Sample: A Stolen Crown (Stolen Royals #2)

Chapter 7: The Truth About Tom

           

Rory dragged her feet through the tour, lingering at the back of the procession as Ephraim escorted them through the palace. While the artwork, often formed by colorful stones set in the wall itself, was exquisite beyond anything she'd ever seen, once she'd seen a few rooms, she'd seen them all.

"Bored yet?" Gene asked, standing at her side as Cecily's guard. Lieutenant Wren walked in front, closest to Cecily and Ephraim.

"Yet? Try 'still.'" Rory gestured at the mural of a jaguar on the wall of the room they'd just entered. "This is the third reclining area we've seen. For a culture priding itself on hard work, they recline a lot."

"That's because it's too hot in the mid-afternoon to do anything else." Rory and Gene turned to see Tom shove off the wall to their left, joining them. "During the suerza, we rest. Then it's back to work."

"What is it you do for work?" Gene asked with a friendly smile.

"I have the unfortunate pleasure of doing whatever the palace asks of my magic. Penance for my crimes."

"I thought the only punishment in Myrzel was death," Rory joked to Gene, and both snickered.

"It's true that we have harsh punishments for certain crimes." Tom pushed his shaggy curls out of his face, unperturbed by their laughter. "I often find we are too harsh on those we should be helping and too lenient on others. A noble, for instance, would be more likely to go unpunished for murder than a peasant would befor stealing bread to feed his children." He shook his head. "A broken system."

"One you seem to be benefiting from," Rory said with a snort. "Whatever your crime was, Sir Vera, it seems your status has kept you from real punishment."

"Depends on what makes you miserable," Tom countered. "I've only been using my magic for three years, and in those three years, I've done only what was asked of me. Nothing more. Nothing less. But yes, my father's rank did keep me from facing the charge I deserved, Lady Rory."

"Don't call me that," Rory said without thinking.

Tom's eyes widened, and he dipped into a shallow bow. "My apologies, Lady Castile. I didn't mean to offend."

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I meant you shouldn't call me—" She felt the pressure of Gene's hand against the small of her back. "Forgive me," she said, forcing her ladylike training back into place. "I am ill-used to the, um, title, in the common tongue. It's—" another sharp squeeze from Gene—"strange. It sounded strange."

At a loss for words, Tom's glance shifted to Gene's hand on Rory's back, and Gene removed it. "I see. You ha—"

"Habrene!"

Tom jerked around at the greeting, a grin spreading across his comely face. "Habrene!"

Ephraim pulled Tom in for a hug, keeping one arm around Tom's shoulders once they parted. "You have met our lovely visitors?"

"I had the pleasure of escorting them into the city," Tom said, dipping his head toward Cecily, Muriel, and Doreen—Gayla had returned to the infirmary after seeing a spider in her room and fainting again. "Good to see you all again."

Rory's mouth dropped open as she stared at the pair of them. Ephraim's hair, though shorter, possessed the same lazy curl. Dark eyes were common in Myrzel, but the tiny flecks of gold in each man's gaze were unique.  Even in height, Ephraim only stood about an inch or two above Tom, though Tom's jaw squared where Ephraim's rounded.

"You're brothers," Gene said, catching on at the same time.

"Of course," Ephraim said, glancing at Tom. "You didn't tell them?" Tom responded too quietly for them to hear. Ephraim shook his head. "We're half brothers, but he gets a bit shy about his mother. Come, Tom. Help me show these ladies the best of Chak Pixan."