. . . what was it?” An impressive touch, since Somhairle knew full well. “Ah, the Resistance.”
Laisrean waved a spoonful of herbed potatoes before pausing to eat it. “You know how Mother is. She sees spies and traitors everywhere. She has me chasing down little leads and putting in my time to show she values the Queensguard. It’s a sensitive subject, since the fall of House Ever-Loyal.”
Was it Inis’s imagination, or had Laisrean been looking straight at her when he said that last part? He’d turned her blood to shards of glass as easily as a sorcerer with his spells.
“Can’t say I get the opportunity to spend much time with any of her sorcerers, though.” Laisrean’s attention was back on Somhairle. “How’d you meet Morien the Last? The man’s always busy.”
“I’ve had his unique company at Ever-Bright Manor for weeks now.” Inis had to admire how smoothly Somhairle could insult someone while stirring a bowl of soup, waiting for the broth to cool.
“Hm. And he invited you back to court with him, did he? Think it has something to do with Her Majesty? Nice surprise for Mother, that sort of thing? Or because she asked him to bring you?”
“I’d never presume to know her thoughts.”
“Haven’t seen her lately?”
“Only her reflection in mirrorcraft. Gifts come from the castle, but of course she doesn’t have time to visit. I’m not here to take over your job, if you’re worried about that. I couldn’t do it. Roaming about with the guards, talking to them man-to-man . . . I doubt they’d be convinced.”
Laisrean tore into a hunk of buttered bread with a snort. Inis rearranged the vegetables on her plate. Her appetite had departed for good when she again saw the leather cords around Laisrean’s thick wrist, on display after he’d rolled up his sleeves to eat. She had to keep from staring at them and willing them to burst into flames on Laisrean’s arm. Instead, she stabbed a carrot, sliced it in half, and went in search of something else to dismember.
“—carrot ever do to you?” Laisrean was asking.
“My apologies,” Inis murmured. “I’ve never been in such royal company. Is it impolite to eat in front of people one wishes to impress?”
Laisrean laughed. “She’s fascinating, Somhairle. Where’d you find her?”
Somhairle didn’t have to come up with another quick lie. Three fluttered her wings and knocked over his glass. It landed in Inis’s lap, wine spattered like fresh blood on the pale silk.
Inis leaped to her feet amid a flurry of Somhairle’s apologies. Laisrean lunged across the table with a handful of cloth napkins, while Three took off and flew in circles overhead. Somhairle’s attention shifted to his owl and his expression barely changed. Inis was too busy mopping the red stains off her skirts to notice Somhairle snatching the blindfold from her pocket, until he’d pressed it to her chest.
He must have heard something from Three. But what?
Inis reached behind herself to finish the deed. She tied the knot without hesitation.
Laisrean froze when he saw the blindfold. Not another napkin to sop up the damage, and he knew it instantly. His face changed. Inis recognized his new expression before he managed to cover it, almost immediately, with perfect courtly training.
It was fear.
But why would a loyal prince be frightened of a sorcerer’s blindfold?
“Little brother. Where’d you get that?” Laisrean asked.
“You.” Somhairle’s cheeks were flushed and feverish. “You’re a—”
He didn’t get the chance to finish. Laisrean clapped a big hand over Somhairle’s mouth, moving with unexpected speed for someone so big. There was grace, agility, muscle under his weight.
Shh, he mouthed. Inis realized he’d angled them so he was between Somhairle and the mirror over the fireplace. As though he didn’t want them to be seen. As though someone were watching through the glass.
“Little brother!” Laisrean spoke loudly. “Why, you’re choking! Shouldn’t try to talk with a full mouth! What manners are they teaching you out there in Ever-Land? Come, let me take care of you!” He hauled Somhairle along, remained between Inis and the mirror, indicated with his eyes that she should follow him.
His body shielding her, she went with him into the next room, where the only mirror in sight was covered with a red cloth.
A red cloth exactly like the one Inis still clutched to her chest.
Laisrean kicked the door shut behind them and released Somhairle gently, setting him on the edge of the bed.
This was Laisrean’s bedroom.
“Sorry for the manhandling,” he said, very quietly. “Couldn’t let you say what