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“I don’t know! Listen, I’m not a spy.”

“So you keep saying—”

“He didn’t take the princess to his chamber.”

I stilled. “What?”

“The king.” The brother swallowed nervously. “The lady—your sister—was wrong about him. H-He summoned me after dinner. He wanted to speak about the histories of Ter Isir. He was alone. Maybe he escorted the princess to her room, but he didn’t enter.”

Silence stretched. The brother held his breath.

I stepped back and lowered my dagger.

He sagged against the wall.

“You’re certain of this?” I asked.

“Yes, my lord. Quite certain.”

I stared at him for another minute, then sheathed my dagger. “Which part?”

“My lord?”

“You spoke to the king about Ter Isir. Which part of the histories did you talk about?”

“Um, well…” He straightened to his full, unimpressive height. “My area of study lies in Eldenvalla.” He hesitated. “Specifically, the noble vampire families that intermarried with elves who escaped the destruction of Vai Seren.”

“Those are stories. Long since discredited.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’d do better to study your own people. Sharing a border with Eldenvalla, some of that magic rubbed off.”

“Respectfully, my lord, it’s not the same. The more obscure histories claim some of the elves survived the rise of the Thicket…and then tried to hide their blood by breeding with vampires.”

I felt it then. The whisper of dark knowledge. Secrets that lifted the hair on my nape. Somehow, this unassuming young man possessed it. Or had, at the very least, brushed against it. If it was the latter, he probably didn’t realize how very stupid he was.

“Why would they need to hide?” I asked quietly.

His gaze was clear-eyed and steady. “I think you know, my lord.”

Challenge hung in the air. I spent a moment letting him feel the weight of my own gaze, wondering how long it would take for him to fold. Because he wanted to continue staring. Despite his fear, he wanted to push me. Curiosity burned like flames in his eyes. He was, most likely, the scholar he claimed to be.

But he was no warrior and, at last, he looked down.

The satisfaction I expected to feel didn’t come. There was no pleasure in winning such an unbalanced contest. And there was something…wholesome about the brother. Jordan. Suddenly, I found myself hoping he wasn’t a spy.

“The Brotherhood is an unusual place for someone from Wesyfedd to end up,” I said.

He jerked his head up, his expression startled. Like he hadn’t expected me to continue the conversation.

“Uh…yeah, I guess it is. I never really felt at home in Sithistra. Then again, I never felt like I belonged in Wesyfedd, either. The Village of Twyl is duller than dishwater, as they say.” He smiled, his cheeks going pink in the first light of dawn. “I was happy to leave. I would have made a terrible smuggler.”

“Sounds like you made a terrible brother too. Considering the Brotherhood kicked you out.”

His smile faded. “Yes. They did.”

“Why?”