Page 95 of The Prince's Sacrifice

Var waved this aside impatiently. “Find Yomil, and figure out what happened. We’ll look at apportioning blame later. My concern is for those who conspired with him, not those who were duped by him. Or are you proposing I sanction myself as well?”

There was a hint of amusement in her eyes, but her expression was still serious.

“Nevertheless, Your Majesty. Safeguarding the royal family is my duty, and I have failed. But I will execute this task, you have my word.”

He inclined his head. “I know you will.”

She bowed again, and then she was gone, barking orders before the door was even closed.

He stared at the door, mind reeling. He could blame her, of course. He could hang all of today’s deaths at her door. Maybe a portion of it was even her fault. But if he looked at the overall picture, if he considered intent, not just consequences, then this wasn’t because of her.

When had he stopped giving his own brother the benefit of the doubt? He thought of all the things that Yomil had said over the years, a shiver running through him as he wondered just how long this conspiracy had been going on for. Was this what the man had intended with his lies?

But Var had been the one to listen.

His head swam, moments flitting past his mind’s eye. Playing with his brother when they were children. Raking him over the coals after the disaster in the mountain. Grinning as they sneaked cake out of the kitchen and never once considered the trail of crumbs and sticky fingers.

I will always carry the weight of those twelve guards who died because of me, but that’s not what this is, Varex. Isaved livesin Tond, thousands of lives, and now you’re punishing me for it.

Forex had been so angry, but while Varex knew he was prone to exaggeration and hadn’t been happy for some years with the situation with the exiles, Yomil had confirmed the contents of the letter.

Var had let them convince him that Tor had been woefully negligent. Yomil had been pushing for more, but Var hadn’t been willing to hear it.

You must know I would never willingly harm you.

Var had still believed that, but Ferna had been so worried after Tor had borrowed his magic. Yomil had endlessly laid out the ways this could be misused, how Tor had demonstrated the danger Var was in.

And slowly, Var had started to believe the worst. Oh, not that Tor was a malicious traitor, but that he’d been careless, that he’d gotten involved in things he shouldn’t have, that his reckless attitude had done real and lasting harm. He’d seen the chaos Tor’s disobedience had caused in Vayrin, and he’d let that worry shape how he saw what was being reported in Tond.

Yomil had pushed for a charge of treason, carefully arguing that Var couldn’t see the situation clearly when they were talking about his own brother. Var hadn’t been entirely convinced, but he hadn’t stood up for his brother, either.

No, he’d bound over Tor’s magic, thinking that would give them time to sort everything out.

Instead, he’d been responsible for his brother’s death.

If they were talking about unintended consequences of a terrible mistake, then Var had just made the worst one of all.

He’d lost an integral part of his family tonight—and he had to assume that the remaining members were still in danger.

Ferna was weeping over the sleeping baby, and Varex pulled both of them into his arms.

If Yomil couldn’t be trusted, there was no saying how many people in the castle might be working for him either deliberately or inadvertently.

“We’re going to leave,” Varex said suddenly.

Fernila looked up at him, surprised.

“We don’t know who we can trust. We need to go somewhere safe to regroup and get to the bottom of this.”

After a moment, she nodded. Her lips trembled. “Yes, we need… we need to protect the baby.”

He realized that Pamuna and Nawila were still in the room. But if they’d been in league with whoever was doing this, Cala would be dead, and he might have believed that Tor had been responsible.

“Not a word about this to anyone,” Var told them sternly. “We don’t know who we can trust.”

“No, Your Majesty,” they both murmured.

“We’ll leave immediately, quietly and unobtrusively. You will behave as though we’re still present. Buy us time to get away.”