Chapter Thirteen
THIRTEEN
Aoife waits in the hall, along with Talon.
The two of them make a strange pair—Aoife with her bright softness, and Talon still wary and trying to keep their distance from her. Their brown eyes widen, sweeping over me. “You clean up well,” Talon murmurs.
I arch a brow. “High praise.”
Aoife preens over the braids woven into my dark hair, the unbraided lengths hanging loose down my back. “I told you the baths would be better than a bucket and lye soap.” Her eyes widen, sweeping over my gown. “No crimson?”
“Didn’t fit quite right,” I lie.
Aoife frowns, then nods. “Black is still smart. It’s good to show loyalty right from the beginning.”
Talon’s eyes find mine, and they hide a smile behind one hand.
Loyalty isn’t what Wolf is aiming for here, I’m damn sure.
Still, I offer the girl a small, false smile. “Thank you for your help.”
Fully trusting Aoife isn’t an option. It would mean putting not just my life but Finn’s in someone else’s hands, and that’s a risk I can’t accept. But if the noble daughters are drawing up alliances, I could use an ally too.
Talon’s voice hardens before Aoife can respond. “Let’s go.”
Each twist and turn takes me deeper into the castle. The hairs down the back of my neck prickle with each step. Old Ones, what will the High King actually look like—be like—in person? I can’t help but wonder if the cruelty and savagery so evident inside him will match the man on the outside.
I don’t know anyone in Quayside who’s ever seen him, this man who haunts every aspect of our lives—who terrorizes us, a tyrant in every sense of the word.
The slippers pinch my toes. They were left along with the dress, so I have to assume Wolf guessed the size of my feet wrong and is to blame for the blister already swelling at my heel.
But the dress moves like liquid against my skin, soft as a caress, and a small flicker of wonder lights in me.
I always loved dresses, but ever since the uprising, they were too much of a risk in Quayside.
Too hard to run in. Too easy to drown in if I ever had to jump into the water. Not to mention, the muck and mud of the streets would turn the hem to filth in less than an hour.
But here… the skirt swishes over polished stone, a velvet whisper in the torchlight.
I don’t just feel strong.
I feel brave, too.
Invincible.
Talon stays at my side, as close as a shadow.
With every step, we get closer to the center of power on Eireann, to the start of the Assay.
I can tell. The courtiers milling in the corridors and alcoves glitter with every gem imaginable; heavy silver bangles jangle from their noble wrists, and piles of heavy golden chains loop around their necks.
I keep my chin high with every step toward soaring doors of polished wood set with rubies and onyx before us.
The way the other nobles glare not just at me but at Aoife, a few steps ahead, sets my teeth on edge. I know I can’t trust her, but I might understand her; the deep ache of loneliness can pierce a soul even in the most crowded of rooms.
“Are you okay?” I find myself asking softly.
The unmistakable flush of shame rises in Aoife’s cheeks, and I immediately regret my words. She keeps her eyes stubbornly ahead on the door in front of us and raises one hand to rap on the carved wood. “I’m fine,” she murmurs.
Talon’s elbow finds my side, a warning look tightening their expression.
The door swings wide open then, and even though I know I’m ready, my stomach jumps.
The hall beyond glows with candlelight and what has to be a hundred different mirrors of all sizes and shapes over all the walls.
So, I see when every eye in the room narrows on me.
I’ve never had the misfortune of being dropped into the middle of a viper’s nest, but I have to imagine it feels a little like this—hissing whispers, and eyes piercing all over my skin.
The space practically rattles with poisonous menace, and as Aoife steps back to linger at the edges of the room, away from the crowds, there’s no mistaking the target of the nobles’ loathing.
Every person here wants me dead.
Will any of them try to kill me tonight?
My fingers itch to stroke the length of the blade in my gaunt-let sheath.
“Having second thoughts yet?” The faint clang of the sword at Talon’s side—and knowing them, probably a dozen other hidden weapons—eases some of my tension.
“It’s cute you think they’re only second thoughts.”
Talon snorts, but I don’t miss the way their eyes sweep over every person aiming a glare my way. Which is… almost everyone in the room.
“Well, I can’t make any guarantees, but I will try my best to keep you alive.” The steady warmth of them at my side is a comfort, even though I know it shouldn’t be. They’re here as Wolf’s spy as much as my guard.
I arch a brow. “Don’t tell me you’d actually be sad if someone slit my throat.”
“Sad?” Talon shakes their head, copper hair catching in candle light. “Not necessarily. In a lot more trouble with a certain someone than I feel like dealing with tonight?” They chuckle, and lean in to whisper, “Most definitely.”
I snort and look out into the large room, deciding where to go first. Light dances off precious glass, making everything glimmer and shine with the flicker of the candles dancing in the dark.
Whispers rise up from intimate clusters of girls and women all around the mirrored room.
Everyone is watching me, but their eyes are especially sharp.
Terrifyingly, but also unsurprisingly, more than a few daggers hang openly at the waists and arm sheaths worn by the girls and women around my age.
My competition in this fight to be the only one who survives.
I move toward a low table laid out with white ceramic jugs and little stoneware cups. Dark red liquid glints in the first one I pick up, and I bring the small cup to my lips.
Wine. It tastes full but dry, bursting with the taste of tart berries. Delicious warmth slips down my throat with the first swallow.
I turn to look up at Talon where they follow close behind.
“Do you really expect me to believe you’d be in trouble if anything happened to me?
” I murmur. I take another sip and move to put my back to the wall so no one can sneak up behind us.
I can watch everything from here, at least for a while.
I glance up at Talon again. “Because I think he’d be more likely to celebrate, as long as I do what he brought me here for first.”
Every single thing Wolf does only puts me in more danger.
And being any kind of distraction to the prince is out of the question. Just because he didn’t kill me in that rose garden doesn’t mean I’ll risk giving him another chance to get close enough to run me through with that heavy broadsword of his.
Talon glances over one shoulder, alert to every corner of the room. A heavy red curtain hangs at the far end, as if it’s waiting to be swept back for us to walk through into whatever lies beyond.
No one comes near us, not even Aoife from where she lingers on the other side of the room. But the clear revulsion is plain on every face.
“You don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Talon murmurs.
“I don’t know him at all,” I bite back under my breath, gulping down another mouthful of wine.
The burn helps, a little bit. “What’s he off doing while I risk my neck for him, hmm?
” I poke a finger at Talon’s chest, wine loosening my tongue.
“Drinking in the pleasure houses? Enjoying his evenings without someone coming for his life?”
“Oh, there’s been more than enough attempts on his life, believe me.” Talon’s gaze moves around the room, hesitating before adding, “Including from some of the people here in this very room.”
That draws me up short.
“Is that so?” I lean in closer. It’s time to test a theory. “Would those attempts have anything to do with the attacks on the grain?”
I swear, if the rebels are burning grain and risking a famine…
I’ll stick a knife in Wolf myself before I let them hurt our people.
Talon lets out a breath. “How do you know—?”
“The nobles are making deals. You know that, right?” I look up at them. “Alliances to make sure their estates get whatever’s left of the grain.”
None of those deals will save grain for the rest of us if real famine comes.
“You already have an alliance,” Talon grinds out. “And a sister who’s still alive.”
“We have an arrangement, not an alliance. Don’t act like you don’t know the difference.”
Alliances save lives.
Arrangements… don’t.
Talon’s eyes flash. “Don’t act like you didn’t know what could happen when you came to us.”
My spine stiffens. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” A taunting arch lifts their brow.
“You think I want to be here?”
“I think you wanted your sister alive, no matter the cost.” Talon doesn’t flinch from the daggers in my stare. “I get that. Really, I do. But guess what? This is the price. Buck up and pay it.”
I swallow down the bitter burn of Talon’s words, frustration simmering in my bones as I grab another cup of wine.
“The least he could do is give me some fucking information.” The words come out hard, but I keep my voice low.
The Whisperers must have a plan beyond killing the High King—if they want me here as a distraction for the prince, is it because they want to put him on the throne instead of his father?
Whatever they’re planning, they’ll want to make sure the mages can return and bring magic with them.
But would that mean another drawn-out uprising, or a quick coup?
Do the Whisperers think the Martyr would ever come back? Do they even know for sure if she’s still alive, after twenty years of exile and no word about where she went?