Page 182 of Royal Rebel

Fates. In his panic, Bennick hadn’t even realized that Zilas had been talking openly about Clare. Not that her secret truly mattered right now.

Zilas’s chin lifted to indicate Bennick’s belted knife. “Toss that, too. And the one you no doubt have in your boot.”

Tension rode him, but Bennick complied. “Did you leave that rose in Duvan?” he asked. “Outside the orphanage?”

“So itdidreach you. Good. I couldn’t resist leaving you a little reminder of my existence.”

“How did you get Sidrah?”

“You’re stalling, Bennick.”

True. But if he didn’t return soon with a report, Venn would grow worried. He’d send someone after him and Kashif—or bring in more guards for Clare.

Bennick glanced at the unconscious Serai Jabar. And somehow, he suddenly knew why she was here—why she was ever in Zilas’s sights at all. “You were the driver.” The man who had kept his head ducked or his back turned to Bennick the entire time. He muttered a curse. “You made sure she hired you. That was your way in.”

“You’re mostly accurate, Bennick. Iwasthe driver. But I didn’t make sure she hired me—I simply killed the men she hired and replaced them. She never noticed. When I spotted you, though, I worried you’d recognize me. I didn’t expect you to be there, personally overseeing a flower delivery. But then, you have good reason to be paranoid. And luckily, your focus was on the men carrying the flowers.”

Bennick’s mind raced. He remembered the cart driving away. Fates, he should have made sure it actually left.

Memory stirred. Two men had climbed in the back of the cart. Did that mean Zilas had two allies, then? If one was with Sidrah, where was the other?

Zilas cracked a smile. “As entertaining as all of this is, I’m afraid I have places to be.”

Bennick tensed, readying for a fight. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a weapon. The moment Zilas moved for the door, Bennick would tackle him.

He wasnotgetting close to Clare.

The attack didn’t come from Zilas, though.

“Serai Hassan,” Zilas called softly.

Bennick looked down just as the lady jabbed a needle into his bared wrist. Dizziness hit him like a boulder, making him stagger. Serai Hassan cried out an apology as he stumbled back a step.

Zilas strolled forward. “You’ll wake in a few hours and find Clare surrounded by roses. It will be beautiful. I’ll take extra care with the setting, just for you.”

Bennick’s world spun and darkened at the edges. He didn’t know what drug he’d been given, but he was losing consciousness—fast. He crashed to his knees, his hands braced against the carpet to keep from toppling. “Zilas,” he gasped. “Please.”

The Rose stopped before him, but Bennick was too weak to attack. He slumped lower, his arms trembling to hold his weight.

“I didn’t know Markams could beg,” Zilas mused. “Do you think Father will beg for your forgiveness?”

Bennick collapsed, his head knocking against the rug. He barely felt it.

Zilas bent close. His voice was quieter, his tone containing an emotion Bennick couldn’t name. “I always hated you. He chose you, and I couldn’t stop hating you for that. But the things you said to me in that alley in Krid made me realize he failed you, too. Not as badly as he failed me, but . . .” He shook his head—the image blurred, making Bennick feel sick. “If we’d been raised together, we might have been friends. Instead, he shoved me away and made us enemies. How different our lives would have been if he’d accepted all his . . .”

Blackness enfolded him, and Bennick heard no more.

Chapter 42

Serene

“Run!”Wilfshoutedagain,charging toward them across the darkened inn yard.

The dozen or so attackers held weapons that gleamed in the moonlight. The weak light also revealed the khalmin markings on their skin. The clan warriors were rushing to head off the men and women who were attempting to flee the inn.

Serene could hardly believe her eyes. She didn’t understand what was happening. She was frozen, caught in shock. Why was a clan attacking the Panther’s Den? It didn’t make sense.

Unlike her, Cardon wasn’t frozen. He grabbed her middle and all but threw her over the fence. She stumbled in the mud, turning just in time to see him plant a hand on the top rail and vault over it. “Run,” he hissed, snatching her hand. He jerked her forward and they bolted across the field, headed for the treeline of the encroaching jungle. Cardon didn’t bother to draw a weapon; the goal was to lose their pursuers, not fight them.

---