Harbor (On the Wind #3)

39. Orestes

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

ORESTES

I walked into the room, expecting to have to fend off Tybalt a little more, and make him focus on eating instead of my cock.

Instead, I found the door locked.

Penelope slid the door open far enough to assure herself that it was me, even though I’d spoken through the door and I thought my voice rather distinctive, particularly here in Urial. Then as soon as she had let me in, she closed the door behind me and locked it once more. She’d been skittish before, when we’d met, but this was worse. This wasn’t a woman who’d been through the trauma of losing a husband worrying in an understandable way. This was a woman reacting to a clear and current threat.

Across the room, Olive was climbing into bed next to Tybalt. He looked confused, and even more confused when she slid right up next to him and wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t pull away, though, which seemed like a good sign to me. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her back and held her against him. The more people he knew cared about him, the better.

I held the tray out to Penelope and turned back to the door. There was a vanity next to it, so I shrugged and slid the thing over in front of the door, turning back to her and raising a brow.

Somehow, it wasn’t reassuring that she seemed to appreciate the added layer of protection.

“What is going on?” Tybalt asked, soothing a hand down Olive’s back like he did it every day. “Is someone trying to hurt you? Hurt Olive?”

I took the tray back from Penelope and went to the bed, setting it on the table nearby and climbing up to join Tybalt and Olive there. Immediately, Olive squeezed herself into the middle, right between us. Tybalt started to pout, but then looked down at her, and I could see the precise moment his heart melted at the sight of the nervous child. So instead of insisting he had to be the one to sit next to me, he moved in closer and pulled Olive into his lap.

Then he looked over at the tray of food I’d brought, and perked up a little. “Is that pie? Give me that.” He held out one hand in a grabby motion, and I didn’t even bother to deny him. Maybe he should eat the soup first, but this was the first time he’d demanded food since we’d gotten back to the castle, so I was taking advantage where I could. Once I’d handed him the plate with the pie on it, he snatched up the fork and, after glancing down at Olive, who was also looking at the pie speculatively, offered her the first bite.

Unlovable. Right.

As she was chewing, he turned to look up at Penelope again. “What’s going on?”

She’d started pacing the room, back and forth from balcony doors to blocked exit, but she paused to turn and look at him. “I think... I think my family is trying to kill you.”

Tybalt blinked, staring at her.

“You think the man lying in wait in the mountains was working for your family?” I prompted, since that seemed the obvious answer.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “My brother—he had a manservant who used to follow him around. Dark hair. Dark eyes. So tall”—she held up a hand to indicate someone a bit taller than herself—“and a mark on his cheek, here.”

Tybalt took his own bite of pie, thoughtfully, nodding. “That could describe the man Orestes killed in the mountains, who was trying to kill me. You think your family sent him?”

After seeing the way Penelope’s brother had acted toward Olive, I wasn’t terribly surprised that he was a villain. Tybalt, on the other hand, seemed quite surprised at the idea.

Probably because he’d assumed the person attempting to kill him was his own father.

“I’m almost certain of it. He’d been saying the man was off on an errand while you were missing, and now he’s looking for someone to replace him. So he must be dead, right? And the errand was killing you, but Lord Orestes stopped him.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. I wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but next to me, Tybalt was almost wrapped around himself and Olive. And worse, Olive was trembling. She refused another bite of the pie and turned to shove her whole body into Tybalt and me. Like she could hide herself inside of us.

Penelope finally came to us, collapsing into an elegant sprawl on the end of the bed and staring at Tybalt with a look of tragic misery. “I went to your father. I thought... I thought it important to let him know. To know what kind of monsters he’s attached himself to. So that he could protect you from them. Gods, to shove my brother and father in cells in the dungeons, if that was what it took to make things right.”

Tybalt took another bite of the pie, looking as casual as though she’d told him the castle was all out of tea. He nodded as he chewed and swallowed, then reached out to pat her hand. “And he said he didn’t much care?”

She blinked at him, staring with wide, shocked blue eyes. “He... he did. How did you know?”

Tybalt’s smile was one of those dark things he did sometimes that made me worry for him. Then he spread the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Olive, motioning to himself. “Because I’m me. I know my father. I know the esteem in which he holds me. He wouldn’t weep if I died. Hells, if he could impregnate you, he’d probably throw a party for my death.”

She blinked, staring at him for a moment, then her face closed down. Hardened, even. “If that’s what he thinks is going to come out of this, then he’s going to find himself quite disappointed.”

Tybalt cocked his head, confused.

“Ladies have herbal concoctions in Nemeda that keep them from getting with child until they wish to. I assume you have the same here?” I asked her.

Her answering smile was small, but very pleased. “We do not. However, I have always been friendly with Lady Montague, who knows many Nemedans and has told me the stories over the years. She just sent me a shipment of... tea, from Nemeda.”

Tea.

I snorted.

Tybalt stared at her as though she’d just revealed the secrets of the universe. “But you... you don’t want to bear the next king of Urial?”

The face she made said it all. “Do I want to bear the child of a man who told me he doesn’t care if his already existing son lives or dies? What do you think?”

Tybalt, clearly, did not know what to think. He was adorable that way, and when he finished his pie, his confusion made it easy to slide a bowl of soup into his hands, and urge him to keep eating.