here without sending word?” I ask.
“The question isn’t whether she would send word, the question is would she send him here without telling him that we’re here.” Cal takes a sip of tea and grimaces. “Or is he here for his own reasons?”
“I have no idea. But until we know, we have to stay away. As you mentioned earlier, he can easily be an Aphrasian spy, or a double agent. We don’t know. We need to find out what he’s doing here before we let him see us.”
We hear footsteps in the hallway. Cal takes charge. “The maids are on their way to tidy up. You need to go back to your room. Here’s the plan: We’re going to feel better, but be a bit late, so we’ll join the party at its tail end. The ambassador will be up near the front with the Girts and the king. Once the hunt begins, it’s just a matter of avoiding them.”
“Okay. And what about after? How long is Nhicol going to be here?”
“We’ll figure that out later. Let’s just get through this first.”
* * *
A FEW HOURS LATER, I’m laced into Montrician hunting garb, which basically amounts to a riding habit with puffy sleeves, embroidered with the yellow rose of Argonia. The Montricians hunt in full formal gear, so I have a large white wig on my head as well.
Cal knocks on my door. When I answer, he’s holding up two white eye masks. “I just remembered this is one of those strange Argonian hunting customs.”
“Brilliant,” I say. “With that, and the ridiculous curly white wig you’re wearing, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.” I cringe. “I’m sorry. I . . .”
Cal is looking out the window at the gardens below. He doesn’t acknowledge my awkward comment about his late mother.
I put on the mask and powder my nose again.
Cal is staring at me.
“What?” I ask him.
“You just—you looked like someone just now,” he says.
“Who?”
He shakes his head and doesn’t say, although I have an inkling of who it might be. “They’re getting lined up. Showtime, Lady Lila.” On our way out the door, he knocks on the wood trim. Aunt Moriah used to do the same thing for good luck. She would like him just for that.
We step into line as King Hansen’s trumpeter announces it’s time to begin. The procession starts forward from the gardens toward the woods. The couple in front of us, two older people donning parasols and lace finery not intended for actual hunting, smile politely.
Seconds after we start, a handsome young man, a bit older than us and wearing a sharp black hunting costume, jogs up behind us. “Have I missed the boring part?” he says to Cal. Then: “Haven’t had the pleasure. I am Lord Mathieu.” He holds out his hand.
Cal shakes it. “Lord Holton,” Cal says, then gestures toward me. “My sister, Lady Lila.”
Cal and I catch each other’s eye. This is the ambassador’s husband. My pulse is racing even though he doesn’t know me. I decide paying as little attention to him as possible is the best strategy, so I simply bow slightly and then walk forward. Cal isn’t as lucky.
“To be quite honest, I’ve never been to one of these things. Spouses typically stay behind, but I insisted on coming along. Montrice has the finest silks and I’m hoping to buy a few dozen bolts to bring back to Renovia. I own drapers’ shops there.”
When the king’s party reaches the edge of the woods, everyone stops. The trumpeter blows the horn to get our attention before making an announcement. He stands on a little wooden stool and shouts: “His Royal Majesty King Hansen and the distinguished Ambassador of Renovia have joined together in the spirit of friendship to offer a generous prize for today’s royal hunt: one thousand coins of silver to whoever fells the largest prey. The horn will blow to announce the end of the hunt, wherein all shall gather here with their conquest.”
“I could win, easy,” Cal whispers to me.
“Don’t be so sure,” I reply. “I’m here.”