specifically requested by His Royal Highness, Prince Jasimir.’”
Khoda lifted the tea, careful not to splash any on himself, and pulled aside the serving cloth beneath it. A slip of parchment waited there. He unfolded it, scanned a moment, then nodded to himself. “Yula says we can leave the food in the chamber pots and she’ll smuggle meals to us when she sends cleaning staff to the room.” He glanced at the door again, mouth twisting. “Rhusana’s still interrogating the Phoenix priests. She thinks they’re behind the failed ceremony and the prince’s escape, so that’s pressure off us for a bit. Two servants are missing. Both were called away from a team job, one yesterday, one shortly before the coronation, but they both returned. They only went missing after they left the palace and went into Dumosa.”
“Sounds like runaways,” Fie said. “Took off and didn’t look back.”
“Running from what, though?” asked Jasimir.
No one had an answer for him. Fie couldn’t help watching the rest of the palm frond blacken and die as it absorbed the tea.
Maybe Tavin was trying to protect her—not her, Niemi—by giving her status as his guest. Or maybe Rhusana meant to kill her publicly this time.
She couldn’t trust either of them. And no matter what Tavin said or what he did, it was all for a dead Peacock girl.
* * *
In her dream, she drifted on her back in cold, dark water, staring up at the sky.
“You can’t stay in there forever,” a woman’s voice called nearby. She came into view in between bright scarlet petals floating on the water: a soft, lined brown face, black hair braided in a crown over her head. The hood of her long, black silk robe lay flat over her shoulders.
“Watch me,” Fie heard herself answer, and let the water swallow her whole.
* * *
The Midnight Pavilion could not have been more different from the Midday Pavilion. Instead of vivid oranges and turquoises, this was a work of black marble, wrought iron, and lapis lazuli of deepest blue, all trimmed in gold. Instead of reflecting pools, alabaster fountains sent a fine mist across the warm night. Jasmine perfume hung in the air, wafting from vines stringing constellations of star-shaped blossoms below the clear crystal panes of the pavilion’s roof. Strings of silver and gold lanterns cast a shimmering light around the grounds.
More notable, though, were the hedges enclosing the garden, dotted with snow-white oleander blossoms. There was no chance that was a coincidence. If anything, Khoda had said, it was so open now that it was near becoming an opening: Rhusana was so busy signaling her support of the Oleander Gentry that she’d become overconfident in their popularity.
Fie had kept her thoughts to herself on that front, but all she could think of was the Hall of the Dawn, when the Peacocks had been asked to speak for the queen.
None of her skeptics had spoken for her then, but none of them had argued when Lord Urasa did, either.
The murmur of polite conversation hitched when Fie entered the garden on Tavin’s arm, letting the strains of flute and lyre songs well up in the gap. Her pale teal glamour-gown had been the subject of much debate between Jasimir and Khoda; it was meant to show deference to the queen, but too close to white and she’d make herself a challenger. Too intense a hue and the message would be lost. They’d settled for a muted seafoam silk with beading in blue and green to add the pattern of a fantail to the skirt.
It was all so beautiful, Fie had thought as she’d spun the glamour, recreating the work of days, weeks, months in an instant.
And with every sunrise, it was getting harder to remember that none of it was real.
But with every eye fixed on her now, it was all suddenly, horribly real. The conversation resuscitated itself with gusto after a moment, palm fan after palm fan snapping up to hide lips as the flurry of whispers rose.
The queen regarded them from a modest throng near the entrance of the pavilion, her white tiger seated beside her, tail flicking. If she was vexed that her Hawks had found no trace of Jasimir but the rumors he’d fled across the sea, she gave no sign.
“It’ll be fine,” Tavin said quietly. “Just follow my lead.”
Her grip on his arm tightened without even thinking. Irate, she started to loosen her hold—
Don’t, Niemi’s spark ordered, unbidden.
Fie near tripped over her own hem again. She’d meant