Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(10)

I have no idea how he knows, but Harristan never throws tiny barbs. He throws spinning daggers and waits to see if others will catch them or end up impaled.

Rian doesn’t flinch. “Ah. Yes. I’m glad to hear that we’re all caught up.”

“Yet you told the dock agents in Artis that you were. That is how you secured passage to the palace.”

“As my father’s mission was rather covert, I didn’t feel it would be prudent to introduce myself to a dock agent as a spy, Your Majesty.” He pauses. “I set the record straight with Prince Corrick rather immediately.”

“Do you really feel it was immediate?” I say.

“I do. And you’ll find your proof inside that first log there.”

I reach over and lift the cover of one of the booklets. The leather cover is soft and worn, the first page covered with an elegant script. I don’t recognize the handwriting.

There’s a thick, folded parchment just under the cover as well, and I slip it free. As soon as my fingers touch it, I realize I have everyone’s attention, most notably my brother’s.

“Read it,” he says to me, and from his tone, I can tell that he already has.

I unfold the parchment carefully. The creases are well worn, and there’s a dark stain near the bottom. Before I even read the words on the page, my eyes freeze on the signature and court seal. It’s my father’s, right down to the minuscule initials he used to print inside the slope of the S to prevent forgeries. I’ve seen it on a hundred different documents I’ve handled over the years, and my heart jumps to see it now. The date at the top is from six years ago.

I hereby declare Captain Jarvell Blakemore to be an agent of the Kingdom of Kandala, working in the service of His Majesty, Lucas Ramsay Southwell, King of Kandala, acting with full authority of the Crown. Whosoever bears this letter in the name of Captain Blakemore in conjunction with the ring displaying the sigil below shall be presumed to be acting by the grace of His Majesty, the King of Kandala, with the full rights and authority granted under the Crown.

Below my father’s signature is the kingdom seal in dark blue wax, which only Harristan and I have, along with a separate seal in a lighter purple that’s a bit cracked, but still legible.

I glance up, inhaling to ask for the location of the ring.

But Rian is already holding up his left hand. A gold ring bearing an identical sigil is on his index finger.

Well then.

It’s not proof, not quite, but it’s close. A letter granting the full authority of the Crown carries a lot of power. To my knowledge, Harristan has never offered it to anyone. As his brother, I don’t need it. And until now, the only person I’ve known to be granted such power by my father was Micah Clarke, the former King’s Justice. He was killed when our parents were.

I reach for the flag from the top of the chest and unfold it a bit. The edges are frayed and worn, the blues and purples long faded. The steel grommets have gone rusty, and when I run my fingers over the seams, I can feel the effects of exposure to the ocean air.

“We don’t have an established relationship with Ostriary,” I say. “Why was your father’s journey a secret?”

Rian hesitates, and there’s a lot of weight in that hesitation. His eyes shift from me to Harristan and back like he’s taking measure of our reactions. “You don’t have an established relationship now, Your Highness. But you once did.”

“I have no recollection of any communication with Ostriary,” says Harristan. His tone is unyielding.

Rian spreads his hands, but his eyes are equally unyielding. “As I said, we may be at an impasse. I only have my logs and my crew.” At his side, Lieutenant Tagas is silent, stony-faced and steadfast in her demeanor.

Everyone is being polite and cordial, but something about this feels like a standoff. I can’t tell if that’s on our side or his.

“You have quite a bit to review,” Quint says. “Perhaps now would be a good time to serve the tea. I’m certain our guests could do with some refreshments.”

I look to my brother. He was unnerved before. I wonder if he still is, or if this letter from Father has given him a bit more confidence. There’s a part of me that wants to separate Rian from his crewmate, to see what she would say if he weren’t in the room.

It’s the same part of me that used to force answers out of thieves and rebels.

No one trusts the King’s Justice when he’s not wearing a mask.

I promised Tessa I would do better. I told Lochlan my goal was to change that.

I hold my tongue. It takes more effort than it probably should.

“Yes,” Harristan finally says. He holds out a hand to the table. “Be seated.”

We do. While the food is being served, Rian leans over to murmur something to Lieutenant Tagas, and she nods. The sound of dishes and cutlery is just loud enough that I can’t catch the words, and I’m sure it’s intentional.

“Is there an issue?” I say.

The servants have laid out a dozen pieces of cutlery in front of each person, and I know from Tessa that the rules of palace etiquette can be an unfair maze for the uninitiated. But Rian picks up the correct fork, then holds it between his fingers as he waits for the king to eat first. “No, Your Highness.”

“Then share your comment.”

“Gwyn worries for the rest of our crew,” says Rian. “Have they been allowed to remain with the ship?”