A Brother's Price

dead. With Jerin’s background, perhaps it will be wise to educate them.”
    Let the tarnished truth be known . Ren nodded, feeling guilty for agreeing. It seemed a betrayal to let the world know how badly Eldest had chosen their first husband. Surely she had chosen more wisely than her older sister, or was she just as blinded by love? No, Mother Elder agreed that Jerin was a better man. But if Ren questioned her own judgment, then there could be no doubt that others would question it too.
    It would be a delicate path to walk.
     
    Later that night, Ren realized that she had forgotten about the bolt-hole. She was so used to Raven handling security issues that the secret hiding space and passage out of the palace had slipped her mind. The husbands’ quarters, however, were off-limits to the entire palace staff, Raven included. It was up to Ren, as Eldest wife, to make sure the passage was clear, the doors worked, and that Jerin and her adult sisters knew all its finer points.
    If by showing Jerin his secret escape route, she also received some late-night cuddling, then all the better. She stripped off her shirt, did a sketchy sponge bath, changed into a clean shirt, and tried for a casual stroll down the hall to the husbands’ quarters. The door guard came to attention as she walked up, but kept their faces carefully emotionless as she nodded to them and rapped on the door.
    The second rap got a “Who is it?” muffled by the iron-reinforced door.
    “It’s Rennsellaer, Jerin. Let me in.”
    With various clicks and clangs, the door was unlocked and Jerin cracked it open to peer at her, his eyes stunningly blue.
    “Should you be here?” he asked.
    “Yes.” She slipped into the room and locked the door behind her.
    “I need to show you the bolt-hole. I didn’t show you while the little ones were here this afternoon; they don’t know not to talk about such things. When they’re older, we’ll tell them.”
    He smiled shyly. “I like the sound of ‘we.’ ”
    So did she. He wore a sheer nightshirt, a deep blue that caught the color of his eyes, the silky fabric warm with his heat. After several minutes of bliss she managed to restrain herself and lead him to the dressing room.
    “It’s in here so that both bedrooms have access to it,” she explained.
    “I didn’t notice the smaller bedroom this afternoon. It surprised me when I found it tonight. Was it Keif-er’s room?”
    “While Papa was alive. Keifer moved into the larger bedroom after Papa was killed.”
    She saw his curiosity and his reluctance to ask. Because it seemed unfair to keep him ignorant of what even the baby sisters knew, because his reluctance reflected his hesitancy to hurt her, because she loved him, she opened herself to the pain that talking about her father’s death always brought. “Papa was poisoned about six months before the explosion. It was a beautiful summer day, and we decided to take carriages out into the country for a picnic.” Keifer decided, and they were already learning it was easier to give in than to fight with him. Easier. Deadlier. “Papa was barely thirty-five at the time. The five youngest were learning to walk, and he was so happy. Later than night, when Mother Elder came to him for services, he was vomiting, dizzy, and weak. Within minutes, he collapsed into a coma and died. They say he died of arsenic poisoning—but we don’t know what the poison had been in.”
    “I’m sorry,” Jerin whispered, hugging her, wrapping her in his warm comfort.
    She held him, finding peace within his arms. “At the time, we were so bitter about his death that we never thought how lucky we were that he was the only one killed. The explosion at the theater taught us to count the small blessings.”
    They stood for a while, hugged close. Finally, she resolutely set him aside. He had to know how to keep himself safe. She showed him how the dressing room doors bolted. The locks were simple bolts, but disguised within elaborate woodcarvings to hide the function of the room.
    “Keep the doorways clear of clothing or chairs.” She recalled the instructions her sister had given her six years ago when she was judged old enough to know the family secrets. “You might want to keep the smaller bedroom’s door bolted at all times. This is the bolt-hole’s door here, behind this wood paneling, so you want to keep this clear too.” She showed him the catch hidden in the carved trim, and had him trigger it himself.
    The door