Behind Dani, Bastian leaned against the wall with one booted foot propped up and his arms crossed. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes were sharp and calculating on hers. He knew what she was thinking.
Dani shook her head. “They’re all sworn to secrecy on the locations. And apparently whoever made them swear was scary enough that no one will think about crossing them.”
Lore glanced up at Bastian, wondering if that meant more to him than it did to her. But the Sun Prince was implacable.
“Interesting,” Lore finished weakly. She took another long drink of wine.
Conversation faltered back into more mundane directions for a few minutes more, until finally Brigitte stood and excused herself, saying she had to meet her parents for dinner. Danielle followed, wanting to take a nap before a party she was to attend that night.
“It was lovely to meet you,” she said to Lore as she stood. “Be on the lookout for me in your mountain of invitations—I’ll host next time, Bastian, unless you want to have us in your rooms every week?”
“Hosting a group of beautiful women is really no hardship,” Bastian said, kissing Dani’s proffered hand. “Invite a wider selection of beautiful people, next time, and I’ll truly be in paradise.”
Brigitte smiled and rolled her eyes. “I’ll send the tea,” she assured Lore as she followed Danielle out of the room.
“I’ll be off, too.” Alie rose from the table. She smiled at Lore. “Thank you for coming, truly. I know being in the Citadel can be overwhelming, but it’s easier with friends in your corner.” She arched a brow at Bastian. “Am I safe to leave her in your care, or will you require a chaperone?”
“I probably always require a chaperone, but never fear.” Bastian tugged Lore up by the hand and then tucked her fingers into his elbow. “I’ll take Lady Remaut back to her rooms, and I’m sure her pet Presque Mort is there, so we’ll have all the chaperoning we need.”
Alie colored a bit at the mention of Gabe, but Bastian didn’t comment on it. The three of them drifted out of the prince’s palatial apartments and down the stairs. Alie gave Lore’s hand a squeeze before turning down the hallway below Bastian’s, apparently toward her own rooms.
Lore waited a couple more flights before speaking, pitching her voice low. “I think the people being hired at the docks are moving the bodies.”
“Obviously.” A courtier came up the stairs; Lore tensed, but Bastian didn’t, giving them a lazy smile and waiting for them to disappear before speaking again. “So we need to go down there again. Preferably tonight.”
“Tonight? But it was only two weeks ago that—”
“While I’m touched by your concern, I will be just fine.” He looked at her, then, and his smile was so warm she could almost forgive the chill it left in his eyes. “I think I scared the ruffians who found us out last time enough to keep them quiet.”
“Whoever is hiring the dockworkers apparently scares them enough to keep quiet, too.” She didn’t have to draw the parallel. Whoever was hiring had to be someone with considerable power, if they could intimidate a whole crew of cargo haulers into silence.
Maybe someone as powerful as another Arceneaux.
Bastian’s jaw tightened, highlighting the dark stubble on his chin. “I’ve considered that,” he murmured.
Hiding the bodies didn’t necessarily mean that August had something to do with the deaths. But hiding the bodies coupled with his insistence on implicating Kirythea—implicating Bastian, and thus clearing the way to choose another heir—didn’t paint a pretty picture.
Especially now that they knew August was ill. That he was desperately searching for a way to cheat death, whether through poison or through manipulating Spiritum.
And how did Anton fit into it? Clearly, he was looking for ways August could heal himself with Spiritum, too. And he and August had worked together closely to bring her here; they both had to be involved in tampering with the corpses. But did that mean they were complicit in killing the villages, or just being dishonest with what happened afterward?
Either way, they couldn’t trust Anton any more than they could trust August.
Though she knew Gabe would think differently.
Bastian kept quiet as he led her through the front hall, past the great doors that led out of the Citadel, into the shabbier corridors of the southeast turret and up to her and Gabe’s rooms. Lore was glad of it. They were both deep in thought, and the silence was comfortable. Probably more so than it should’ve been.
“Midnight,” Bastian said as they approached the door, rapping smartly on the wood. “Same place as last time. Wear something inconspicuous.”
The door burst open. Gabe looked rumpled, like he’d been trying to catch up on sleep. The hours they’d spent in the library had grown longer and longer as the week wore on, and neither of them counted as well rested.
“Gabriel!” Bastian grinned, putting his hands on Lore’s shoulders to thrust her forward. “See you this evening. Lore will tell you everything.”
Then he was gone, leaving the two of them staring at each other.
The silence grew too heavy to hold without slipping. “Are you all right?” Lore asked quietly.
Gabe rubbed at his eye patch, turned away from her. His shirt had rucked up in sleep, and he did his best to straighten it, though it was hopelessly creased. “Just tired. The last night I remember sleeping well was when you woke up after the Mortem leak.”
As soon as it left his mouth, Gabe froze, and it took Lore a moment to realize why.
The night she woke up, she’d come in here. Slept next to Gabe on the floor. So cold, and seeking warmth, something to cling to.
They’d never talked about it. They’d let it fade into the chaos of everything else, the edges rubbed away until they didn’t catch their thoughts. But now Gabe had brought it forward, pulled it into the light again.
They could talk about it now. Or they could continue pretending it never happened.
Gabe opened his mouth, and she couldn’t tell which path he was going to take. Which one she wanted him to.
So she didn’t let him speak. “Someone is hiring people from the docks to move cargo,” she said, brushing past him and into the room. “We’re going down there tonight to see if we can find out what the cargo is, and who’s doing the hiring.”
“We?” Gabe turned with her, closing the door as he did. The latch caught with a sharp, final sound. “So Bastian is coming, then.”
“Yes, Gabe, Bastian is coming.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Not this again.” Lore rubbed at her eyes. The lack of sleep was catching up with her, making her head heavy and her temper short. “Why do you hate him so much?”
Gabe was silent for so long, Lore thought he might ignore the question entirely. He stood by the door, still, head craned to watch the dying fire. “I don’t hate him,” he finally murmured.
Numerous acid-tongued retorts went through her head, but Lore remained silent. She knew that whatever lay between the Presque Mort and the Sun Prince, it wasn’t as simple as hatred. Lore sank onto the couch and waited for Gabe to grasp the thread of his thoughts.
“Bastian is careless,” Gabe said. “He always has been, ever since we were children. Careless with his power. Careless with his authority.” He paused, jaw working beneath gingery stubble. “Careless with people.”