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“Yes, we do want him,” the woman confirms. “But not for the reason you believe, and we’re certainly not bounty hunters. I’m his cousin.”

“His cousin?” I parrot stupidly as if I’ve never heard the word. I look around, suddenly realizing the boat they’ve brought us aboard is quite opulent.

Groaning, I sit up and take it in. White cloth hangs on the walls, and the furniture is constructed from pale, blond-colored wood.

Glass doors line an entire wall, letting in light. Only one set is open to the day, allowing fresh air and birdsong to enter the room. White gossamer curtains flutter in the breeze, catching the muted light with pearlescent threads embroidered into the fabric.

We’re in a dining room of some sort, but the tables and chairs have been pushed against the buffets on the side wall to make room for our cots. The space now appears to be a makeshift infirmary.

“Wait.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You say you’re his cousin? Does that mean he’s actually…”

It’s so absurd, I can’t even bring myself to finish the sentence.

Instead of answering me, the woman asks her friend, “Has Ayanleon told his companions?”

“I believe so,” the man answers, studying me a little more intently than I care for.

She shoots a frown at Ayan, who’s still dead asleep. “Trusting, isn’t he?”

“What do you expect from a man raised by Woodmores?” he asks.

She shakes her head as if baffled by the idea.

“What’s wrong with Woodmores?” I demand, angry on Pranmore’s behalf. Then I realize that’s not important at the moment. “Is Ayan actually Duke Augmirian’s half-brother?”

The woman looks back at me. “He is—and the true heir of the dukedom.”

“How can you be certain?”

She exchanges a look with the man and then smiles grimly. “We performed a genealogy spell on him while you were sleeping.”

“I think you meandrugged, not sleeping,” I say testily. “But I meant the heir part.”

“Oh.” Her smile becomes smug, tinged with something that looks like victory. “Because I have obtained my uncle’s last will and testament.”

I stare at her, unsure what surprises me the most—that she was able to get her hands on the will, or that Ayan was actually telling the truth.

“What do you plan to do with him now that you’ve found him?” I ask warily.

She’s tall and slender, with very little meat on her bones. In a fair fight, I could probably take her. High Vales don’t fight fair, though.

And the man? I don’t stand a chance, not by myself. He’s big for a High Vale, not only tall but also broad-shouldered. After seeing Henrik fight that brute in the tavern, I think he might be able to take the elf, magic or not, but the commander is still out cold.

Even if I managed to knock out the elven pair, how would I get the men out of here? I might be able to drag Bartholomew, but the rest are a lost cause.

And where would we go anyway? I suppose we could hijack the elves’ boat…

But sadly, no. I’m not a pirate.

“We’re going to help him claim his rightful place,” the man answers, pulling me from my runaway thoughts.

My eyes move to the woman. “You want to overthrow Augmirian? Even though he’s your cousin as well?”

“It’s what my uncle desired,” she says. “Augmirian stole the title, though I believe he was unaware of it until Ayanleon showed up in Revalane and paraded through the castle with his father’s will like a wretched fool.”

Sounds like Ayan.

“Answer me one question,” I say. “Are we friends or foes?”