The Wicked King (The Folk of the Air #2) - Holly Black Page 0,42
was going to move against the land. Had we attended her, we might not now be scrambling for strategy.”
Randalin winces.
“That’s true enough,” says Nihuar, as though she is trying to think of a way to explain away this troubling sign of competence.
“Perhaps she will tell us what else she knows,” Madoc says.
Mikkel’s eyebrows rise.
“Is there more?” Baphen asks.
“Jude?” prompts Madoc.
I weigh my next words. “As I said, Orlagh has been communicating with Balekin. I don’t know what information he’s passed on to her, but the sea sends Folk to the land with gifts and messages for him.”
Cardan looks surprised and clearly unhappy. I realize that I neglected to tell him about Balekin and the Undersea, despite informing the Council. “Did you know about Nicasia as well?” he asks.
“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.”
Down the hall we go, knights watching her pass. She looks majestic and miserable at once, and when the huge doors to Cardan’s apartments open, she goes inside with her head high.
While I was gone, a servant brought in tea. It steeps in a pot at the center of a low table. A cup of it steams in the cage of Cardan’s slender fingers.
“Nicasia,” he drawls. “Your mother has sent a message for us both.”
She frowns, taking in the other councilors, the lack of an invitation to sit, and the lack of an offer to take tea. “This was her scheme, not mine.”
He leans forward, no longer sleepy or bored but every bit the terrifying faerie lord, empty-eyed and incalculably powerful. “Perhaps, but you knew she’d do it, I’ll wager. Do not play with me. We know each other too well for tricks.”
Nicasia looks down, eyelashes brushing her cheeks. “She desires a different kind of alliance.” Perhaps the Council might see her as meek and humbled, but I am not yet so foolish.
Cardan stands, hurling his teacup at the wall, where it shatters. “Tell the Queen of the Undersea that if she threatens me again, she will find her daughter my prisoner instead of my bride.”