Page 73 of The Crown’s Temptation

"The servants?" he said quietly.

Uralish looked at the door the servant with the gray fingers had gone through.

"Every one of them," he said. "Search the house."

He walked out after the Queen Dowager and did not look back.

Syle fell into step beside him. Uralish walked and thought about Jularin. Another sister.

Another fucking sister.

For Bitch Dowager, she better hope Jularin was somewhere in a Filar House dungeon and not dead.

He thought about what Colsar was going to do when he told him. He thought about what he was going to do when Colsar did it.

Colsar was managing something he was not speaking about. Uralish had suspected it from the instant he walked into that council room and read his face. He was not going to push on it. Whatever Colsar was carrying he was carrying it for a reason. He hoped whatever it was, it involved Asharin not truly being dead.

Uralish reached into his cloak and pulled out his flask.

Veynar ale tasted like shit.

But at least he had the Dowager.

That was enough for now.

The General

URALISH

Uralish turned to Syle before he had finished putting the flask away.

"Trophi," he said. "Now, while we still have the nerve for it."

Syle nodded once and fell into step. They left Filar House behind them and rode for Rathmor palace’s military quarters without stopping to eat or explain themselves to anyone who asked.

The military quarters Veynar had given the Avanki smelled of oil and old leather. By the smell of it, nobody had opened a window in weeks.

Trophi was at his desk when they found him. He did not stand.

The fucker had been given his own royal study here in Veynar, and look how he repaid them, Uralish could not help but think to himself.

"Regent," he said. His voice was calm and dignified, as it always was.

"General Trophi."

Enovar closed the door behind them. Syle stood in the corner of the room, his eyes not leaving Trophi's face.

Uralish did not sit. "The Avanki were redirected the night the Queen Heir was poisoned. Through channels that do not organize themselves." He watched Trophi's face and found nothing on it worth noting yet. "You have the access. You have the command structure. What you do not have is a reason anyone can find."

"Then perhaps there isn't one."

"Who are you working with?"

Trophi said nothing.

"Are you with the Opens?” Uralish asked. "Or perhaps one of Fyris's people, hoping to open the wards for whatever he thinks is on the other side of them?"

"No."