Raven Hara
Upon arrival, she searched both their apartments top to bottom for surveillance devices.
“Do they have that type of technology?” Ardor asked doubtfully. In Pavar, personal surveillance was guaranteed, but after a few cursory checks of his own room, he concluded the Kysanians did not have equivalent means.
Ardor grew restless as she searched. He was accustomed to being watched and having no real privacy, but the thought Sindar might have ordered surveillance deeply unsettled him. He’d assumed the Kysanians didn’t have the means, but what if they did?
Of course, she believed she was dealing with Xandar of Kysan, not a lost half-brother scrubbed from the history books. Likely Xandar had ordered surveillance, and Sindar had rescinded that order. Ardor turned a page in his book and said nothing, but Leya fidgeted beside him.
His loyal acolyte accepted Raven Hara was his champion, but she sensed her Flower’s unease. Ardor tried to relax, but that proved impossible. The Archon might as well be sleeping in the room next to his.
“Now that’s settled, I have something for you,” Hara said, offering a small trinket box.
Inside was his father’s favorite ornamental hairpin, which bore Everna’s golden lillies.
Pavarians were cremated upon death, and all their belongings burned or destroyed with them, but the Archon kept this memento.
It struck Ardor as odd. She wasn’t a sentimental person, and while his parents had a strong working relationship, they were not fond of each other.
Eminence Glory was not the Archon’s preferred bedmate, but he was considered a shrewd diplomat, and she found uses for him outside the breeding bed.
By the time his father died, Ardor was old enough to understand Glory’s politicking had prolonged his life.
Otherwise, the Archon would have bred him like clockwork as soon as the marriage contract allowed.
Eminence Glory had not given him much in the way of fatherly advice, but he had implored him to make himself useful. Or rather, indispensable. That was the word he’d used.
Ardor turned the pin over, examining it. “Why did she want me to have this?” he asked, looking up.
“I don’t know,” Raven Hara said. “What does it mean to you?”
Ardor had no sentimental attachment to his father’s pin. Glory had never been satisfied with the “perfect” Flower he’d tried—and failed—to create. Those golden lilies were always accompanied by lectures and chastisement, and in later years, his father’s look of disappointment.
When Ardor did not answer, the spy settled comfortably into a chair nearby. “How will you build the heir?”
Leya frowned, not understanding. As a matter of safety and prudence, few people understood the level of control Flowers could exercise over the zygote.
The Archon was one of them. She’d collaborated with his father on their human children’s designs, and his father had increasingly delivered at the cost of his own body.
Ardor had no desire to be the architect of his children, but he wasn’t blind to the possibilities.
Already, he’d begun studying the blueprint left by Eminence Heavenly, and deciphering the messages transmitted by her son’s genetic code.
Until now, such things had been theoretical applications locked away behind coded language in sacred texts.
Now, he was discovering his teachings were a mere sliver of what was possible.
Dr. Ruth truly was a genius.
So was Eminence Heavenly. The mind that carefully crafted the gentle, handsome Sindar of Kysan was agile and meticulous.
He never would have believed such genecraft possible if proof wasn’t resting inside him, busily dividing and growing.
Fortunately, he had several months to decipher the elegant puzzle she’d placed for future generations.
“Who’s asking? You, or my mother?”
Raven Hara didn’t even acknowledge the question. She was the Archon’s creature. He might as well be speaking to his mother directly. They both knew that.
Leya’s frown deepened, and she inched a little closer to Ardor, but a sudden knock drew her to the foyer.
Meanwhile, Raven Hara faded. That was the term for spies who blended so seamlessly with their environment that they were easily forgotten or overlooked, even when they were standing right there.
It was unsettling to watch. She became like a statue, so still and silent that he could almost forget she was right beside him.
It was creepy, but effective. Let no one doubt the Archon’s favorite spy knew how to go about her work.
Leya hurried into the room with a letter, beaming, and Ardor’s heart lifted.
The letters he exchanged with Sindar were the highlight of his days.
Ardor hadn’t expected much after receiving that humble “How are you?” He’d underestimated his usurper prince.
Sindar was far more intellectually curious than expected, and their conversations grew long and winding.
In the beginning, they spoke primarily of their future daughter, but now Sindar told him everything.
Absolutely everything.
No matter how important or mundane, the king regaled his Flower with the news of the day.
With the information came a sense of connection.
Ardor suddenly had his finger on the pulse of Kysan.
Each day, as yet another foreign custom or tradition was unraveled, the complex world of Kysanian politics became increasingly clear.
It was the difference between being treated like an enemy spy and being cherished as an equal member of the royal household.
Ardor opened the letter, enjoying the weight. He’d casually asked Sindar about Kysan’s so-called “silk” stationery and had gotten a treatise in return, and a parcel of books were promptly delivered on the subject. If Ardor wanted to know something, Sindar made it his business to find out.
But Ardor’s joy at their correspondence dulled when Sindar asked after the champion.
Sindar had come clean about his secrets, but Ardor still carried his own.
He had no illusions about privacy, but Raven Hara would certainly intercept and read all their letters.
It was one thing to suspect Lord Patel occasionally glanced over the letters on the king’s desk, and another to know an intruder stalked within those pages, absorbing every word.
As a royal, Sindar was likely accustomed to having his correspondence read. There was nothing in the letters to suggest he wasn’t Xandar of Kysan. He was discrete.
Ardor finished the letter, determined to enjoy it despite the living statue beside him, and went to his writing desk to pen a reply. He was testing the freshly inked nib of his pen when Raven Hara said, “He’s in love with you.”
Ardor froze. Ink bloomed against the paper, spreading out in a circle before Ardor could quickly lift the tip. “How can you possibly know that?” he asked uneasily.
“Gold-embossed silk stationery, perfumed with lilac. A double wax seal, to deter snooping. Imperfections in handwriting, which suggests he wrote it himself.” Raven Hara’s cool blue eyes locked onto him. “I underestimated you, Beloved. Well done.”
Ardor swallowed back his nerves at the unwarranted use of his intimate title. This was good. He wanted Raven Hara to be pleased, so she’d give his mother a favorable report.
“I will help you write your reply,” she added.
Ardor’s spine promptly stiffened, and before he could stop himself, he said, “Mind your own damned business.” He felt Leya move behind him as she placed a protective hand on the back of his chair.
Raven Hara’s eyes briefly flicked to the acolyte, assessing, and she smiled. Under other circumstances, it might have chilled him, but he was too peeved. How dare this stranger intrude on his relationship with his consort.
“I defer to your judgment, then,” she said. “You have him well in hand, I trust.”
If she wanted some acknowledgment, she wasn’t getting it. He put aside the stained page and took another, still nettled. His relationship with his king had nothing to do with her.
He paused before putting his pen to paper. No. This wouldn’t do. He enjoyed the time he spent writing letters, and he wouldn’t let her ruin it by perching beside him and staring. “I’d like privacy now. You are dismissed.”
“What sort of champion abandons her ward?” she asked.
It was unwise to do anything to rile her or rouse her suspicions, but Ardor didn’t care. He was beyond his mother’s reach now, and he wouldn’t allow her to destroy the joy he’d cultivated here. He met the spy’s gaze unflinchingly. “You’re here because I allow it. Don’t test me, Hara.”
Raven Hara cocked her head slightly at the omission of her honorific, an unsettlingly bird-like mannerism, but after the barest pause, she said, “As you wish,” and departed.
Ardor’s pleasure at standing up to her was dulled by the awareness that word of this interaction, and likely most others, would make its way back to the Archon’s ears.
What would his mother think of him?
He couldn’t dwell on it. Didn’t want to. Instead, he lost himself in his next letter.