My God, they don’t know who he is! Niya realized, shocked. Not knowing Arlen Thorne . . . to a denizen of the Gut, it would be like not knowing Lucifer himself. Thorne listened politely as Elyssa spoke, and Niya wondered that no one could see the contempt in his eyes, the sneer that hid just beneath the curve of his mouth. Or did her own mind do that?
“Vermin in the Keep,” Mace murmured beside her. “Just as I always heard.”
She glanced sharply at him. “You know that man?”
“Yes, and so do you, because we grew up far, far from here. But the throne surrounds itself with like. It’s a weakness in the Guard.”
“You’re no guard,” Niya stated flatly.
“No, Mistress Niya. No more than you’re a lady’s maid.”
A man’s thick, bellowing laugh echoed over the gathering; Niya could feel its vibrations in the floor. Cardinal Bannon, his white robes billowing around him, seemed determined to drink the entire ocean of whiskey that Arla had laid in for the occasion. Niya watched the priest without expression, hiding the faceless, impersonal hate she always felt whenever she beheld a frock. Near Elyssa, one noble had set his plate on the ground, the crowd around him laughing as the trained dogs licked up the leavings, and Niya suddenly asked the Mace, “Do you know Poe?”
“No,” Mace replied, after a long pause. “I don’t know him.”
Niya knew that she should shut up, as a girl of her supposed background would never have had access to books. But it was too late; she was already speaking, bitterness flowing through her voice. “He speaks of just such a scene as we see here: excess within, misery without. Look at those tables: a glut of food, in a time of famine. Thus does the Queen reassure herself, and all of these other pit vipers, that the misery will remain without.”
“It will,” Mace replied, seeming not at all perturbed by her outburst. “Surely the Queen has enough food to last her until the end times.”
“And that makes it all right?”
“That’s not what I said.”
Niya waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t. They stood for some moments in silence, a silence that was strangely peaceable, until Mace asked, “Do you know that man? The one with the widow’s peak and the purple clothes?”
Following his gaze, Niya nodded. “Lord Tennant. What of him?”
“The tattoo on his hand. It interests me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s such an unfortunate choice. Clowns are meant to delight children.”
Niya blinked. The Blue Horizon knew about the clowns; they had already caught and slaughtered two of them in the Gut, and Tennant was next on the list. But how could Mace know that?
“Niya. You’re not drinking.”
Niya started; Elyssa had materialized beside her. Once upon a time they had been friends, but now Elyssa’s smile was only that of a party acquaintance, making small talk. The sight wounded Niya, but she had spent her life dissembling, and she did not let it show.
“Highness. Your present to your mother is a roaring success.”
Elyssa did not reply. Niya was aware of the guards subtly relocating, re-forming the circle around them, not coming too close in case Elyssa intended private conversation. But Elyssa merely stood there, clutching her champagne glass . . . too tightly, Niya thought. Elyssa’s knuckles stood out, anguished, white as bone.
“Highness? Are you all right?”
“How did I get here, Niya?” Elyssa asked, her low voice suffused with fright. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything!”
Niya turned to stare at her, and found Elyssa’s eyes wide and panicked, transparent as glass. Without thinking, Niya dropped her own champagne glass and took Elyssa’s arm, steadying her. She was suddenly aware that the Princess was close to collapse, that she was literally holding her up.
“What is it?” Niya demanded, keeping her voice low. “What has happened to you? Tell me!”
“She won’t let me,” Elyssa replied dully. “She says I belong to her, and she’s right.”
Her face sharpened, a terrible sight, her cheekbones arching into cruelty, her eyes growing cold. In that moment, Niya felt that evil itself stood beside her, and she twitched as a shudder worked its way up her spine. Thinking of her own words to the Fetch, long ago—One more palmist, more or less. What difference?—Niya felt her heart rend inside her chest.
“Ignore me,” Elyssa said, with a light laugh. “I’ve been talking nonsense, that’s all. Too much champagne.”
Niya glanced around, seeking the witch, sure that she must be nearby. She