“What does the Order know about the rebels?” Sirri said.
“I don’t know.”
“Why did the Order tamper with Dalatteya’il’zaver’s memories?”
Xhen scoffed. “You think a lowly initiate would know that? But I know she’s under the Order’s thumb, has been for years. She doesn’t sneeze without the Order’s permission.”
Rohan frowned. While he had suspected that the High Hronthar had been tampering with the regent’s memories, he hadn’t thought their control over her was so absolute.
“Do you know if the High Hronthar has anything to do with Prince-Consort Mehmer’s death?”
Although Xhen’s face didn’t betray anything, Rohan could sense his unease. “I’m not sure,” the boy said. “There were rumors that the prince-consort found out something he shouldn’t have. I remember all senior masters gathering to discuss it with the former Grandmaster, and a few days later, the prince-consort died.” Xhen shrugged, glancing around anxiously. “Look, it could be a coincidence,” he said uncomfortably. “I really don’t know what happened. Gossip is discouraged since Master Idhron became the Grandmaster.”
“Why?” Sirri said, cocking her head.
“Grandmaster Idhron is…” Xhen pulled a face, his aura darkening with hatred, grudging admiration, and fear. “What does it matter?” he said evasively. “My point is, I can’t give you proof that the Order has anything to do with that royal’s death.”
“That’s helpful,” Warrehn cut in, his voice flat. “If that’s all you know, your information isn’t worth a damn, I’m afraid.”
Xhen flushed. “That’s not all! I know something that can help you with the Grandmaster if you’re smart about it.”
“Really?” Sirri said, raising her eyebrows.
“His apprentice,” Xhen said, a fresh wave of hatred rolling off him. “If you can kidnap him, it will give you leverage against the Grandmaster.”
Rohan frowned.
Warrehn mirrored his thoughts. “I don’t know who you think we are, but we don’t kidnap kids, lad.”
“He’s hardly a kid,” Xhen said with a scoff. “He’s about my age.”
“Then it doesn’t make sense.” Sirri fixed him with an unimpressed look. “The Grandmaster of the High Hronthar would hardly care about a kidnapping of a grown apprentice—at least not enough for it to be good leverage. Aren’t you monks supposed to be all about no emotions? I’ve seen the High Adept. He’s as unemotional as it gets.”
Xhen sneered. “Well, yes. But his apprentice is the only exception. They are weird about each other. Trust me, it will be good leverage. As good as it gets.” He looked from Warrehn to Sirri. “Now, about my payment. Information isn’t free, you know.”
“Sure,” Warrehn said, looking him in the eye.
Within moments, the kid crumpled to the ground.
“No finesse at all,” Sirri said, shaking her head.
Warrehn leaned down, put his hand on Xhen’s telepathic point, and closed his eyes, a look of concentration on his face.
“Was he lying?” Rohan said, stepping forward.
Straightening up, Warrehn shook his head. “He seems to believe he was telling the truth.”
“What are we going to do with him?” Sirri said, nudging the unconscious kid with her boot. “I feel a little bad about this if he was being honest with us.”
“We can’t risk taking him with us to Tai’Lehr,” Rohan said. “Even if he doesn’t betray us, his absence will be noticed.” He looked at Warrehn. “Did you modify his memories?” Warrehn was the strongest telepath on Tai’Lehr. Although he lacked specific gifts like the ones Rohan and Sirri had, he made up for it by the sheer strength of his telepathy. Altering memories was as easy for him as breathing, even those of unconscious people.
Warrehn nodded, his brows furrowed as he hauled the kid over his shoulder. “I’ll take his aircraft and leave him near the monastery. So do we use his tip? Should I grab the High Adept’s apprentice if I see him? I know what he looks like now.”
Rohan wanted to say no. He was loath to stoop to something the rebels were routinely accused of—to live down to their reputation. But they needed all the leverage they could get. They couldn’t afford to be picky.
“Take Sirri with you,” Rohan said. “Her gift will be useful to avoid getting caught. Grab the apprentice and return to the Blind by midnight.” Although the TNIT could be activated almost anywhere on the planet, they would obviously want to avoid detection.
“You aren’t coming?” Sirri said, narrowing her eyes.
Rohan averted his gaze. “No. I have something to check on. I’ll be here by midnight, too. Don’t get caught.” And he strode away before either of them could say anything.
Something to check on. Right. Is that what we call it now?
His lips thinning, Rohan continued walking, toward the aircraft he’d hidden in the forest all those months ago.
If it was still there.
Chapter 16
She was so tiny.
Rohan stared at the baby sleeping soundly in her white crib and didn’t know what to feel.
All this year, he’d tried not to think about it—about the child he’d given Jamil as some kind of messed-up parting gift. But of course he had. Of course he had thought about it, regretting what he’d done. A child wasn’t something that should ever be gifted. If anyone found out that he’d given up his child—his firstborn—it would be a fucking disaster, a disaster for various reasons.
What had he been thinking? Right: he didn’t think at all. Jamil had simply looked at him pleadingly, feeling lost and so very lonely, and Rohan folded. Fucking pathetic.
She looked just like Jamil.
Rohan stared at the child, still not knowing what to feel. He had known about her existence for three months, ever since the Third Royal House announced the birth of the heir to the direct line.
Tmynne. Princess Tmynne’shni’veighli. What a grand name for such a small baby.
Rohan found himself reaching down and brushing his knuckles against her soft cheek. His hand looked very dark against her creamy white skin—as dark as it looked against Jamil’s. She was Jamil’s tiny little copy, down to the perfect bow of her mouth. Rohan couldn’t see a single piece of evidence that she was his daughter.
It didn’t matter.
He could feel her, very faintly, thanks to the rudimentary familial bond they shared, a bond that was possible only between close blood relatives.
She was Rohan’s daughter.
She was his daughter.
Except she wasn’t. He had given up the right to be called her father before she was even born. As far as everyone was concerned, Tmynne was the daughter of Jamil and his deceased husband. The product of their grand love story.
Rohan felt his lips twist into a sneer and jerked his hand away from the child. He didn’t want her to feel his ugly emotions.
He shouldn’t have come here.
