The Seelie representative purses her small insect-like mouth.
“The stars say that this is a time of great upheaval,” says Baphen. “I see a new monarch coming, but whether that’s a sign of Cardan deposed or Orlagh overturned or Nicasia made queen, I cannot say.”
“I have a plan,” says Madoc. “Oak will be here in Elfhame very soon. When Orlagh sends her people after him, I mean to catch her out.”
“No,” I say, surprising everyone into looking my way. “You’re not going to use Oak as bait.”
Madoc doesn’t seem particularly offended by my outburst. “It may seem that’s what I am doing—”
“Because you are.” I glare at him, remembering all the reasons I didn’t want Oak to be High King in the first place, with Madoc as his regent.
“If Orlagh plans to hunt Oak, then it’s better we know when she will strike than wait for her to move. And the best way to know is to engineer an opportunity.”
“How about removing opportunity instead?” I say.
Madoc shakes his head. “That’s nothing but the wishes Mikkel cautioned against. I’ve already written to Vivienne. They plan to arrive within the week.”
“Oak can’t come here,” I say. “It was bad enough before, but not now.”
“You think the mortal world is safe?” Madoc scoffs. “You think the Undersea cannot reach him there? Oak is my son, I am the Grand General of Elfhame, and I know my business. Make any arrangement you like for protecting him, but leave the rest to me. This is no time for an attack of nerves.”
I grind my teeth. “Nerves?”
He gives me a steady look. “It’s easy to put your own life on the line, isn’t it? To make peace with danger. But a strategist must sometimes risk others, even those we love.” He gives me a significant look, perhaps to remind me that I once poisoned him. “For the good of Elfhame.”
But I bite my tongue again. This is not a conversation that I am likely to get anywhere with in front of the entire Council. Especially since I’m not sure I’m right.
I need to find out more of the Undersea’s plans, and I need to do so quickly. If there’s any alternative to risking Oak, I mean to find it.
Randalin has more questions about the High King’s personal guard. Madoc wants the lower Courts to send more than their usual allotment of troops. Both Nihuar and Mikkel have objections. I let the words wash over me, trying to corral my thoughts.
As the meeting breaks up, a page comes up to me with two messages. One is from Vivi, delivered to the palace, asking me to come and bring her and Oak and Heather to Elfhame for Taryn’s wedding in a day’s time—sooner even than Madoc suggested. The second is from Cardan, summoning me to the throne room.
Cursing under my breath, I start to leave, then Randalin catches my sleeve.
“Jude,” he says. “Allow me to give you a word of advice.”
I wonder if I am about to be scolded.