The Lost Prince (17 page)

Verrick stopped by that evening to give Dean the details of each trial, none of which made him feel any better about rushing into tests that people usually spent their whole lives training for. But Dean’s life had been another kind of training. Years as a spy had taught him to adapt to any situation.
I’ve been through worse than this
, he told himself.
If the pampered lordlings of this island can pass these trials, so can I.
It was settled. There was no point fretting over it. Everyone had a part to play, and Dean’s role was that of the diversion. Even so, he went to bed that night wondering what in the world he was doing.

His situation had become so implausible that he would have
never believed it if it weren’t happening to him. It wasn’t just that he’d ended up a guest in a mythic palace. He was also on the cusp of earning his freedom from One-Eyed Jack’s Black Fleet. All he had to do was send out Sisto with a note, and he’d be out of One-Eyed Jack’s pocket forever. This job should have been ending, not beginning. So why had he agreed to wait on getting word to One-Eyed Jack? He tried to tell himself it was because of what Ronan had said. They were honoring the fallen captain’s code. The captain he had known for a grand total of one day.

Who am I kidding?

Yes, Dean had liked the way Gentleman Jim did things. And, yes, it was true that he didn’t want One-Eyed Jack’s men to raid Zenhala and torture innocents until they gave up their treasure. Dean had brought that fate down on unsuspecting souls many times before, and had hated himself for it each time. How many ships had he doomed by telling One-Eyed Jack what cargo they carried and where they meant to go? Dean had long ago lost count. He wasn’t proud of his body of work as a spy, but he had done what he had to do in order to survive. Now, if he did it just one more time, he would finally have the chance to
live.
But, when the moment came, he had hesitated and chosen Ronan’s way over Rook’s. He took the harder, more uncertain path. Why? His conscience was real enough, but that didn’t tell the whole story. He liked Ronan more than Rook. That was a factor too, but not a deciding one. It wasn’t as if they were friends. Dean didn’t have
any friends. But he wanted one, and if Dean was honest with himself, he wanted more than that. Deep down he knew that Rook was right about him. Part of Dean was stalling because of Waverly Kray.

It made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Dean didn’t know her. He would never know her. That was how these things worked. He didn’t stay anywhere long enough to make friends, and he always left before he had the chance to make enemies. Following that rule had kept him alive. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t much of a life, or that he’d already broken that rule on board the
Reckless.
Dean had no future with the lady Kray and he knew it. He was a pirate, and here in Zenhala, they hated pirates more than anyone. It was just as Rook had said; the Dean Seaborne she smiled at wasn’t him. It was a mask he hid his true face behind, and the only way for him to take it off for good was to betray the trust of Waverly and her people. Like it or not, that was what he did. That was who he was. Dean had to leave Zenhala before the storm returned and everyone discovered he was a fraud. The best he could do was to see that they remembered him as a fraud who cost them gold instead of blood. He resolved to focus on the task at hand and find the orchard. Nothing else mattered.

The life of a prince
, he thought as he tried to fall asleep. Royals got everything handed to them on a silver platter. Never in his life had Dean even dared to dream about a girl like Waverly. His conversation with her in the throne room had been the first time
he’d ever spoken to a girl his own age. Dean had never before had the opportunity. Not on any ship at sea, and certainly not in Bartleby Bay. Men kept their daughters hidden away in places like that. Dean couldn’t keep his mind off of Waverly. He was excited to see her again the next day and, at the same time, worried that he wouldn’t know what to say when he did. It seemed his life had prepared him for any situation except this one. Dean forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He already had one impossible goal to shoot for—freedom. Life on his own terms was hard enough to imagine, let alone life with someone else. It couldn’t happen. Not as long as he worked for One-Eyed Jack. Guys like him didn’t get the girl, the gold, or the glory. Such things weren’t possible. And yet, here he was, on the verge of having one impossible dream come true.… Was there a chance for more? A chance to have it all?

No. He was dreaming.

It wasn’t long before he was literally dreaming. Dean had been given a large four-poster bed with a mattress so soft he swore it had to be stuffed with tufts of cloud, but still he tossed and turned. Somewhere around midnight, Dean rolled over, blinked his eyes open, and drew focus on a shadowy figure dressed in black. Half of his brain was still asleep as the masked man stood over him and raised a hand high in the air. A knife caught the glint of the moonlight, and Dean drew in a sharp breath as the dagger flew.

It didn’t fly down at him. It sailed backward through the air,
and the killer with it. Someone had yanked the carpet out from under his feet.

“I had a feeling someone might pay us a visit tonight,” Ronan said, tossing the carpet aside.

Dean sprang up, his senses rocketing to fully awake and alert status. The killer rolled with his fall and came to rest in a three-point stance. There was a tense moment with Dean standing on the bed, Ronan a few feet off, and the killer crouched low on the ground. “Rook?” Dean asked. He was the first person Dean thought of when he wondered who might be under that mask. Rook had plenty of reasons to want him dead, and Dean knew that when it came to killing someone in their sleep, he was a brave soul indeed. The killer said nothing. They’d figure out who he was later. Right now, the knife lay between the three of them, waiting to be used.

The assassin went for his knife. Dean went for the assassin and wrapped him up before he got his hands on the blade. Ronan picked up a chair and went to swing it, but at the last moment, the killer spun Dean around. Ronan smashed the chair on his back instead.

“Whoops.”

Ronan dropped the broken remains of the chair as Dean crumbled to the floor. The killer shoved a palm into Ronan’s nose and kicked him in the chest. Dean got up on all fours and shook like a dog drying out his fur. His head hurt terribly and
his back hurt worse, but he was still thinking straight and could see better in the dark now that his eyes had adjusted. He grabbed a splintered chair leg and jammed the pointy end into the assassin’s ribs.

The villain cried out in pain. He swung the knife around, catching Dean in the mouth with the butt of the handle. Dean fell. The killer staggered a step and clutched his side.

Dean spit blood. “Ronan, take him! Now!”

But the killer was already at the window. Ronan got a hand on him, but the man was too fast. He slipped away, losing only his mask in the process. Before anyone saw his face, he let go, sliding down the wall on a rope. Halfway down, he cut the line and dropped the rest of the way to a balcony below. From there, he was lost to the shadows.

Dean and Ronan leaned out the window, looking down and breathing heavily. They traded weary looks, silently agreeing that it was pointless to pursue. After a few moments, they drew themselves back inside and slid down to sit on the floor with their backs against the wall. It was as quiet as the grave in the royal apartment. Loud snoring in the next room broke the silence. Ronan got up and threw open Rook’s door. Sure enough, he was in his bed, fast asleep. The two boys grumbled at their useless comrade.

“I thought it was him coming after me,” Dean said.

“Funny how neither one of us thought to call him for help,” Ronan replied. “We should have had him sleep in your bed. The killer might have done us a favor.”

“I need to speak to the regent about this. Tonight. I’m the prince. I should have guards. Security, protection.”

Ronan shook his head. “If the regent wanted to protect you, he would have sent guards.” He tossed Dean the killer’s black mask. “Instead, he sent him.”

Dean did a double take at Ronan. “You think this was Kray?”

“I don’t trust him. Think about it. A whole week to wait before this royal blood test of theirs? Three dangerous trials between now and then? He’s stalling. Forget giving you his daughter; Kray’s not giving up the crown.”

Dean chewed on that a moment. He wasn’t sold on Ronan’s theory. “I don’t know. Kray seemed like an honest man to me.”

“So? You seem like an honest man, and you’re a liar through and through.”

Dean smirked. Ronan had probably meant it as an insult, but there was no arguing the truth of his words.

“You don’t have to take my word for it,” Ronan said. “When I was looking around today, I made a few inquiries. So many people were happy you’d been found, I wondered what they would have done if you weren’t. Turns out, after thirteen long years, they were ready to give up looking. The honorable Lord Kray was due to get
his crown this very week. When the storm returned, they were going to make him king. No longer the regent, but a real king. You still think he’s your friend?”

Dean held up the mask and gripped it tight. It seemed he wasn’t the only one on this island who was hiding his true face. “I don’t have any friends.”

“We have to be more careful. I’d start sleeping with one eye open if I were you.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep at all tonight. You go ahead, though. You deserve it. I’ll take the next watch.”

Ronan didn’t need to be told twice. It had been a long day, and a much longer night confirming his suspicions about their host. He patted Dean’s shoulder and got up to go to bed.

“Hey, Ronan,” Dean called out before he disappeared into his room. “You make a pretty good spy. Thanks for saving my life.”

Ronan nodded. “Sorry I hit you with that chair.”

Dean rubbed his sore head. “It’s all right. Everyone takes a hit now and then.” Ronan retired to his room and closed his door. Dean wiped his mouth and winced. His fingers were covered with blood. The cut on his lip was painful and messy, just like everything else in his life had been lately. “The life of a prince,” he said, this time with a bitter laugh. It was time to stop the bleeding.

CHAPTER
17

W
hat happened to your face?” Verrick asked.

Dean touched his lip as if he was noticing for the first time that it was swollen. He was surprised that Verrick had taken so long to mention it.

“This? Nothing. I slipped on the stairs this morning.”

Verrick took a moment with that. “You slipped on the stairs?”

“I was lucky. Could have been worse.”

Verrick studied Dean as they walked along a clean-swept gravel path on their way to a rocky inlet near the edge of the island. A detachment of royal guards marched ahead of them, with another unit on hand to guard their rear. “Forgive me, Your
Grace, but are you sure this didn’t have anything to do with the broken chair I saw in your quarters this morning?”

“It was an accident, Verrick, that’s all. And please, enough of this ‘Your Grace’ business. Call me Dean.”

Verrick gave a reluctant nod as he escorted Dean to the first trial. “Of course, Your Gra—” The captain stopped himself. “That is,
Dean.
I simply feared you and your mates might have been at it again.”

Dean forced out a laugh. “We don’t fight all the time.”

“Of course not.”

“Sometimes we sleep.”

Verrick smiled, but the joke was wasted on him. The point he was making would not be so easily sidetracked. “I must confess to being confused by these friends of yours. If you brought them here for protection, why are they off sightseeing without you this morning?”

Dean sighed. “You have a lot of questions today.”

“I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s all right,” Dean said, but really it wasn’t. Verrick was someone who
wanted
to believe Dean was the prince. If he was put off by Ronan and Rook’s absence, others were sure to be as well. Dean kicked himself for not realizing this was suspect. It was exactly the scrutiny he couldn’t afford. Not everyone shared Verrick’s enthusiasm for his claim to the throne.

They came up on a ridge that overlooked the ocean. A large
crowd had assembled, with hundreds of people packed in on top of rocks that ran all the way out to the water. Tall banners with wave-crest sigils flapped in the wind. Dean scanned the crowd and noticed someone missing.

“I see my friends aren’t the only people who aren’t here. Where’s the regent? Isn’t he coming?”

Verrick looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m afraid another matter required Lord Kray’s attention this morning.”

Dean nodded.
I’ll bet. Probably the same matter that jumped out my window last night.

“But he asked for you to dine with him this evening. And also that Lady Kray come escort you to the trial.”

“Lady Kray’s coming?”

Verrick noted the change in Dean’s tone. “Is that a problem?”