Page 44 of Immortal Sentry

Crau waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll be allowed to go free.”

No, Eron wouldn’t. He’d be arrested and tortured if he managed to escape Lessa’s guards, and Crau would tell King Selin that Eron was an assassin sent by the Estian King. So, yes, someone stood to gain from the two neighboring countries going to war with each other.

Eron ventured, “What if I’m caught?”

“Then you’ll suffer the consequences. Take this under advisement: Don’t get caught.” Crau’s narrowed eyes did his already rat-like appearance no favors.

As if Eron would let his guard down. He’d protect Lessa and her boys. Lessa. Memories flooded Eron’s mind of a beautiful dimple-cheeked girl with the occasional sunny disposition who flared hot when riled. Would her sons look like her? Would they thrive under her influence or be cold, hard, and vain like many royals Eron could name?

No. Lessa wouldn’t allow anyone to damage her sons in such a way. This Eron fully believed. He longed to see her again. But what would she do if she recognized him? Hopefully, she’d be too shrewd to show their hand.

“Then let’s get started. Miisov, will you show me to the queen’s rooms?” Eron couldn’t escape this disgusting excuse for a duke fast enough.

Miisov raised a bushy eyebrow in Crau’s direction. “If given leave.”

“You may go,” Crau replied loftily as though granting some great privilege. After further consideration, maybe he was a donkey’s ass. He wasn’t tall enough to be a mule’s.

Crau went back to eating with both elbows on the table before Miisov and Eron had even closed the door behind them on their way out.

Eron waited until they were safely out of hearing range of the guards. “Do you want Crau dead as badly as I do?” He hadn’t decided whether he trusted Miisov, but he’d still deliver a dead Crau if given the go-ahead.

Or even an inkling of a go-ahead.

“More than you could ever know,” Miisov replied. “But not yet. He has a part to play, and my subtle influence will see to it he does.”

“Why did he try to kill me?”

“Because my focus strayed. Trust me, it takes a lot of effort to keep both Crau and Bain under my sway.”

“Couldn’t you just convince them not to kill Lessa?” That would save everyone a lot of effort.

“No. I cannot alter their deepest desires. I can only manipulate how they choose to achieve those goals.” A bittersweet smile crossed Miisov’s face. “Believe me. If I could, I would.”

The queen’s rooms turned out to be the same ones she’d lived in as Princess Lessa, done in shades of soft green and far more feminine than Eron’s, with lace table coverings and flowery tapestries.

But Lessa likely knew of any secret passageways if she'd stayed here before. Eron had questions for Kerric the next time he appeared.

Miisov handed Eron a dagger. “This belongs to the king of Estia, with his family crest worked into the hilt. If I were trulyinstructing you to kill, I’d insist you leave this sticking from Queen Lessa’s chest.”

Bile rose in Eron’s throat at the mere thought of the girl he’d seen in flashes of memory, dead at his hand. “What am I actually supposed to do?” He flipped the dagger into the air, neatly catching the handle and testing the weight. The gaudy workmanship seemed more suited to decoration than function. In an actual murder, Eron would use a weapon he’d taken from his assailants—crude but effective.

“I have another gift for you.” Miisov handed over a rather ordinary river stone attached to a leather cord.

“Why, thank you! I always wanted my very own river stone.” Really? A powerful mage gave Eron a rock?

Miisov rolled his eyes and gave a put-upon sigh. “It’s spelled. If you’re to be traipsing around the castle at night, you might need light.”

How thoughtful. Eron examined the stone. Nope, nothing unusual there. If anyone found this on him, they wouldn’t suspect anything more than a mere rock on a cord—unless they found it at night or in a dark passageway.

Miisov placed his hands on Eron’s shoulders, staring into his eyes. Eron barely managed not to flinch. Then a memory came: Miisov showing a young Eron his workspace, where he made ointments and potions and ordering,“Don’t touch anything!”

Eron remembered! Remembered a bowl of sweets Miisov kept just for him. Miisov had appeared as Eron and Hentri fled, taking some of Eron’s memories. Memories he could better cope with now than at age ten.

Miisov had cared about Eron and his family. Father had trusted Miisov. Of course, Father was dead. But hadn’t Miisov mentioned paying a great price to exact revenge? Eron settled under Miisov’s hands, attentive like he’d been so long ago for lessons on herb lore.

A hint of memory appeared of a young woman in the background, handing Miisov herbs.

Kene! And Eron hadn’t known her.

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