Page 122 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

“We have much to discuss tonight, and it’s already late. Let’s end the fighting, shall we?” Frayson also seemed to be hiding a smile as he gracefully sat down.

With a glance at Merrick, who hovered beside her, Lessia took a seat in the closest chair, with Frayson on one side and Loche sitting on the armrest of the one on her other side. Loche’s leg bounced as he fixed his gaze on Frayson, the fabric of his ripped breeches flapping with each movement.

Drawing a breath, Frayson glanced around the room. “It appears everyone knows Stellia is dead. We’re waiting on a detailed report, but she fought bravely until the end.” The old man clasped his hands together, his chin dropping an inch. “We do know she’s been dead for a while, which means she’s likely not behind this. We don’t know yet who is—if it’s some of her own men or someone else entirely. But whoever it is, they have intimate knowledge of the election and of each one of you.”

Frayson paused for a moment to shoot Craven a sharp glare. “While I don’t think any of you nominees has anything to do with it, we do believe there must be a spy in the castle. We have employed every single soldier available to find him or her. And trust me, we will do so quickly.”

The fire roared in Lessia’s ears in the silence that followed, and she had to fight with everything in her to keep a mask of indifference when Loche’s stare burned into the side of her head.

Lifting her eyes to his, she forced a shrug, then crossed her legs, trying to get her muscles to focus on anything other than the apprehension that lay heavy on her chest.

Frayson cleared his throat. “While we will find the spy, it’s becoming too dangerous to prolong the election more than we must. Ellow will not be safe without a fully committed regent. With that, we’ve decided to move up the next elements. The commoners’ debate will happen tomorrow, and the last trial in the days following. After that the vote will open. There will be a final ball, where we’ll invite our allies from Vastala to meet you, to ensure you’re comfortable managing the relations with King Rioner’s emissaries. I realize this gives you less time to rally votes, so I strongly suggest you inform your people to speak on your behalf with voters as soon as possible.”

Lessia frowned when the hope that fluttered in her chest at the chance of being free within weeks, perhaps even days—even if she had to face the Fae—mingled with wistfulness.

Her eyes collided with Loche’s again, and her cheeksreddened when his stormy gaze already waited for her, flaring when she continued to meet it.

“You should rest up before tomorrow. From now on, guards will follow you wherever you go in the castle, and if you need to venture out, please inform us so we can ensure your protection then as well. If there are no more questions, I shall bid you good night.”

Lessia didn’t break Loche’s gaze while Frayson spoke, nor when he, together with Craven, rose and swiftly left the room, followed by a large number of guards.

“Lessia?”

She forced herself to look away from Loche as Venko’s hand landed on her arm.

“May we speak?”

Concerned to find Venko’s eyes glazed, she got to her feet, dragged him to the fire, and positioned him with his back to the others.

Casting a quick glance behind him, she found Loche staring at them intently and Merrick’s entire body turned their way.

She cursed softly.

Loche probably couldn’t hear over the wind hitting the windows on either side of the fireplace, but Merrick wouldn’t miss a word.

“You told me to tell you if I found out more.”

Lessia hushed him, burning her eyes into his, but she did not dare draw on her magic.

“You need to whisper,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

Nodding once, Venko lowered his voice. “You’re no longer off limits.”

Her brows pinched. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I was just given a letter that said you’re not off limits.”

Lessia threw another quick look over his shoulder, the knot of fear in her chest tightening when Merrick moved closer. “Off limits from what? What did it say exactly?”

Venko’s empty gaze stared into the fire. “Elessia Gyldenberg is no longer to be exempt.”

Following his gaze, she pulled at her hair.

Was it a warning?

Had whoever Venko worked with figured out she’d gotten to him?

A chair scraped the floor when Loche also shifted closer, his eyes glued on hers, and Lessia quickly squeezed Venko’s shoulder. “Thank you. Go to bed.”

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