Page 88 of Royal Rebel

Desfan had no response to that.

Imara smiled a little. “I see you’re avoiding the fact that Grayson loves her.”

He pulled a face. “The idea makes me sick, so, yes, I’m avoiding it.”

“I think that’s a natural reaction for an older brother.”

He grunted. “Can I ask you some questions, now?”

“Of course. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, though. I don’t know who in Zennor would ally with Ryden.”

His expression fell. “You can’t think of anyone?”

“There are members of the court who complain about my father’s rule, but nothing so serious that it would lead them to commit treason.”

“What of the clans?”

Imara sighed. “There has been some unrest among many of the clans, but their issues are with the monarchy, and negotiations are taking place. Their roots are so firmly in Zennor, I can’t imagine them looking beyond the kingdom’s borders for allies.” Frankly, they didn’t need to; the tribes were filled with fierce warriors.

Desfan studied her. “Your intended, Eilan Skyer—he’s leading the clan negotiations with your father?”

Sudden nerves fluttered in her belly. She had to fight to keep her face neutral. “Yes. But as I already said, their issues are with the monarchy—nothing beyond Zennor concerns them.”

“What complaints are the clans citing?”

“The usual things. They want a voice in the court, but they don’t want to be constrained by it. They want more land and less interference from the crown.”

Desfan’s eyebrows pulled together. “Imara, just how bad are things in Zennor?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Should she be honest, or diplomatic? She was talking to the Serjan of Mortise, after all. Anything she divulged about her kingdom, he could choose to exploit.

She released a slow breath and felt her shoulders loosen. “My father would not appreciate me speaking so candidly with you. But things in Zennor are not good. We are on the edge of a civil war.”

Desfan’s mouth pressed into a line. “With the clans?”

“Yes, and their supporters. Some of the lower ranking nobles feel they will gain power by siding with the clans, and even some of the monarchy’s strongest supporters are vacillating between which side to support. Once my father agreed to Skyer’s proposal for my hand, tensions eased. That’s the only reason I dared leave. But I need to return as soon as I can.”

Desfan leaned forward, his arms braced against his thighs. “I appreciate your candor. Is there anything I can do?”

Imara shook her head. “The rifts must be repaired by Zennorians—the clans and the crown. But thank you.”

“Do you think Serene will be able to help? She’s renowned for her diplomacy.”

“I’m sure she will try, but I’m not certain what else needs to be arranged at this point.” Her marriage to Skyer would settle things quite permanently.

It looked for a moment like Desfan would say more, but instead he asked, “Do you know the name Sahvi? He’s the drug master responsible for shipping olcain into Duvan.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize the name. My father would.”

“I wrote to your father weeks ago about Sahvi,” Desfan admitted. “There has been ample time for him to send a response, but I’ve heard nothing yet.”

“Did you specifically request a response?”

“No, it was more for his information.”

Imara nodded once. “He’s been so busy with the clans, I wouldn’t expect a reply. But if you’d like, I could write to him and ask for his thoughts on Sahvi, and the threat he might pose to Mortise.” She’d already sent one letter with Serene—an apology, more than anything, and a promise to return home as soon as she was able to travel—but she could easily write to her father again.

“I can write to him,” Desfan said. He quirked his lips. “And I’ll be sure to ask for a reply this time.”

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