Chapter Three
Tor
Tor nodded, and then he felt the blood drain out of his face as another sickening realization dawned. “But if you get rid of me and Cala, then—”
“Either your sister is a mastermind the likes of which we have never seen, or we need to get to her quickly?” Pel finished.
Tor cursed. “It never occurred to me that she might not be safe. She’s not at the castle in Nexa, so I didn’t associate those events with her at all. But if you’re trying to guarantee where the Fealty goes, she’s a loose end.”
Tor wouldn’t even entertain the idea that this was Ada’s plot. And that left one other person who was likely to inherit when all the rest of Varex’s relations were gone.
Pel made a face. “Look, I know you don’t like High Queen Fernila, but she never struck me as a mastermind.”
Apparently, his mind had gone the exact same place Tor’s had.
Aware that he wasn’t exactly objective on this topic, Tor still couldn’t help but point out, “She’s been out to get me since the beginning.”
Bavil had an arrested expression on his face. He lowered his voice, though it wasn’t like Cavun wasn’t going to hear everything.
“Are we really suggesting that the High Queen of the United Realms is trying to usurp her husband?”
If Tor were being perfectly honest, he would have said that the one person she did care about was Varex. Plotting to get rid of Tor seemed plausible. But her husband?
Still, though. Tor forged ahead. “We all know it’s happened before. And she’s well-positioned to have the ear of the King. The idea that the distance between us and the acrimonious relations were orchestrated actually makes a lot of sense.”
It didn’t absolve Tor or Varex of what had happened, but maybe it wasn’t all their fault.
Pel and Bavil exchanged glances, but then they shrugged. They didn’t look convinced, but it wasn’t like they’d been living in Alossa with Fernila and Varex for most of the last five years.
Tor knew that he wasn’t exactly unbiased when it came to Fernila. He really didn’t like her, and he knew that she didn’t like him, but that wasn’t the same as being the mastermind behind treason and murder.
She didn’t seem a likely candidate—but maybe that was her cleverness. Or she was working with someone, and there was an obvious suspect at hand.
“It’s got to be pretty easy to manipulate the information that the King receives if you’re the one giving it to him.”
Pel’s expression was contemplative. “If I had to say which one of them liked you less, I’d probably say Yomil. Or at least, he seemed to be more vocal about his disapproval. I felt like more pressure was coming from him to sentence you.”
Tor tried to think back to the final confrontation in the throne room.
He remembered trying not to engage with either Yomil or Fernila.
As often as possible, he’d ignored both his brother’s advisor and his wife, because he’d been concentrating on Varex, imagining that if he could just get through to him, everything would be all right.
“Thanks for paying attention,” he told Pel with a smile. “I was preoccupied with trying not to punch my brother in the face.”
Pel rolled his eyes, but there was the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. “It was definitely not a conversation that was conducive to actually talking and listening to one another.”
“That sounds like most conversations we’ve ever had around the dinner table,” Bavil pointed out. “Maybe it’s just how families work?”
Tor laughed. “Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure that most families are way more functional than we are.”
“They are,” Cavun interposed from his position near the entrance of the cave.
His matter-of-fact tone made everyone laugh, which decreased the tension a little.
Grinning at Pel, Tor proposed, “Maybe we’re so attached to one another because we’re so messed up.”
Pel smirked, not seeming the least offended. “That would explain a lot. But I don’t think I have anyone trying to kill me, so I’m winning. Or would that be losing?”
They all grinned at one another, and Tor reminded himself that now was not the time to kiss that smile off Pel’s lips.
They weren’t alone, Tor still felt a bit like he’d been trampled by a horse or twelve, and no matter how much better Pel and Bavil were getting along, that probably didn’t extend to watching one another get intimate.
And Tor wasn’t sure they had the time. They were theorizing someone was trying to commit regicide—while taking out the royal family, too.
A fizzing urgency bubbled through Tor, exhorting him to ride off this minute to rescue his sister. (He refused to consider that although he’d just woken up, he and Cala had actually been attacked more than two weeks ago. He just couldn’t think about what that might mean for Ada.)
They needed more information, and they weren’t going to get it here.
Lotar was closer to Alossa—and it was where Ada was.
Tor figured there was no point beating around the bush. “We need to go.”
“Not before tomorrow,” Bavil corrected. “You told Tama you would wait.”
Tor’s whole body locked up. That was before he’d realized Ada might be in danger.
“I understand your feeling of urgency,” Pel told him, reaching out to clasp his hands again. He waited until Tor looked him in the eye. “But I don’t think you’re in any fit state to travel.”
Tor’s immediate attempt to stand up went as poorly as everyone else apparently expected it to.
Bavil and Pel caught him, and Tor ended up back on the pile of blankets they’d made for his bed. Why did his bones both ache and feel like they were made of jelly?
“We can take boats again, can’t we?” Tor asked anxiously, plucking at the blankets until Pel curled their fingers together.
“Once Tama gets back, we can look at our options,” Pel assured him. “We had to trade the boats for the horses to get here. Plus, if we wait for Tama, I’m sure she’d be willing to give you another boost.”
“I feel much better than I did,” Tor assured Pel, not liking how anxious he looked.
Though maybe that was just everyone’s default expression now.
Pel raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You feel much better than you did when you drained all your magic and then fell out of a window and looked like you were dead?”
Tor cleared his throat. “Yes, definitely better than that.”
He could see in retrospect how that wasn’t hugely reassuring.
“I don’t think that you’re a very good judge of how you’re doing,” Pel told him sternly.
Tor couldn’t really disagree, but—
“It’s my sister.”
Pel slipped an arm around him and hugged him. “I know it is. And we’re going to go get her. But she’s well-protected in Lotar, isn’t she?”
“My brother would have said the same of Cala,” Tor pointed out sourly.
They’d never imagined this sort of thing could happen.
“Unlike Cala, Princess Adexa can protect herself, can’t she?”
Tor felt a little bit of the tension drain out of his shoulders, but his stomach still churned.
“That’s true. She can shield almost as well as Varex and I can.”
Once she’d Manifested, she’d wanted to be involved in all their games, and they’d mostly let her join in. But they’d been twenty when she Manifested, so they’d had six years of experimentation and play on her, and she’d never had ideas quite as wild as they did. She also wasn’t alone.
Tor blew out a breath. “And King Stronex fought in the war and would never let anything happen to her if he could prevent it.”
If for no other reason than because Par and Hena adored her, and Stronex cared for his children. Tor did feel better when he thought about it like that.
But it still wasn’t good.
“Sitting here and doing nothing feels like the wrong choice,” Tor couldn’t help but admit.
Pel looked exasperated. “You’re not doing nothing. You’re recovering from nearly dying. We’ll travel faster once you’re more recovered.”
Tor opened his mouth to protest.
“Besides,” Pel reminded him, before he could speak. “Tama said that she had an idea.”
“To get us to stay here,” Tor grumbled.
He already knew that he’d lost, but that didn’t mean he had to be graceful about it.
Pel’s lips quirked up. “That’s possible. But you’re the one who believes in her, remember? You saved the exiles just because you could, and I believe she’s going to return the favor.”
“She’s a good person,” Bavil assured him earnestly. “You can trust her.”
Tor eyed him contemplatively. “Soooo.” He dragged the word out into multiple suggestive syllables. “You and Tama…”
Bavil groaned, and Pel laughed.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bavil insisted.
Not even bothering to lower his voice, Pel announced, “They’ve been meeting for years.”
Bavil’s color was high, but he said, “We’ve been trying to keep the exiles safe.”
“In your bed?” Tor suggested.
Pel and Cavun both tried to muffle their laughter.
Cheeks red, Bavil cleared his throat, but he was grinning now. “Hey, do I ask you about your love life?”
Tor brightened. “Ooh, do you want to hear—”
Pel slapped a hand over his mouth and hissed, “Don’t even think about it.”
Muffled, Tor managed, “But—”
Glaring at him, Pel said, “Would you like to ever be in my bed again?”
Obediently, Tor closed his mouth. Pel waited an extra moment to ensure that he was done and then cautiously removed his hand. Tor offered his best innocent look, which Pel didn’t seem the slightest bit impressed by.
“Look on the bright side,” Tor pointed out to Bavil. They all looked at him suspiciously. “You’re about to become a king. But maybe Tond is small enough that Terila won’t be interested.”
Bavil looked horrified, though he tried to school it, and Pel turned a laugh into a not-at-all-convincing cough.
Maybe she was a nice person somewhere deep down.
But Tor was still furious about the way she’d treated Pel, and he was certain that the repulsion between Tor’s and Terila’s magic was the creepiest thing he’d ever felt.
Bonding to her would have been unbearable.
He was so glad he’d decided to come up with his own plan. It had been an entirely terrible plan, but it had led him to Pel, and that made everything worthwhile.