you to be afraid the way you’d frightened me.”
I jerk my fingers from his grip. “I have little time for you now, but I will make time for you anon.”
Taryn, dressed in a gorgeous panniered ball gown all robin’s egg blue, embroidered with delicate roses, and wearing a lacy mask over her eyes, sweeps up to us. “Make time for Locke? Whatever for?”
He raises his brows, then takes his wife’s hand. “Your twin is upset with me. She had a gift all planned out for you, but I was the one to present the gift in her stead.”
That’s accurate enough that it’s hard to contradict him, especially given the suspicious way that Taryn is looking at me.
“What gift?” she wants to know. Perhaps she assumes we went somewhere together to choose something. I ought to just tell her about the riders, about how I hid the fight in the forest from her because I didn’t want her to be upset on her wedding day, about how I lost the earrings that Locke must have found, about how I cut one of the riders down and threw a dagger at her husband. About how he wanted me dead.
But if I say all that, will she believe me?
As I am trying to decide how to respond, Lord Roiben moves in front of us, looking down at me with his shining silver eyes, twin mirrors.
Locke bows. My sister sinks into a beautiful curtsy, and I copy her as best as I can.
“An honor,” she says. “I’ve heard many of your ballads.”
“Hardly mine,” he demurs. “And largely exaggerated. Though blood does bounce on ice. That line is very true.”
My sister looks momentarily discomfited. “Did you bring your consort?”
“Kaye, yes, she’s in plenty of those ballads as well, isn’t she? No, I am afraid she didn’t come this time. Our last journey to the High Court was not quite what I promised her it would be.”
Dulcamara said she was badly hurt, but he is taking care to avoid saying so; interesting care. Not a single lie, but a web of misdirections.
“The coronation,” Taryn says.
“Yes,” he goes on. “Not quite the minibreak either of us envisioned.”
Taryn smiles a little at that, and Lord Roiben turns toward me. “You will excuse Jude and me?” he asks Taryn. “We have something pressing to discuss.”
“Of course,” she says, and Roiben escorts me away, toward one of the darker corners of the hall.
“Is she well?” I ask. “Kaye?”
“She will live,” he says tersely. “Where is your High King?”
I scan the hall again, my gaze going to the dais and the empty throne. “I don’t know, but he will be here. He spoke to me only last evening of his regret over your losses and his desire to speak with you.”
“We both know who was behind this attack,” Roiben says. “Prince Balekin blames me for throwing my weight and influence behind you and your princeling when you got him a crown.”
I nod, glad of his calm.
“You made me a promise,” he says. “Now it is time to determine if a mortal is truly as good as her word.”
“I will fix things,” I vow. “I will find a way to fix things.”
Lord Roiben’s face is calm, but his silver eyes are not, and I am forced to remember that he murdered his way to his own throne. “I will speak to your High King, but if he cannot give me satisfaction, then I must call in my debt.”
And with that, he departs in a swish of his long cloak.
Courtiers cover the floor, executing intricate steps—a circle dance that turns in on itself, splits into three and re-forms. I see Locke and Taryn out there, together, dancing. Taryn knows all the steps.
I will have to do something about Locke eventually, but not tonight, I tell myself.
Madoc sweeps into the room, Oriana on his arm. He is dressed in black, and she in white. They look like chess pieces on opposite sides of the board. Behind them come Mikkel and Randalin. A quick scan of the room and I spot Baphen speaking with a horned woman it takes me a moment to recognize, and when I do, it comes with a jolt.
Lady Asha. Cardan’s mother.
I knew she was a courtier before, saw it in the crystal globe on Eldred’s desk, but now it is as though I am seeing her for the first time. She wears a high-skirted gown, so that her ankles show along with little shoes cunningly made to resemble leaves. Her