“It wasn’t even a very good horse,” she muttered under her breath.
Really, had he not heard a thing she’d said?
Since leaving Kyrion in the forest, Leisa had spent most of the miles considering what, exactly, she intended to tell her king. She was filthy, confused, and heartsick, and she’d been traveling on so little sleep, she’d almost blundered her way into the first guard post wearing her own face.
Once she shared her story with the stunned guards, she’d been delayed by the lack of a spare horse, then delayed again by her escort’s insistence on coddling her. It had been fifteen days since she’d escaped Garimore’s palace in the middle of the night, but she’d made it home in time. She’d reached Arandar, Farhall’s capital, before Garimore’s messengers, and now it was up to her to convey the truth of Garimore’s plan to King Soren.
This was the reason Zander had sacrificed himself, remaining behind in Garimore’s dungeons at the mercy of King Melger’s sense of justice.
It was also the reason she’d left Kyrion with his magic still sealed. Not because she feared him, but because she needed all her energy for the journey. Because she owed King Soren for taking her in. For raising her in the palace instead of leaving her in the streets to starve.
And she owed it to the people of Farhall not to abandon them to a monster like Melger.
She’d risked her life and freedom, pressed herself beyond all reasonable limits to get here, and King Soren was still not satisfied.
“So you left a good man to die!” Soren growled. “And Garimore with little option other than open hostilities! You were meant to remain there. Maintain the fiction that Evaraine was under their control, so they would not feel it necessary to make a display of their strength.”
“Until when?” she snapped back, too exhausted to keep watch on her tongue. “Until I was married to Vaniell? Until he discovered what I am, and they decided to execute me as a spy?”
Soren said nothing.
“Is that really what you expected of me?” she asked incredulously.
Soren wouldn’t even look at her, and Leisa sucked in a quick, horrified breath.
“There are some things I won’t do, even for you.”
All the anger seemed to drain from the king’s body, and his shoulders slumped as he leaned heavily against the window frame.
“No,” he said heavily. “I would not have asked such a thing. Of you, or anyone.”
His admission did not bring Leisa as much relief as it should have.
“And I regret,” he continued, “that you thought me capable of it. None of us knew what to expect, so perhaps I pinned more of my hopes on this mission than I should have. But the fact remains that I can find no other road. No other option to protect our borders.” He looked back at her. “Leisa, if we do not do something, this kingdom will fall, and now you tell me I have yet another enemy.”
“They’ve always been our enemy,” she pointed out, trying to rein in her own frustration. At least he was trying to understand. And she could certainly sympathize with how helpless he must be feeling. “And for whatever it’s worth, I felt that I couldn’t tie Farhall to Melger without making you aware of what he truly wants from this alliance.” She shook her head. “You may be angry with me for my choices, but remember that I warned you I was no diplomat. I’m not even a very good spy, but you wanted me there. You demanded it. I’m sorry if it didn’t go the way you hoped, but I never claimed myself capable of such a deception.”
“No,” King Soren replied heavily, “but when a man is drowning, he grasps at any rope within reach and prays it will be strong enough. Try not to hold it against me that I am disappointed in the rope for breaking.”
A rope? The king saw her as nothing more than a rope? He wasn’t the only one feeling disappointed.
“I am sorry for my mistakes,” she said flatly, “but I was lucky I lasted as long as I did, with my maids and guards gone and the King’s Raven breathing down my neck.”
Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t said anything. Soren’s gaze snapped to hers, face gone pale beneath his beard. “At least tell me you did not lead that King’s Raven here.” He appeared utterly horrified. “The creature is known to pursue fugitives, but surely you would not return here—within reach of my daughter—if he was on your trail.”
Leisa had never much cared for telling lies. When she realized as a young girl that her face itself was a form of lying, she had decided to tell the truth as often as possible.
But sometimes, a lie was not the worst option.
Sometimes, you lied to protect someone you cared about.
Sometimes, you even lied because no one would believe the truth.
In this case? She was about to lie because she was no longer certain she could trust the man she once thought of as a second father.
True, he’d almost apologized. But he’d also admitted that he saw her as little more than a tool to be disappointed in when it proved to have flaws.
And as she’d discovered in Garimore, he’d lied to her for eighteen years about who and what she was. Used her for her magic while making her feel as if her power was something to hide. And he’d almost certainly misled her about what he expected to happen in Garimore.
So when he asked about the King’s Raven, it took her only a moment to determine that she didn’t owe him that much truth.
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said, shrugging and shoving her hands into her pockets. “He’s a fraud.” Even as the words fell from her lips, she winced and wished she had her dagger so she could grip its hilt in her sweaty hands for comfort. But she’d given it to Kyrion, as proof that she would keep her word. That she wasn’t lying to him.
The irony did not escape her.
“What do you mean, a fraud?” King Soren seemed to relax a fraction as he waited for her answer.
“He’s just a man in a suit of armor. He lurks around the place looking sinister, but I never actually saw him kill anyone. I suspect most of the stories about him are exaggerated.”
She’d thought that, once. She knew better now.
Kyrion was far more dangerous than even the most exaggerated rumors could imagine. He was a night elf—deadly with a blade, swift and graceful, hiding an impossible maelstrom of leashed magic. And he was completely dependent on her for his freedom.
Judging by the fear that still lurked on Soren’s face, he would not approve of Leisa’s plan to grant his enemy that freedom.
She didn’t care.
“If that’s all,” she said, “I’ve been on the road for days without much in the way of food or sleep, and I’m about to collapse on the floor. If Your Majesty would permit?”
She was more than a little disappointed that she had to point out her basic needs, but perhaps it was for the best that she understand clearly how Soren saw her. He was not cruel, but neither did he truly see her as a person. As difficult as it was to realize how badly she’d erred when she thought of her king as family, she was planning to leave anyway. It would make her departure that much less painful if she knew she left nothing of value behind.
All she needed was something to eat and a bed for a few hours, and then she would be out of Soren’s life forever.