Page 34 of Thorn Season
“We suspect they’re Wholeborn purists. Extremists who wish to eradicate Wielders entirely.” Garret drew a handkerchief from his other pocket and wrapped it around his palm. He winced, and I almost felt guilty. “When their activity became impossible to hide, King Erik grew suspicious. Fearing his wrath, Briar confessed everything. The theft of the compass seven years ago. The new activity of these copycats.” His voice dropped meaningfully. “Your father’s involvement in hiding the truth.”
My arms skittered with greater stirrings of dread.
“Erik ordered us to reclaim the compass before this new keeper—whoever they are—incites chaos. So, Briar dispatched Capewells around the kingdom to track the copycats, hoping they’ll lead us to its whereabouts.” He procured a length of silver from the bookcase, then paused, inhaling deeply. “I want to strike at the source.”
He tossed the silver something toward me. I jumped as a key clattered at my feet.
“That was found near Wray’s body,” Garret said. “Briar disregarded it back then, too enraged at her brother’s death and the loss of the compass. Recognize it?”
I toed the key toward the fire glow. Its head gleamed with an emblem that churned my stomach. A rose.
“It’s from the palace,” I said. Roses were engraved on the keys of the highest ranking nobles. My father had one just like it. Every ruling noble did.
“In the days before his murder, Wray had been acting furtive. Hedidn’t divulge his comings and goings. He burned his journals. The night he was killed—the night of Erik’s coronation ball—he traveled into Henthorn for reasons unknown. I think he was meeting someone he wasn’t supposed to. Someone who ambushed him, stole the compass”—Garret nodded toward my feet—“and accidentally left that key behind.”
“These keys unlock private chambers at the palace,” I said. “They’re only given to ruling nobles.”
His scarred eyebrow arched.
I blinked. “You think anoblemurdered Wray?”
“It wouldn’t be the court’s first hidden scandal, or the most shocking.” Garret tilted his head, bruises reddening in the light. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re one of them.”
I inhaled a shaky breath.
You’ve always thrived here, Garret had said at the ball.It’s your craft.
This was why he’d been pushing me to join court for my eighteenth season. He believed I could find the compass’s keeper among the nobles.
And return the compass to where it belonged.
“No,” I said.
“You’ll have free rein of the palace for your eighteenth season. You can find out who that key belonged to, and whether they were meeting Wray the night he died. If they didn’t kill him, they may have information about the person who did.” He looked me over, eyes bright and fervent. “You alone possess the advantage of Erik’s favor. The nobles have already noticed. Apply enough pressure, and they’ll give you anything you want.”
“Anythingyouwant,” I corrected. “Why would I return the compass to the Hunters who killed my mother?”
“Because that’s where Erik wants it. We don’t know why this keeper is imitating us, but as long as they possess the compass, they risk destabilizing the equilibrium we’ve created. Over the last two months, the activity of Wielder sympathizers has risen across the provinces. Even the Ansorans have taken notice.”
I pulled up short, my indignation guttering. “That’s why they requested an invitation for Rose Season.”
Garret nodded. “Their branches of surveillance extend to our continent. They claim to want to improve international relations, but Briar suspects they know more than they’re letting on. If they investigate these Huntings, they could discover the compass is missing.”
“Why would they care?”
“The compass was forged by Ansoran Spellmakers and belonged to their empire long before it landed here. The Ansorans might consider this the perfect time to repossess what they believe is rightfully theirs. And the compass will become one more item which the empress of Ansora can either barter away or exploit for her own gain.”
It explained Briar’s restlessness at the ball; she’d believed the ambassador would interfere with her search. And I shared her unease.
All of Daradon knew the tale of the empress of Ansora, the most politically powerful Wielder this side of the world. Born into the lower echelons of nobility, she’d won the former emperor’s favor and had been named heir—superseding the emperor’s own sons. When those overlooked sons had tried rising against her, she’d slaughtered them... and had imprisoned their innocent children to barter away in marriage alliances.
I didn’t know what the empress might do with the only device that could separate Wielders from Wholeborns. Whether she would indeed keep it or sell it off to a Wielder-hating nation, not caringabout Wielders outside her own empire. But I knew that such a coveted, powerful object should never belong to someone so ruthless.
“Erik only agreed to host them,” Garret said, drawing me back, “because they would’ve construed his denial as fear—asweakness. And the king refuses to look weak.” He massaged the back of his neck, his shirt shifting with the movement. Baring the fine sweat of anxiety now glistening over his tattoo. “Erik exercised mercy after Briar’s confession. But if we continue to fail him—” Garret cut himself off as though fearing he’d said too much, then inhaled through his teeth. “He won’t spare us again.”
At his odd air of caginess, I narrowed my gaze. “You think I care what he does to any of you?”
A twitch—almost a flinch—at the corner of his swollen eye. Then he said, with cool intent, “I’m sure you care what he’ll do to your father.”
