiping her husband’s drink for a gulp.

“Mum!”

To be fair, the woman does have a point. But where royal marriages are concerned, it’s either annulment or death—and the former isn’t an option for Aeron considering his wife is pregnant.

“He and his wife are expecting their first child in the next couple of months,” I add. Not sure if that was meant to be a secret, but I must deter this woman somehow. She is as tenacious as a terrier that spotted a squirrel.

Josie’s shoulders sag, her disappointment palpable. Braith’s father takes back his drink, sipping slowly as his wife starts chattering again. “I keep telling my Braith that she needs to find a nice partner with a good occupation so she doesn’t have to work so hard.”

Braith throws her head back against the cushions. “I thought you were proud of me working at the castle.”

“I am proud, dear. But I’d be just as proud if you gave me grandchildren. By your age, I was already married with your sister and brother in nappies and you on the way.”

How many Nightingales are there?

“You remind me of my mother,” I say, doing my best to shift the focus off Braith. “She always wanted grandchildren.” Instead, she got saddled with five rowdy boys who, at the time, insisted they were never going to settle down. The headaches we used to give that poor woman with our antics.

Josie blinks at me, her glazed eyes wide. “And are you and your mate trying to start a family?”

Braith’s father finally lets his smile free. “That’s a little difficult when you put them in separate rooms, Josie.”

Josie gives him a playful smack on the shoulder. “Well, I didn’t know they were mated, did I, Harold?”

“I would like a family someday.” One exactly like this one, where Allette sits on my knee, and I can stare at her anytime I want. Where my children feel comfortable enough to bring a whole host of strays into my home and we welcome them with open arms. “Once we’re a bit more settled.” Assuming I survive this poison, and the king doesn’t find us.

As if she could hear me thinking about her, Allette drifts into the room, yawning into her fist. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

Braith gets up and moves to the rug. Although Allette tells Braith it isn’t necessary, she falls onto the cushion next to me, sitting so close that our thighs press together. When she reaches for a biscuit, I capture her hand and give a subtle shake of my head. Her brows come together, but she doesn’t reach for another.

The conversation moves on from talk of relationships to what Josie is planning to cook for dinner. Something called fish pie, which is just fucking wonderful.

I might end up starving before the poison has a chance to kill me.

Allette nudges my shoulder. “Simon doesn’t like fish. He’s afraid of them.”

I am not afraid of fish.

“I don’t blame the boy,” Harold says. “Those beasts have razors for teeth and there’s no telling how big they can grow. Be glad you didn’t arrive by river. There are some real monsters down there. A few weeks back, Martin Fletcher pulled out a walleye as big as himself.”

There were fish in that river? Oh, gods… I’m going to be sick.

Josie leans forward to pat my knee—so far forward that she nearly falls off Harold’s. “Don’t worry. There’s some leftover veggie pie just for you.”

Thank the gods.

An impatient rap of knuckles rattles the door.

Josie doesn’t bother getting up. She simply calls out for the person to come in, and the door swings open.

When I see who it is, I sit up straighter, schooling my features into an impassive mask so the silver-haired man who steps inside doesn’t realize how relieved I am to see him.

Jeston greets Braith’s parents with a warm smile. “Josie. Harold.” His gaze lands on Braith sitting alone by the fire, and his shoulders tense ever so slightly. “Braith.”

Her cheeks flush. “Jeston.” She looks away before he does, her gaze swinging toward me.

Jeston follows her line of sight, stilling when he finds us on the sofa.

I give him a wave. “Hello again, old friend.”

From the wild look in his eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised if the man took off right out the door. “What are you doing here?” he clips, adjusting his grip on the basket in his hand.

Guess he isn’t happy to see me. Such a pity because I am beyond thrilled to see him.

“They’ve come to offer their condolences,” Josie slurs. “So sad about poor Glenn. Such a terrible way to go. I’ve tried convincing Harold to retire from the mines, but he’s too stubborn to quit.”

“Now is not the time, love,” Harold whispers in her ear.

Allette strangles my fingers. “We’re very sorry for your loss, Jeston.”

Jeston bobs his head. “Thanks, Goldie.”

Have I mentioned lately how much I fucking hate that this prick gave my girl a nickname?

Aeron comes around the corner, and Jeston’s gaze widens, glancing between the two of us with worry furrowing his brow.

Nice to know my brother’s scowl is good for something.

Harold must sense the tension in the air, because he nudges his wife’s hip and says, “Let’s give these young ones a little time alone together.”

“Nonsense. Jeston only just arrived, and I need to start dinner?—”

“Sleep off the wine first, then we’ll discuss food.” Harold pushes to his feet, forcing Josie off her perch, and laces their fingers together, hauling her down the hallway despite her protests.

Aeron slides into Harold’s vacated chair, his narrow-eyed stare boring into Jeston’s forehead. “Why don’t you have a seat so we can chat?”

With a final glance toward the exit, Jeston skulks over to the fireplace, dropping next to Braith on the cushions.

When he leans in close to whisper in Braith’s ear, the funniest thing happens: Aeron’s jaw starts to pulse in time with the clock above the mantle, which I find very interesting…

“What else was I supposed to do?” Braith hisses back.

I suppose Jeston is giving her shite about bringing us here. There’s no telling how Braith’s parents would react if they were to learn the truth of who they are harboring. Come to think of it, why don’t they know us? Between my black hair, our silver eyes, and the golden brown of my brother’s skin, surely, they must at least suspect we aren’t Tuath.

Jeston scrubs a hand down his cheek with a weary sigh. His features appear sharper than they did before, his eyes warier. “What do you want? And don’t give me some shite about mourning the loss of my uncle.”

I appreciate the directness. There is no time to waste.

Aeron sits forward. “I want to know what you did with Princess Leeri Eadrom.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but Jeston’s gray complexion turns even paler. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?—”

“Bullshit,” Aeron snarls.

Jeston’s hands ball into fists in his lap, his jaw working as he glares daggers at my brother.

“You forget that we have witnesses, Jeston. Senan left her in the room with you, which means you were the last one to see her alive.”

Braith’s mouth falls open. “Is that true, Jes?”

“You want the truth? Fine. It doesn’t matter now anyway.” He jabs a finger toward me. “That fucking prick doused the princess in poisoned stardust.”

“To subdue her.” And I didn’t know for certain it was poisoned, did I?

“You subdued her, all right. Subdued her so fucking much that she started convulsing on the bed.”

Shit …

Allette presses a trembling hand to her lips. “She’s dead?”

Jeston shakes his head. “No, because I gave her the antidote.”

If he gave her the antidote, then she should still be in the castle.

She isn’t in the fucking castle, so something else must’ve happened. Jeston is being too cagey, and we don’t have any fucking time to waste. “Did you leave her in the room?”

Jeston’s eyes darken before he glances away.

He knows what happened to her. He must.

Aeron launches to his feet, no doubt ready to tear the Tuath limb from limb.

We don’t need Jeston in pieces. We need his help.

Apparently, our mother never taught Aeron that you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. Unfortunately, my darling brother pisses vinegar.

I catch Aeron by the sleeve. “Sit back down.”

He turns his glower on me. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Ass on the seat or go back to bed.” Although he grumbles, Aeron rips his sleeve from my grasp and falls back onto the chair, his face red as he silently fumes.

How can Jeston trust us with the truth when we aren’t willing to trust him with ours? It’s not enough to threaten him—that’s what Boris would do. We need to appeal to his heart. Assuming he has one. “Nimbiss took my littlest brother hostage, and if Princess Leeri isn’t found by the end of the week, they’re going to kill him.”

Jeston’s gaze snaps to mine. Beside him, Braith’s hands fly to her cheeks. Allette’s hand falls to my knee, warm and steadfast, giving me the strength to continue.

“He’s only nine years old, Jeston. Nine. If you know anything about the princess’s whereabouts, this is your chance to help Kumulus avoid war.”

Jeston gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. When he speaks, his voice is all gravel. “If I tell you, he’ll kill me.”

“If you don’t tell us, I’ll kill you,” Aeron says under his breath.

“Who will kill you? Boris?” If that bastard knows where she is and something happens to Kyff, I swear to the stars?—

“Not the king. Someone worse.”

Who could be worse than Boris Vale?

Jeston’s head falls. “Cadoc Carew has her locked in his secret vault.”

Well, fuck .

Better get your shovels out and start digging.

If our brother’s fate is in the hands of Cadoc Carew, he’s as good as dead.