“I don’t, Your Highness.”
“Then we will.” She handed the packet to Kess, who slipped it inside his jacket.
There was movement to Kit’s right. Her hand went instinctively to her dagger, weight shifting as she prepared to meet the threat. Two men walked toward the dais from a closing panel on the far side of the room. Given the queen’s cool expression, they weren’t unexpected.
Neither wore a uniform, just somber tailcoats and trousers. The first Kit had seen before, but never formally met. This was William Chandler, the spymaster. He was a big man, with tan skin and brown hair, a square jaw, and a face some would call rugged. And while his expression stayed mild, there was no disguising his confidence or his authority. This was a man in his power—a man who had the ear of the queen.
Kit didn’t know the second. He was a tall man, with sun-kissed skin, his hair a sun-streaked brown brushed over a strong brow, his eyes a startling blue green.
“Mr. Chandler,” the queen said. “I believe you know Captain Brightling.”
Chandler nodded at her, expression cool. She did the same.
“Colonel Rian Grant, Viscount Queenscliffe,” the queen said, gesturing to the other man.
Grant didn’t look like a member of the Beau Monde, Kit thought, much less any viscount she’d ever seen. His shoulders were broad, and his body looked capable of action, not merely climbing in and out of a curricle to circle Victory Park. There was energy here, banked power, in such volume it seemed to charge the air in the room.
“Colonel Grant served as one of Sutherland’s observing officers on the peninsula, and fought at Zadorra.” Zadorra, near the river of the same name, was a town in Hispania not far from the Gallic border. There’d been brutal fighting there over hard terrain not long before the war ended. The casualties had been . . . severe.
“Colonel Grant,” the queen continued, “this is Captain Kit Brightling of the Queen’s Own.”
If he had any thoughts about her presence in the room, they were well hidden behind a bland expression.
“Colonel,” Kit said, opting for the title the queen had used.
“Captain.” His tone was bland, as if mildly irritated to find her in his presence.
Charming, Kit thought.
“Now that you’ve gotten a look at each other,” the queen said, “let’s begin. I’ve asked you both here to deal with a very urgent matter. Marcus Dunwood is missing.”
Kit knew Dunwood, at least by name. Like Kingsley, he worked for Chandler, gathering foreign intelligence abroad. She surmised Grant knew him, too, because he’d shifted beside her. Just the slightest movement, as if bracing against a blow.
“What’s happened?” Grant asked, and his tone was grim.
The queen nodded at Chandler. “If you would.”
“Dunwood had been serving on a sloop running cargo along the northern coast of Gallia,” Chandler said. “Monitoring Guild activity.”
The Guild was a Frisian association of the country’s wealthy and powerful merchants. During the war, they’d supplied money and arms to Gerard in exchange for promised trade monopolies on spices, silk, and other goods.
“Monitoring them?” Kit asked.
“There was a downturn in economic activity following the end of the war,” Chandler said. “Peace, as it turns out, is rarely as profitable. But trade activity is increasing again. More Guild ships leaving port, carrying greater cargo.”
“Bound for?” Kit asked.
Chandler’s lips curved, as if pleased by the query. “Everywhere they can manage it. We’ve identified no particularly unusual location or focus. And cargo moving into Guild ports has also increased. Wood, iron, hemp among them. Not, on their own, particularly unusual. They are required for many industries.”
“But they are also useful in war,” the queen said. “For guns. For ships.”
Chandler nodded. “Yes. They’ve been very cautious. There’s been nothing certain—documents or information—linking the Guild to Gerard, or to efforts to restore him to his former position. But the, shall we say, suggestive information cannot be ignored.”
“And Dunwood?” Grant prompted.
“His last communiqué was received three weeks ago. Then, two days ago, the crew of the Carpathian—a privateer with a letter of marque from the Crown—found four injured sailors on a disabled sloop off the coast of Gallia, near Pointe Grise. They claimed to have been attacked, the fifth member of their crew taken.”
“Dunwood was the fifth,” Grant surmised.
Chandler confirmed with a nod. “The sailors stated the sloop’s attackers had sought out and removed the crewman they knew as ‘Paolo.’ And thought it odd the attackers had referred to him as ‘Marcus.’”
“They knew who he was,” Grant said quietly.
Chandler nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“You and Dunwood were friends,” the queen said to Grant.
“We were together on the peninsula,” Grant said. “He renewed his commission after Gerard’s capture, and I returned to Queenscliffe.”
And from the gruff tone, Kit thought it sounded as if he’d rather have remained there.
“You believe his identity was compromised,” Grant said.
“We do,” Chandler said. “By culprits we have not yet identified.”
“There weren’t many who knew of Marcus’s mission, and even fewer his last location,” the queen said. “And those who knew were members of the Crown Command.”
That simple statement, and the accusation beneath it, cut through the room like a sabre.
“Which is why we’re the only ones in the room,” Kit said. “You believe there are traitors in the Crown Command.”
“Yes,” said the queen. And that word fell like a shadow across the room. They waited in silence for her to speak again.
“There have been traitors in the Crown Command before. My father removed many who’d been proven disloyal. Among them an admiral, a major general, and two agents in the Foreign Office. He installed a new minister and believed the Command secure.” The queen’s breath shuddered. Not with fear or concern, Kit thought, but with fury.
“Either he was wrong, or foreign agents have gotten their claws in again.” She looked back at Kit and Grant, gaze burning with intensity. “I don’t know who may have revealed Dunwood’s name. But I will learn their name, and they will answer to me. Marcus has served the Isles for two decades. We will not leave him to molder or die while the rest of us sit in luxury. And that brings us to this meeting. The two of you will find him and bring him home.”