Page 117 of A Crown of Lies

“Yes,” Isaac answered. “With all that I am, I believe.”

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Michal said, turning to eye the empty space next to him.

He’s mad, Isaac realized.Talking to and seeing things that aren’t there, consulting with some advisor only he can see. How could he have hidden it so well for so long? Why did no one else know?

“Yes,” Michal mused, looking down at the infant in his arms. “Perhaps it is the Mother’s hand of mercy at work. Who are we to challenge the gods? I am but their humble servant, after all.” He met Isaac’s eyes. “He must leave the palace tonight,” Michal said, without an ounce of warmth. “And if I ever see my little half-brother’s face again, or hear anything about him… Make no mistake, Sir Isaac. I will burn all of Brucia to the ground to secure my crown.”

Isaac nodded. It was a fool’s bargain, but what other option was there? At least this way, the child would have a chance.

“You won’t,” Isaac promised.

“Then sheathe your steel and you may have him.”

Isaac hesitated. If he put his sword away, he would be helpless. Michal could draw his to kill him and there would be little he could do about it. But if he wanted the child, he would have to take that risk. Slowly, he sheathed his blade.

Michal stepped forward and deposited the baby in Isaac’s arms without any fuss.

Isaac quickly turned to leave before Michal could change his mind.

What am I doing?Isaac thought as he ran, clutching the fussing baby to his chest.This is madness. It’s been less than an hour since Kat expressly told me this wasn’t what he wanted. Neither of us knows what to do with a baby. How will we feed it? Take care of it? Mother, have mercy. One of us is going to have to leave with him!

His heart sank as he realized it couldn’t be him. He was the head of the queensguard. If he didn’t appear at Eris’s side, Haarima-jaan would know something was amiss. It would have to be Katyr, and Kat didn’t even want the child.

Kat’s not heartless. He’ll understand. I hope.

The baby made a loud whimper in Isaac’s arms.

“Shh. It’s okay.” He realized he didn’t know exactly how to hold a baby, either. Maybe he was holding him too tight.

The baby was so small, and his head was so big he couldn’t hold it up well on his own, so Isaac had to adjust how he was holding him. That meant adjusting the blanket, all of which irritated the baby.

“You’re going to be okay,” Isaac whispered again as he raced down the stairs. “I promise.”

Thirty-Five

Arynsmoothedhishandsover the front of the jacket. Dressed as he was, he almost looked like a proper elf. It’d been a long time since he’d worn traditional clothing, and he’d forgotten how good he looked in it, even if it was more difficult to hide all his daggers. He was carrying dangerously few. Fewer than he liked.

They should have been safe in the Wolfheart clan house. After all, the Wolfhearts were all warriors, and they had family guards. Plus, Aryn could turn nearly anything into a weapon if he liked.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come,” Aryn called, expecting Mercia.

Instead, it was Ruith who stepped into his room.

He paused, halfway through collecting the bloodwood sword Sakura had given him. “Ruith. I thought you’d be off to the Runecleaver’s by now with Isheda.”

“We’re about to go, but I wanted to talk to you in private before we leave,” said the Crow.

“Oh? What about?” Aryn tied the sword around his waist and felt slightly less naked. He’d probably be asked to surrender it once they reached the clan house, but it was such a shame not to show off a decorative piece whenever possible.

Ruith crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You lied to me.”

Aryn went utterly still, his blood running cold as he met Ruith’s eyes.

The Crow paced forward a few heavy steps. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That you were the only source of information I had in D’thallanar?”

“Actually, yes.” Aryn frowned. Ruith had informants, but he’d always trusted Aryn to run his spy network. If there was someone else… It was unsettling that Ruith would be so paranoid. “Who told you?”

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