Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(8)

This ship from Ostriary really does have him unsettled.

Quint strides into the room. If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show. “Captain Rian Blakemore has been shown to the White Room along with his first officer.” He flips open the little book of notes that he always carries with him. “A Lieutenant Gwyn Tagas.”

Captain Rian Blakemore. It’s not a family name I know, and I know everyone of consequence in the Royal Sector. I glance at Harristan to see if the name sounds familiar.

He meets my eyes and shakes his head. To Quint, he says, “Have the guards returned with his ship’s logs?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Quint snaps his book closed. “Captain Blakemore indicates that he has a small crew as well, all of whom remained with the ship. I’ve asked the guards to confirm.”

“Does he seem forthright?” I say.

“He does, in fact. His initial claims have not changed: he went to Ostriary six years ago as part of a contingent to determine whether relations with the Ostrian court would be a possibility. He is now returning with news of his journey.”

“What news?” says Harristan.

Quint clears his throat. “He says he’s been instructed to meet with the king alone.”

“Absolutely not,” I say.

“The guards searched him and found no weapons. He’s made no demands. He’s been patient and well mannered. Quite cordial, really.”

“Consul Barnard never raised his voice,” Harristan says, “and he conspired to have our parents killed.”

“I’ll meet with him first,” I say. “What news could take six years to deliver?”

“Surely my father didn’t expect this journey to take so long,” adds Harristan. “What explanation did he offer?”

“Well, King Lucas didn’t specifically send Captain Blakemore,” says Quint. “He was only a part of the team. Due to instability in the royal court of Ostriary, it has apparently taken him some time to be able to make the return journey.”

I exchange a glance with Harristan again. “What does that mean?”

“It means he was a young man when he left Kandala. The diplomat King Lucas sent away was his father.”



Despite what Quint said, I expect to find someone older. Between the words young man and the fact that he’s a captain of a sailing vessel, I presumed I’d be meeting someone close to thirty years of age. But when I stride into the White Room, I discover that Captain Blakemore isn’t much older than I am. He’s definitely no older than Harristan. He’s got thick black hair and light eyes that are more gray than blue. His jaw is sharp and clean-shaven, his skin the deep tan of men who spend their days in the sun. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume the woman waiting with him was the captain. Lieutenant Gwyn Tagas is easily past the age of forty, with weathered skin the color of driftwood, and short, dark hair that’s shot through with gray.

They both rise to their feet when I come into the room with Quint, and their eyes take in the six guards that follow us to stand along the wall. I watch to see if the captain or his first officer are startled or alarmed, but they’re either not, or they’re very good at hiding it. They’re both dressed as if they came straight off the water, in heavy canvas trousers and broadcloth tunics, though the captain has a loosely buttoned jacket. Nothing about them speaks of wealth—or diplomatic status, for that matter. Then again, they’re standing in the nicest room on the top floor of the palace, and neither of them is wide-eyed about the opulence surrounding us. During our failed meeting, Lochlan and Karri looked like they were going to pass out over the presentation of the food.

“Captain Blakemore,” says Quint. “May I present the King’s Justice, Prince Corrick.”

If he’s disappointed to be getting me instead of my brother, it doesn’t show. He puts a hand to his waist and bows like he’s been in the presence of royalty all his life. “Your Highness,” he says.

“Captain.” I look to the woman who stands just behind him. “Lieutenant Tagas, I presume.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” She bows as well, although it’s not as graceful as Captain Blakemore’s. There’s a bit of watchful tension around her eyes that doesn’t exist in his. Then again, she’s not the supposed emissary. Maybe she’s used to being watchful.

I extend a hand. “Shall we sit?”

We do, and Quint steps to the side to give orders to an attendant. I’m certain he’s calling for food. I’m not hungry, but food has a way of dispelling barriers, so I’ll pick at whatever arrives.

“I understand you’ve had a lengthy journey,” I begin. “Master Quint says you’ve been traveling for six years. You must be hungry.”

There’s the tiniest barb in my voice, and I see the moment Captain Blakemore hears it, because the side of his mouth turns up. “I sense that our story has already cast some doubts.”

“More than a few.”

“I’ll answer any questions you have,” he says. “I understand your caution.”

I can see why Quint called him cordial and well mannered. Nothing about this man’s demeanor is suspicious. If anything, he’s more direct than most of the consuls and courtiers, all of whom load their polished words with dual meanings.