his head and very gently ask her not to come back. The life she saw stretching in front of her may have been soft and privileged, as the Seneschal had said, but it was also bleak and lonely. By the time they shipped her off to a guild, she might not mind leaving.
Meanwhile, she wasn’t interested in lovers or courtiers, so she’d lost nothing. She didn’t know why she was so angry. Her boots were on her feet and her work gloves were stuffed in her pocket; she would go to the stables while she still could.
The most direct route was the Promenade, a paved path that wound through the most charming parts of the garden. Normally Judah avoided it but today she resented having to go out of her way. The day was sunny and not too cold, and courtiers were gathered into stinging nosegays at every fountain and bench. They knew how to angle their bodies in morning light and afternoon, where to stand to ensure the vistas behind them made the loveliest backdrops; they knew, to a one, which plants and shrubs would complement the colors they wore. For the courtiers, self-awareness was an art. If one watched—if, say, one was forced to attend a state dinner—one could observe each courtier cycling through the poses and angles they believed most flattering. A tilted head here, a bent shoulder there. Over and over.
Now, like paintings, the courtiers stood frozen and silent in each gallery she passed. Unlike paintings, they erupted into bursts of laughter and chatter as soon as she was out of sight, which only stoked the fire inside her. She knew the picture she made in Gavin’s old coat and Theron’s old boots and Elly’s old dress with the worn lines where the seams had been let out. Let them recoil. She was no business of theirs and they were no business of hers and it wouldn’t hurt their pretty little eyes to see something ugly now and again. She held her head up. She took her time.
As she passed the last of the galleries, someone fell into step next to her. It was the courtier from the Wilmerian dinner. Not dressed as grandly as he had been that night, maybe, but his boots still shone and his aquamarine coat had been perfectly brushed. He wore less kohl around his eyes, and hadn’t combed his hair quite as high, but he still wore the pea-sized diamonds in his ears. And his smell was the same. Lavender and something else, something sweet and cloying.
He bowed his head slightly without breaking pace. “Lady Judah.”
“Leave me alone.” She could be rude if she wanted. The Seneschal would approve of anything that drove him away.
“We met the other night, do you remember? That unfortunate incident with the Wilmerian.” His features assembled themselves into a reasonable facsimile of sorrow. “One must be careful around guildfolk. The old ones are calculating and craven, and the young ones—well, they leave the world very young, some of them. No real life experience to speak of.”
She didn’t answer. He bowed again. “Firo of Cerrington, lady. Most pleased to meet you again under more genial circumstances.”
“I’m not feeling genial,” she said, “and I’m not a lady.”
He raised his eyebrows, a sleek, practiced gesture. “Perhaps not. But Judah the Foundling makes it sound rather as if you’re here to do magic tricks, doesn’t it?”
“I might be. You never know.”
“Stories they tell to scare staff children,” he said dismissively. “Nobody of any caliber credits such talk. Believe me, if magic were real, every courtier in the House would be studying sorcery. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you on the Promenade before.”
“I try to avoid it.”
“Not unwise.” She was walking quickly, to convey that she wasn’t interested in a chat, but his long legs easily kept stride with her. “People talk about it as if it’s a loop, but it’s more of an—oh, an intricately beaded necklace, I suppose. Brilliantly designed. Lots of secret nooks one can duck into if one has the need. But of course secrecy works both ways; when you can’t be seen, you also can’t see. You never know who might be listening.” She felt his hand touch her elbow, gently steering her toward a shadowed lane that ran long and straight beneath an arbor bristling with ancient wisteria. “Now, this walk, as you can see, has no such nooks: the House on one side, the reflecting pool on the other, with the arbor