“I, uh—” I begin, foundering.
“She likes to keep her own counsel on the Council,” Baphen says with a sly look.
As though it’s my fault none of them listens to me.
Randalin glowers. “You never explained how you learned any of this.”
“If you’re asking whether I have secrets, I could easily ask the same of you,” I remind him. “Previously, you weren’t interested in any of mine.”
“Prince of the land, prince under the waves,” says Fala. “Prince of prisons, prince of knaves.”
“Balekin’s no strategist,” Madoc says, which is as close to admitting he was behind Eldred’s execution as he’s ever done. “He’s ambitious, though. And proud.”
“Spurn the Sea once, we will have your blood,” says Cardan. “That’s Oak, I imagine.”
Madoc and I share a swift look. The one thing we agree on is that Oak will be kept safe. I am glad he’s far from here, inland, with both spies and knights looking out for him. But if Cardan is correct about what the line means, I wonder if he will need even more protection than that.
“If the Undersea is planning to steal Oak, then perhaps they promised Balekin the crown,” says Mikkel. “Safer for there to be only two in the bloodline, when one is needed to crown the other. Three is superfluous. Three is dangerous.”
Which is a roundabout way of saying somebody should kill Balekin before he tries to assassinate Cardan.
I wouldn’t mind seeing Balekin dead, either, but Cardan has been stubbornly against the execution of his brother. I think of the words he said to me in the Court of Shadows: I may be rotten, but my one virtue is that I’m not a killer.
“I will take that under advisement, advisors,” says Cardan. “Now, I wish to speak with Nicasia.”
“But we still haven’t decided…” Randalin says, trailing off when he sees the scorching glare Cardan levels at him.
“Jude, go fetch her,” says the High King of Elfhame. Another order.
I get up, grinding my teeth, and go to the door. The Ghost is waiting for me. “Where’s Nicasia?” I ask.
It turns out that she’s been put in my rooms, with the Roach. Her dove-gray dress is arranged on my divan as though she’s posing for a painting. I wonder if the reason she rushed off was so she could change clothing for this audience.
“Look what the wind blew in,” she says when she sees me.
“The High King requires your presence,” I tell her.
She gives me a strange smile and rises. “If only that were true.”