Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(22)
“Okay, okay!” he called out. “I’ll tell you what I know. Just leave my boots alone.”
I turned back around to him and crossed my arms over my chest. “Talk fast, Felton. I have a kingdom to run.”
His lips puckered like he wasn’t going to answer me, so I pointedly dropped my gaze to his boots. Felton sighed and gave in.
“Whoever attacked you was probably a member of the Bastard Brigade,” he said. “That’s what the bastard offspring of the Mortan royals call themselves, according to Maeven.”
“How many of them are there?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I would guess at least a few dozen, maybe more. All of varying ages, from children to elderly adults. Most of them have some sort of power, but the majority are magiers, able to summon lightning, snow, wind, fire, and the like. There are even a few mind magiers. Maeven is their leader, since she’s the strongest in her magic.”
I frowned. “Wait a second. There aren’t that many Mortan royals. The king and his children, and only a few others. But you’re telling me that there are dozens and dozens of royal bastards?”
Felton shrugged again. “According to Maeven, the Mortan royals purposefully have only one or two legitimate children, so that the line of succession is always crystal clear.”
Serilda snorted. “And then they have as many bastard children as they can to do their dirty work.”
From what I’d learned over the past few months, the Mortan royal bastards worked in kingdoms all across this continent and the ones beyond, spying, thieving, and carrying out assassinations and other deadly plots. That way, if the bastards were ever caught, then the Mortan king could deny knowing what they had been up to. A clever if cruel scheme.
“The Mortan royals think that there is strength in numbers,” Felton said. “At least among the bastards.”
“But not among the legitimate children,” Serilda said, continuing his train of thought. “Legitimate offspring are just more competition for the throne.”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s how the Mortans see it.”
“And the bastards aren’t equal to the legitimate royals,” I murmured, thinking of my earlier conversation with Sullivan. “Not in the ways that truly matter. Still, Maeven doesn’t strike me as the type to bow and scrape to anyone, not even her own king.”
“The king is her older brother,” Felton said. “Apparently, the two of them were raised together and get along well enough. Or are at least united enough in their greed, ambition, and hatred of Bellona to work together to destroy it, to destroy you. Make no mistake, Everleigh. Today’s assassin is just one of dozens in the Bastard Brigade dedicated to conquering this continent for Morta. They don’t care who they have to work with, or what they have to promise that person, or how long it takes to turn someone to their side. And they especially don’t care who they have to hurt and kill in order to achieve their goal.”
“I wonder how Maeven feels about doing her brother’s bidding,” I murmured. “How she feels about being so far from home for months at a time and risking her life while the king sits safe and secure on his throne in Morta.”
“Who the fuck cares about Maeven’s feelings?” Felton sneered. “She’s just another bastard, and the king will use her until she’s dead, just like the Mortans have been doing for generations.”
My mind churned, thinking about everything I knew about Maeven. Despite my hatred of her, I had to admit that she was smart, cunning, sly, patient, and exceptionally strong in her magic. I had never met the Mortan king, but he couldn’t be that much more powerful than she was with her lightning. Maeven could have easily been queen of Morta herself.
Perhaps she would be one day.
Maybe it was my earlier talk with Sullivan, but a thought occurred to me about bastards and royals and this whole situation. The more I turned over the idea in my mind, the more threads I could see to it—threads that just might grow strong enough someday to strangle the Mortan king.
“What are you smiling about?” Felton muttered.
“Just a game I might be able to play,” I murmured.
He frowned, as did Serilda, but I didn’t explain my cryptic words. The thought was still too new and fragile to give voice to it yet. Besides, I had no way to actually implement my idea.
“What about Nox?” Serilda asked. “Is he a bastard too?”
Felton shook his head. “No, Nox is a legitimate Mortan royal. One of the king’s nephews. Apparently, he wanted to prove himself to the king and to Maeven, so that’s why he came to Seven Spire and spent all those months fucking Vasilia and pretending to be her guard.”
“That’s it?” Serilda snapped when he fell silent. “That’s all you know about Maeven and the Mortans?”
Felton crossed his arms over his chest. “Unlike Vasilia, Maeven was never loose with her words, and she certainly wasn’t forthcoming with her grand plans. Even after Cordelia was dead, Maeven was very careful to keep up appearances, and she continued working as the kitchen steward right up until the day of Vasilia’s coronation.”
That sounded exactly like the Maeven I knew, always plotting, always scheming, and never, ever revealing what she was really up to until after you had blundered into her trap. It was a strength of hers, but I was starting to wonder if it could be a weakness too.