Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(61)

Quincy nods and approaches us. “Roselle Sword, Secondborn Commander requests the pleasure of your company for lunch at her residence today at noon.”

Since my father’s funeral, I’ve been spending more and more time with Balmora. She’s kind and easy to talk to, even when she’s painting the same landscape over and over. It’s borderline obsessive-compulsive, but I try not to judge. I do a lot of things most people would find insane, just to keep my panic at bay. Her paintings don’t hurt anyone.

“Tell her I’ll be there at noon,” I reply, “but I can only stay a short time. I have an appointment with the Firstborn Commander this afternoon.”

“Very good.” Quincy sighs with relief and walks away.

“You shouldn’t grow attached to her,” Reykin says.

Heaviness settle on my chest as I climb out of the pool. “I could say the same to you about Grisholm.”

“Don’t be late for our appointment,” Grisholm calls to me as I leave.



Balmora is in her private drawing room when I arrive. Inside the lofty, round tower room, scores of paintings of the same seascape, her secondborn Sea Fortress, hang everywhere: big murals on the walls, small miniatures on the tables.

The moment she looks at me, I know there’s something terribly wrong.

“Everyone leave us!” she bellows in a fine rendition of her father, The Virtue. Her attendants scurry away, closing the doors behind them. The death drones remain hovering near the doors. So do my Virtue stingers.

Balmora opens her palm, revealing a whisper orb. She clicks the device, and an iridescent bubble forms around us. The hovering machines seem not to notice. She motions for me to come closer. I do, and she pulls me into a hug. Her blond hair smells like sunshine.

“I need to ask you for something, but I’m afraid,” she whispers.

“What is it?” I whisper, too, though I know I don’t have to be quiet.

“Please tell me I wasn’t wrong—during the attack on your father’s funeral procession, you were afraid—afraid for Gabriel.”

I nod. “He’s not well, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get better.”

“Your brother needs help,” she insists, “and you’re the only one I can trust. I know where he is.”

“He’s in Swords, right?”

“No. He left Swords after your father’s funeral. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He’s in Virtues.”

My hands move to her upper arms. “He can’t be here. If your father finds out, he’s dead!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Her eyes narrow to slits. “I’m desperate to protect him from my father. I need you to find him for me and bring him here. I’ll hide him until we can figure out how to help him.”

“Why would you protect him?” I ask suspiciously. I know I’m not getting the whole picture here.

“Because we’re in love.” I stare at her, not sure if she’s being honest or delusional. “You don’t believe me?” she asks. “I’m not making it up.” She lifts a small gilt-frame miniature of her Sea Fortress and shoves it into my hand. “Look at that!”

“I’ve seen a hundred of them,” I say softly, trying not to provoke her.

“No, I mean really look at it!” she insists.

I stare at it, trying to see whatever it is in it that she wants me to see. My eyes blur. A gasp hitches my breath, and my heart begins to race. I turn the painting upside down. The negative space forms a profile of Gabriel. The water is his face. The fortress is his neck and torso. My lips part. My head snaps up, and I glance at every landscape in the room. They reveal themselves to be portraits of my brother. Now that I see it, it’s as obvious as a six-fingered hand.

“He gave me this,” she says, pulling a necklace from beneath the fabric of her white sundress. A ring hangs from the golden chain. It’s one of Gabriel’s Sword-Fated rings, very old, small enough to fit on a child’s finger. “When Gabriel becomes The Sword, he’s going to change everything. He’s going to marry me. We’ve been planning it since we were children.” Her voice grows frayed and raw. Tears fill her eyes. “It’s always been Gabriel and me. Who do you think he visited when he came here? Grisholm? Fat chance!” Scorn twists her face. “It was me. He loves me.”

I hug her to me as she sobs. “Shh . . . I believe you.”

She sniffles. “You do?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do?”

“My father isn’t the only one with spies, Roselle. I’ve been able to locate Gabriel, but no one is willing to bring your brother here.”

“Why not?”

“It would be treason. My father will kill them if he finds out.”

“Where is he, Balmora?”

“You’ll get him and bring him here?” Her eyes are both pleading and suspicious.

“Will he come with me?” I ask. “The last time I saw him, he was certain that I wanted him dead.”

“Make him come with you,” she replies desperately.

“Where is he, Balmora?” I ask again.

Pure fear shows in her eyes. She wants to tell me, but she’s terrified of what I’ll do with the information. This is her battle. I can’t fight it, so I wait silently. Desperation wins out.