aside for them and the door had shut, Fie found herself wrapped in an abrupt embrace.
“I’m fine, Jas,” she wheezed, but she hugged the prince back anyway.
Jasimir didn’t let go, but still managed to point a finger at Khoda. “You’re not allowed to yell at her,” he said, voice muffled in her shoulder. “I—I forbid it, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Khoda sounded less acerbic than Fie had expected, but twice as tired.
“I thought they were—I thought he would—” Jasimir pulled back but kept a tight grip on her shoulders. “How did you get away?”
“He’s just going to play like he misunderstood.” Fie ducked her head. “He didn’t want to kill me. Let others kill the Crows, aye,” she added bitterly, “but he’s not up for drowning Peacock girls yet.”
“His Highness was right.” Khoda folded his arms. “We’re asking too much of you. I should have warned you about Dengor and Urasa—”
Fie shook her head. “I can do it. Hells, now Tavin and I are on a first-name basis. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Not if you had to take a trip to the Well of Grace to get there!”
Jasimir let her go, only to turn to Khoda, rubbing his chin. “No, no, we … we can work with this. The aristocracy will smell that lie a league away and know he intervened for her. It already looks suspicious that he’s courting a woman. If that becomes a point of conflict between him and Rhusana…”
“The strength of their alliance would also be questioned,” Khoda said.
Jasimir nodded. “Making an argument.”
Khoda pinched his eyes shut, rubbing the spot between his brows. “Yes. But no. But yes. Ugh.” He blew out a breath and fixed his stare on Fie. “We’ll take Tavin’s approach. You play the fool from now on, all right? A beautiful, elegant, empty-headed fool. The queen will have an easier time believing you’re just a naïve country bumpkin than a Peacock who puts the welfare of Crows over her own status in court.”
“And if Rhusana thinks you’re a fool, she may let something slip in front of you,” added Jas. “That’s how I survived five years of her.”
Fie shuddered, remembering the look on Tavin’s face when she’d asked how anyone lived like this. “Has it always been this way?”
Khoda and Jasimir traded looks. “Not always … this bad,” Jasimir said slowly.
A knock rattled the door. Fie scrambled to throw herself onto the nearest low sofa in a genteel swoon, as Jasimir stationed himself behind her with a palm fan, straight-faced. “What are you doing?” he whispered, bewildered.
“Being a fine lady,” Fie muttered back from behind a sleeve.
“You look like you’re dying in a tragedy play.”
“Silence, manservant,” she hissed, pinching her mouth at him as Khoda shot them both dirty looks and answered the door. Fie caught a ruffle of murmurs and the clink of silver. A moment later, a tray appeared in Khoda’s hands and the door swung shut.
“Refreshments for my lady,” he said loudly, then jerked his head at the door.
A shadow still lingered in the gap between the bottom of the door and its frame. They had an audience.
“Well then, bring them here!” Fie called in her most petulant snob voice. “What are you waiting for?”
Jasimir tapped her shoulder. When she looked up, he pointed to his open mouth, then drew a finger across his throat and shook his head.
Khoda set the tray down on a nearby low table. “At your leisure, Your Ladyship.”
The shadow at the door slipped away.
Jasimir tossed the palm fan aside, then went to the window, pushed the screen aside, and plucked a fresh frond from a palm outside. Then he approached the tray, tapping an index finger to his chin as he studied a plate of flower-shaped sweet biscuits, a soft white dome of cheese, tiny jars of jewel-colored sauces, and pitchers of chilled tea and water. He dipped the palm frond in the water; naught happened. He tried the tea next.
The tip of the frond withered instantly, and black lines spidered up even the untouched green. Jasimir hastily let the frond go. It sagged over the pitcher’s edge.
“Already trying to poison you, that’s a good sign,” he remarked, and picked up an envelope. “Oh, but she sent an invitation to her party tomorrow in the Midnight Pavilion. That’s a smart touch. It’s harder to argue that she’d bother inviting someone she thought would be dead.” Then he read something and wrinkled his nose. “Or perhaps not. ‘The pleasure of your company is