Dark Haven by Gail Z. Martin Page A

before him, his head down, eyes averted. “On the night my father was murdered, you ran for the castle, hoping to save the rest of my family.
    Without your service, I wouldn’t have escaped, or survived to take back the throne.” Tris reached down and folded his hands over Harrtuck’s hands around his proffered sword. “Your men acted quickly and bravely. They stopped the assassin.”
    “It would have been nice to find out who sent him,” Tarq muttered.
    Tris looked at the general with narrowed eyes. “I summoned the assassin’s spirit. Surely Soterius told you.”
    “My mistake.”
    Tris returned his attention to Harrtuck. “I won’t accept your offer. There’s no one I trust more or who’s better suited to the task.” He managed a thin smile. “Now please, take back your sword and let’s get down to business.”
    Harrtuck met his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured as he belted on his sword and returned to his seat. Soterius had calmed, although his eyes flashed. Tris imagined they would discuss the issue at length in private. Senne and Palinn looked relieved. Tarq and Rallan revealed nothing. Tris guessed that the conversation immediately prior to his entry had involved finger‐pointing and blame around the assassination attempt.
    Tris made little attempt to hide his annoyance. “It’s impossible to keep a king completely safe without locking him up in his own tower,” he said. “If there’s anyone at this table who’s better 84

    acquainted with every weak point of this castle than Ban, Tov, and myself, I’d like to know it. To my knowledge, we’re the only ones here who have ever tried to infiltrate Shekerishet and kill the king.” Putting their efforts to overthrow Jared and reclaim the throne in those terms brought a glimmer of amusement to Soterius’s eyes, and even lightened Harrtuck’s mood.
    “Point taken, Sire,” said Rallan. “But the fact remains that this assassin was hired by someone with Trevath gold.”
    “Curane is less than a day’s ride to the Trevath border,” added Tarq.
    “If you were going to hire an assassin, wouldn’t it be nice to throw off the scent by casting blame on the player everyone wants to suspect?” Senne countered. Senne was the age of Tris’s father, and had been a close friend of the late king. Bricen had spoken well of Senne. He had deserted with his troops when Jared seized the throne, eluding the manhunts and using a small band of deserters to harry Jared’s troops throughout the mountain passes of central Margolan, eventually joining’ his efforts with the insurrection Soterius and Mikhail had raised.
    Palinn, too, had paid a price for his‐loyalty to King Bricen. He and his troops had also deserted.
    But their hiding place had been betrayed, and Palinn lived to see his troops, his lands, and his family destroyed by Jared’s decree. He survived six months in Jared’s dungeons. A thin red scar around his throat and a gravelly voice were reminders of a garroting and hinted at what he had endured. His hair, previously a sable black, had turned white as snow. His eyes, in unguarded moments, revealed glimpses of what he would not discuss.
    “Trevath has meddled in Margolan’s affairs before,” responded Tarq.
    Tarq, Tris thought with distaste, had fled into south Isencroft, where he had waited out the remainder of the war. Rallan had sought refuge with a noble family in northern Margolan.
    Neither had played any role in overthrowing Jared. Only a lack of other qualified candidates for the roles had convinced Tris to keep the two men in their positions.
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    “We can’t win a war against Trevath right now, not with the army in its present condition,”
    replied Palinn. “We can’t fight both Trevath and Curane’s men. Maybe Curane did receive assistance from Trevath. And maybe Curane wants to lead us into a war he knows we can’t win, so he can sit back and claim the spoils.”
    “The fact remains—” Rallan began.
    “We have no