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Had anyone checked for fingerprints on the stopper? Magical resonance? Ber didn’t have much magic, but he did have some. If the vial had been sealed with a spell, he would have needed to use his own energy to deactivate it. But surely, Toren would have considered that. Wouldn’t he?

Great. Now I’m afflicted with this doubt, too.

Scowling, Mehl wrapped the silk around the end of his dagger and slipped the whole thing into its sheath, concealing the note until he could show it to Toren. He couldn’t bear to trust his husband’s twin, but he couldn’t dismiss these claims, either. As much as it galled him to admit, Toren was right—there was something fierce in the way Ber spoke, both of King Ryenil and of Tes.

He’d written “Ryenil mustnotknow she lives”with such bold, harsh strokes that had he used paper, it would have shredded beneath his pen. It simply didn’t match with everything else Mehl knew of the prince. He’d never shown care for another.

Never.

Gods above. What if everything Ber said was true?

* * *

Concentratingon work was nearly impossible, but Toren gave it a valiant effort. Unfortunately, he only managed to make it through one trade proposal from the southern Empire of Moiwa before setting down his pen to massage his temples in frustration. How could he be expected to compose a reasonable reply while waiting to hear what had happened with the box?

At least Ria and Ryssa had remained upstairs, out of Ber’s view, and would be occupied with a dress fitting for some time. Toren checked regularly with Macoe to learn of his twin’s progress in exiting the city, but of course, making it through the curious crowds was taking a while. Until the Centoi contingent, including Ber, were well beyond the city, it wouldn’t be safe.

If then.

When Mehl strode through the door, Toren leapt to his feet, and his energy surged against his shields in response. His husband channeled the excess away without comment. But as Mehl reached the other side of the desk, his hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife tucked in his belt, and alarm threatened Toren’s control over his magic once more. Was there some new danger?

“Mehl? What is it?”

His husband froze. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I hid something in the sheath.”

Toren turned his frown to the dagger Mehl drew. Had the blade turned gold, or—no, that was fabric wrapped around the metal. A sinking sense of dread soured his stomach, though there was nothing about the cloth to inspire it. It could be anything, really.

But he knew it wasn’t just anything.

“Ber left a message,” Mehl said as he unfurled the scrap of gold.

Once Mehl had smoothed the fabric across the desk, it took Toren a moment to look. But he couldn’t deny reality, no matter how much pain it brought. Bracing his hand against the surface of the desk, he bent to read his brother’s latest claims. Nothing too unexpected, until—

Toren dropped into his seat with a thud. His mother’s murder. How had he been in a room with Ber and neglected to interrogate him about that? Yes, there’d been much to discuss, but the lapse still hurt him down to his soul. It was one of the major rifts between them and was the very reason for his twin’s exile.

But why did Ber believe there’d been no investigation? Only the results of that had seen him banished instead of executed.

Toren had found Ber holding the vial—that was truth. But as his brother said in the note, there’d been no proof that he’d ever opened it. The healers hadn’t found so much as a drop of poison on his skin or clothes, and the magical seal on the stopper had held no trace of his energy. Even so, Ber was tricky and often cruel, and there’d been a definite possibility that he’d been involved somehow. Toren hadn’t been willing to risk him remaining in the palace after that.

A search of the palace hadn’t revealed a better suspect, so as time had passed, suspicion of Ber had solidified into certainty. But if Toren had been wrong about that, then a spy might still linger among them. Would they try poison again? It didn’t seem likely with the inheritance challenge active, so they at least had some time to investigate.

Starting with the servants and nobles listed on Ber’s note. Though it could all be a lie, Toren wouldn’t chance it. A quick mental message to Feref would see the servants investigated, but the noble houses would require a great deal of care. As would the guard. Ber might not have listed any among those ranks, but Macoe would need to do a thorough check, regardless.

Tapping his finger against the desk, Toren contemplated the three noble houses at the bottom of the list. Ogewn, Hesslefyn, and Poberie. Of those, only the House of Hesslefyn held any real power, being the current head of one of Llyalia’s ten ducal seats. But he wasn’t surprised. He’d already been watching Lady Gartren because of the sly, snide way she looked at Ria when she thought no one noticed. According to Feref, the lady had also been rude when exiting from a dress fitting, and—

Toren’s blood ran cold. “Mehl. Do you know who Ria is fitting in her workshop today?”

“No. Why…?” Mehl’s voice trailed off in confusion, but he followed Toren’s conclusion quickly enough—Ria could be with a traitor from one of those houses. His hand went to the hilt of the dagger he’d just sheathed. “But I suspect I should find out.”

As must I.

Toren folded up the incriminating message from Ber and locked it into a drawer before he rounded the desk. No one else should see that note. He would have no spy giving warning to any on the list.

And if any hurt Ria?

It didn’t bear consideration.

Chapter62