Only the Bold. Морган Райс

were probably prisoners in several of the cells, and a part of Genevieve wished that she could free all of them, but she knew that there would be no way to do it. She might, might be able to sneak Garet out, especially if she could find a place to hide with him until her sister’s messenger returned. There was no way she would be able to get a procession of prisoners out of the place, though.

      She made her way down to the last cell, grateful that she didn’t have to look into each one to try to find Garet. Genevieve wasn’t sure she would be able to keep her heart from breaking if she had to see every person they had captured and tortured.

      She reached the last cell in the line, holding the candle up and looking through the eye hole. Its light wasn’t enough to see things clearly, but she could make out that there was a figure there, lit a little more by the light coming in through a narrow window. He was huddled over, half wrapped in a cloak that Genevieve thought might have been Garet’s. That was enough to make hope rise in her heart.

      “Garet?” Genevieve called out to him. “Garet, it’s Genevieve.”

      He didn’t answer, but then, he and his brothers hadn’t wanted to talk to her when she’d gone to them back in the old duke’s castle. They thought she had betrayed them, betrayed Royce. Garet probably thought she was helping Altfor now.

      “Garet, please talk to me. I can help.”

      Genevieve fumbled at the keys she’d taken from the guard. It took her several attempts to find the correct one, and to hear the click of the lock as the door opened. Genevieve stepped into the cell, hoping that Garet would see that she was alone; hoping that he would be willing to try to make an escape even if he didn’t yet believe she was there to help.

      “Garet, I know that you think I’m helping Altfor, but I’m not,” Genevieve said. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to help you escape.”

      Still, there was no response from the figure huddled in the corner. Genevieve found herself hoping it wasn’t because of what they’d done to Garet here; that they hadn’t tortured him to the point where he couldn’t speak to her.

      “Garet, please,” Genevieve said. “I’m on your side. I want to get you out of here. I know that so many of the things I’ve done look like I’m with Altfor, but I can promise you that all of them have been because I love Royce. I’ve even sent messages to him, telling him about Altfor’s plans. Do you know that he plans to make the southern attack a feint; that he will send an army around to the north in ships?”

      “I do,” the figure said, and just those two words were enough to make Genevieve’s blood freeze in her veins. She knew that voice, and it wasn’t Garet’s.

      The figure stood up, letting the cloak fall from him. Altfor stood there in the half-light, his grin only made more evil by the candle’s glow.

      “I thought you might do this,” he said, advancing on her. Genevieve was so stunned that she didn’t even react as he plucked the keys from her hands. “I thought that the presence of the boy might get you to show your true colors, give me an excuse to do as I wished.”

      Genevieve knew what he was threatening, and instantly her mind fled to the one shield she knew she had. “I am your wife.”

      “A wife who loves my enemy!” Altfor roared. “And also a traitor. Being a noblewoman won’t protect you now.”

      “I’m carrying your child,” Genevieve pointed out.

      “Yes,” Altfor said. “Yes, you are.”

      He stepped past her to the door, through it and gone before Genevieve could react. His face appeared at the viewing slit.

      “I will decide what to do with you,” he said. “Maybe I’ll wait until you bear my child and then have you executed. Maybe I won’t. Rest assured though, Genevieve, that you are going to die for this.”

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      As they sailed, Royce was aware of the sense of hope on the boat. They’d found his father, the mirror sat in its bag in the bottom of the boat, and now they were heading for home. They’d actually done what they’d set out to do, in spite of all the challenges that the Seven Isles had put in their way. If they could do that, maybe they could do everything else that needed to be done as well.

      “It’s actually the king,” Mark whispered to him, looking over to where Royce’s father was sitting, looking out over the waves. His friend sounded awestruck, and seemed to follow King Philip’s every move, as if waiting for instructions for him.

      “And my father,” Royce said. As far as he was concerned, that was the important part.

      “Your father, the king,” Mark agreed. “I’m sorry, I know how I sound, and you’ve done plenty of impressive things, but I know you.”

      “And in time, you’ll know my father too,” Royce said. He wanted to get to know his father better too. After all this time apart, they had a lot to catch up on. Royce wanted to know all that his father had done in the time since he’d left, and wanted to learn more about what kind of man he was.

      He started to make his way forward, toward the spot where his father was sitting. That meant going past where Matilde and Neave were perched amidships. The two appeared to be bickering about some story of his father’s exploits.

      “I’m telling you,” Matilde said. “He was a great hero. He fought the nobles.”

      “He was a noble,” Neave countered, “and then he lost to the nobles.”

      “He fought monsters.”

      “We’ve fought monsters,” Neave pointed out.

      “He hunted bandits to keep the roads safe.”

      “Some of them were Picti.”

      “Is that what this is about? You don’t like him because he’s fought Picti? Because I’ve fought Picti. I beat you, remember.”

      “Is everything all right?” Royce asked, before the argument could take off into more. It was always hard to tell with these two whether they were truly arguing or not.

      “Neave doesn’t think that your father is someone worth following,” Matilde said.

      Neave shook her head. “You’re the one who thinks that we should just follow him blindly, without thinking.”

      “Neave?” Royce said with a frown. Did the Picti girl have some kind of problem with the return of his father?

      “I’m glad we found him,” Neave said, “and I know that he’ll be useful in the battles to come, but Mark and Matilde are looking at him like… it’s almost as bad as the way we all looked at Lethe. No questioning, no thinking, just awe.”

      “Because the rightful king has been found again!” Matilde insisted. “What more do you want? I thought the Picti always followed those who could display the right magical signs.”

      “Those who can make the stones sing and make the old magic respond have our respect,” Neave agreed. “But we do not follow blindly. Sometimes someone must lead, but that does not mean we follow without thought, without asking questions, without deciding for ourselves what is right.”

      “Is there going to be a problem among the Picti with my father coming back?” Royce asked her.

      “I don’t know,” Neave admitted. “He is a man who has done many impressive things, but he was also the one who left the kingdom to King Carris and his nobles. He could have given us back our place in the world, and didn’t. He could have done more.”

      “Perhaps he will this time,” Royce suggested.

      “Perhaps,” Neave said. “In any case, I will continue to follow you. I heard you make the stones sing, at least, and you have shown me that you are someone who does what is right, Royce.”

      Royce felt a note of pride at that, grateful for Neave’s