Page 36 of Destroyer

“I have three more jackets just like it,” he said, treating her to a pained smile that said he didn't. “But what’s this about, Ru? I haven’t heard from you in months. And suddenly you turn up at the palace, sobbing wildly.”

Ru’s bottom lip quivered.

Simon let out a long, dramatic sigh, his bright gaze never leaving Ru's. “You're the academic who blew up the dig site.”

Relief and shame coursed through her at the revelation. “You’ve heard?” She shouldn't be shocked; it made sense that Simon would already know every detail, from start to finish. He was a minstrel, after all.

Simon leaned forward, a self-confident smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “Isn’t it impressive? I’ve been hosting a salon for the better part of the day, performing music, discussing philosophy, science, and yet while doing all of that, I managed to learn not only that there's been an explosion at the dig site, but also that it was caused by some mad academic from the Cornelian Tower.”

Shame won over relief, and Ru felt the telltale sickness rise in tandem with the memory of what had happened in the Shattered City. “Everyone must think I'm a monster," she said, twisting her hands in her lap.

“On the contrary,” said Simon. “I’m delighted to learn it was you. Finally, another Delara makes something of herself.”

“Don't joke about it,” said Ru.

Simon was quiet for a moment, his somber expression a glaring contrast to his brightly delicate clothes and the fashionably styled curls of his hair. “Well,” he said then, brightening, looking about the room with sudden interest. “I suppose you wouldn’t let me have a look at that artifact?”

“Simon!”

“What? The way you’ve built it up, I feel entitled to at least a peek.” He gave her his best, disarming smile, to which Ru had long since become immune.

She glared at her brother. “I know you’re allergic to sincerity, but could you at leasttryto take this seriously? I didn’t call you here for comedic asides.”

Simon hung his head slightly in acquiescence. He took after their mother, with fairer skin and lighter hair than Ru, but he had the same nose, and the same slightly large ears. Ru noticed how he had aged in the time since she’d last seen him, a few lines forming at the edges of his eyes. She knew his joking exterior was armor, a front to keep everyone guessing, to paint himself as a harmless clown. But he, like every other minstrel in the kingdom — and there were very few — was probably more informed about political goings-on in the city than even the regent herself.

“You know it’s only my nature to be terrified of feelings,” said Simon. “But I’m sorry anyway. And before you ask, I think I know exactly what kind of information you’re looking for.”

Ru sat back. “Who says I’m looking for information? I needed a shoulder to cry on. You’re my brother.”

“Yes, a brother who, as you’ve just made clear, has no idea what to do when faced with a genuine emotion. I’m the last person you’d want as a comforting shoulder. But I know you, and I know you’re absolutelydyingto find out about the Children.”

“The wh—”

Simon held up a ring-laden finger, silencing her. “Information for information, beloved sister. First, you have to tell me where to find this Fen Verrill character so that I might subject him to a thorough interrogation.”

Ru snorted. Simonwoulduse this as an opportunity to distinguish himself as some kind of overprotective elder brother, when she knew full well that he not only couldn’t care less about who Ru associated with, but he had also never been the sort to feel entitled to protect her from amorous advances. She knew how to do that on her own.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “He’s not coming to the Tower with me, anyway.” She tried to sound casual, as if the words didn't feel bitter on her tongue. The regent was now involved — she didn’t need Fen to escort her throughout the kingdom. He had his own life.

Simon tilted his head to one side. “Is he not?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know why he would,” said Ru. “Anyway, who are these children I’m supposed to be dying to know about?”

“Not just any children,” said Simon, smiling conspiratorially. He was in his element now, sharing gossip, passing on the little details he made it his business to know. “TheChildren. You will have seen them in the throne room, the creeps in white. They’re new. Some kind of spiritual group. They claim to be from Mekya, but I imagine they came crawling out of the forest one day like little wriggling stoats.”

Ru raised her eyebrows. “They’re that bad?”

“Worse.” Simon fiddled with one of his rings, spinning it around his finger as he spoke. The tips of the fingers on his left hand were red and calloused, the mark of a lutist. “They’re not cruel or violent or anything, not like those ancient, bloodthirsty gods you read about. But these Children certainly have their fingers in a lot of pies, considering they're a group of strangers who came out of seemingly nowhere only months ago. They have their own temple, supposedly,somewhere, although it’s unclear exactly who or what they worship.”

He paused to fix a copper curl that had fallen out of place. “Anyway, the creeps have taken up residence in the palace, as you can see. Somehow their leader, a character called Hugon —blech, even the name’s revolting — ingratiated himself with Regent Sigrun almost immediately, and within weeks she appointed him as her unofficialadvisor. Can you imagine? He’s the only one of them who has anything interesting to say, but even he’s wretched most of the time. Too charming. Smiles like a snake. Has plans… though I’m not sure what they are yet. I'm working on it.”

“Do you have any actual information about these people other than your general dislike for them?” Ru asked, impatient.

Simon sniffed. “They’re harder to crack than your average foppish aristo. Andyoustill haven’t told me where to find Mr. Verrill.”

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