Page 62 of The Traitor's Curse
Benedict didn’t even glance at him. “Lucian, are you well?”
I blinked, forced myself to take a deep breath, and said, “Perfectly fine.” My voice sounded odd even to me.
Turning back to Clothurn took an extraordinary effort of will. I didn’t give a damn about his story now. I wanted to get Benedict alone with a fervor that felt like an unreachable itch under my skin right between my shoulder blades. How could I not have seen the truth?
Possibly the truth. I might be seeing what I wanted to see, but…my heart pounded in a skittery, heavy rhythm, and I needed toknow.
Benedict told Clothurn to go on, and he began his story again.
“Lord Tavius and I met when we were both staying with a mutual friend in the fall,” Clothurn said, in a tone of sulky terror. Of Benedict, no doubt, not of me, but I’d take what I could get. “He asked me to correspond with him, because he told me he liked to know how things went on at court but didn’t have thetime to visit often.” Clothurn shrugged, his shoulders slumping down after in total defeat. “I didn’t see any harm in being on good terms with the duke’s cousin.”
Gods. I forced myself to focus for a moment, to make sure I wasn’t missing anything important. When had Fabian told Tavius the truth about his parentage? Before that meeting with Clothurn, I guessed, and Tavius had been on the lookout for someone to keep him informed. If Benedict hadn’t killed him, maybe I’d have been able to know for certain.
Of course, if Benedict hadn’t killed him, then I’d have had to execute him myself—which would’ve destroyed me.
Fuck, but I really needed to talk to Benedict. Alone, now, uninterrupted.
“He didn’t tell me he meant to depose the duke,” Clothurn whined, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. “All I knew was that he’d come to court and needed my help. He told me Benedict would come back to me if I helped him! I swear to you, I thought of nothing but you, because when you left me for Duke Lucian—”
“Enough excuses,” I snapped, and Clothurn subsided into a satisfyingly watery-eyed silence. At least I could be a little bit intimidating. My harshness owed its strength to my sudden nausea. If I had to listen to Clothurn go on about his supposed romantic feelings for Benedict, I’d throw up all over the cell.
Besides, Tavius had been angry that his correspondent, Clothurn, hadn’t mentioned Fabian’s death. But that would’ve been front and center in his letter if Clothurn had known about Tavius’s plans. If Clothurn did have anything else of use trapped in that stupidly pretty traitorous head of his, Captain Venet could bloody well get it out of him.
I’d done my duty here. When the rest of the council asked why Clothurn had been arrested and if he’d been given my personal attention, as was his right given his rank and position,I’d be able to honestly tell them he had.
“You committed treason,” I told Clothurn, taking a petty pleasure in seeing tears welling up in his eyes. Maybe these ones were real. I could hope. He deserved to be miserable. “You colluded in an assault on your duke and on a fellow councilor, and you’ll probably lose your head for it. Concentrate on appealing to my mercy rather than on trying to justify yourself.”
I turned to Benedict, completely done with Clothurn and everything about him. He’d started making noise again, half complaining and half pleading, but I let him fade into the background. Benedict had turned too, and our eyes met again instantly. His magic tugged at me, a connection that snapped into place the moment our gazes held—but…it wasn’t that different from before.
Every time I’d ever looked into his eyes I’d felt it. Even the very first moment we’d met.
Benedict. It was Benedict, and not his magic.
Gods, I needed him alone.
“I’ve had enough,” I said, voice rough with emotion I couldn’t suppress. “We can go.”
“As you wish,” Benedict replied, and he ushered me out of the cell without favoring Clothurn with so much as another glance.
Clothurn’s voice rose to more of a yell, and one of the guards cursed at him and slammed the door in his face. Good.
Captain Venet came out of the cell across from us and bowed. “Your Grace, they’re talking freely.” He lowered his voice and added, “I think they’re hoping to be spared the gallows if they do. I must admit I let them think as much. And they’ve hinted at a plot Lord Tavius had to abduct someone from Surbino—I think it might be worth your while to promise them their lives, so that I can extract every bit of what they know. There’s always torture, of course, but—”
My stomach churned. “No,” I said, with my utmost ducal firmness.
Venet raised his eyebrows. “My apologies for mentioning it, Your Grace,” he said. “It’s not my favorite way of eliciting confessions, myself.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Very well. Give my word that I’ll spare them, and bring me a full report in the morning, unless you learn anything so urgent that it requires our immediate attention.” I glanced up at Benedict. “Do you have any instructions to add?”
“Carry on, Captain Venet,” Benedict said. “And if anyone else asks for a report, such as any other court official, don’t tell them anything. Come directly to me.”
I ought to have thought of that. Once Zettine caught word of this he’d give me no peace. I nodded at Venet as if it’d been my idea, and he bowed and returned to his interrogation.
With two guards falling in behind us, Benedict and I retraced our steps. It had begun raining again, a steady, gentle patter on the courtyard paving stones outside the barracks. We walked around the perimeter and reentered the palace through the same door Tavius had used when he arrived…gods, earlier that day.
Well, yesterday, I supposed. Midnight had come and gone a while back. The temple bells had chimed their pattern as we went to question Clothurn.
But still—less than one full day. A wave of dizziness hit me. I blinked and walked on, carefully putting one foot in front of the other. Benedict took my arm and tucked my hand into his elbow. Had I swayed? How had he even noticed? Had he always been so observant of everything about me?
