The Reckless Reign (Book 3, The Culled Crown Series)

Chapter 62

The Needle's Edge.
Gazda, Erydia.
Friday morning.

We were split up, a goddess-touched girl per group. Nadia went with Cohen, Dellacov and Jaxon—who were all entering the palace to breech the armory. Heidi would be with the group coming into the palace later, after I set off our gown explosives. Despite the risk of me being recognized by palace staff, I would be going in with Birk, Em, and Mim to help set up the gowns for Leroux's tour.

Arden hadn't come back to see us, but he'd been passing messages and orders through Birk, Jaxon, and Dellacov. Dellacov had also been communicating directly with Darragh and getting orders from him. And—according to Dellacov—the King of Pellarmus didn't know I was in Erydia.

I'd been surprised to find out Dellacov hadn't given me away. "How does he think we're lighting the explosives if I'm not here?" I asked over breakfast Friday morning.

Dellacov shrugged. "I guess he thinks Birk is doing it."

I narrowed my eyes. "Why not tell him? I know you'd just love to snitch on me—"

He'd jabbed his fork in my direction. "I'm not going snitch because Uri wouldn't want me to."

Beside me, Cohen shifted a bit uncomfortably at the mention of his sister. I swallowed and poked absentmindedly at the scrambled eggs on my plate. They'd gone cold half an hour ago—back when I'd told Mim I wasn't hungry and she'd insisted I still try to eat. I pushed my plate away.

"Besides," Dellacov said, "I have orders not to tell him."

My brows rose at that. "Orders?"

He shrugged. "Yes, you heard me. I have orders."

"Orders from who?" Cohen asked.

Dellacov only took a sip of his coffee in response, ignoring the stares from Cohen and me. When he went to reach for his fork again, I pulled his plate away from him. His green eyes widened in annoyance and his face flushed nearly as red as his hair. "Don't—Good goddess, Monroe. Give it back."

I only pulled the plate closer to me, putting it out of his reach as I said, "Not until you tell me what's going on. Who told you not to tell Darragh I was here?"

He rolled his eyes. "Britta, clearly. I don't take my orders from Darragh. She has the final say in everything. She lets him think he's in charge so he won't pout."

"But why would Britta not want Darragh to know Monroe is here?" Nadia asked as she eased into the seat on Cohen's other side. Before I could react, she'd slid Dellacov's plate back towards him. He yanked it across the table with so much force, his piece of toast slipped off his plate and onto the floor.

He cursed and shot me a hateful glare. "Because," he said pointedly, "Darragh doesn't want you here. And Isla does."

"Damn, this is getting convoluted," Cohen joked.

"So, let me make sure I'm following along—Darragh doesn't know I'm here and you aren't telling him because Britta told you not to and she told you not to because Isla wants me here?"

He nodded. "More or less."

I frowned. "And why does Isla want me here?"

Dellacov rolled his eyes. "Why in all ten hells should I know?"

I shoved a finger in his direction—"Because you're the one who talks to Darragh and you're the one who isn't telling him."

"You can ask Isla yourself." Cohen said, "She'll be in with our group. I'm sure you'll run into her after we've finished with the armory."