“When it comes to hiding out here,” I corrected him. “But you sent him to your powerful, volatile brother alone.”
“Taurus has always liked Rook more than he liked me. It was safer to send him than either of us.”
“Besides, Rook can be very persuasive when he wants to be,” Cass added, voice lowered.
I gaped at her tone, wondering what experience she might have with Rook’s persuasiveness.
“He wants us to go to him,” Lark said then and some of the hopefulness from a moment before went out of the room. “He won’t set foot here. Not as long as Sophierial lives.”
Cass nodded as if that was something she had expected.
“For what it’s worth, he’s promised not to murder me the moment I set foot in the Court of Rivals,” Lark said and I just stared at him, wondering if he was joking, but his expression was entirely serious.
“And we should just take his word for it?” Cass finally snapped.
Lark took a deep breath and turned away, pacing. I got the sense that this was not the first time they’d had this argument.
“He almost killed Ursa, Lark,” Cass reminded him.
“Ursa went there to kill him, Cass,” Lark argued. “Rook has arranged for a peaceful meeting somewhere private. There’s no honor in killing me quietly. He wouldn’t do it without a crowd.”
I cringed. Was that really his best argument? His brother wouldn’t kill him unless it could be verified by hundreds of spectators? Suddenly, I felt ill.
“Lark—” Cass pleaded.
“Father is still alive,” Lark reminded her instead, bolstering his argument with an even stronger claim. “No one should be trying to kill anyone. Not yet.”
Cass looked like she wanted to say more but thought better of it and fell silent. I said nothing as well, know that there was nothing that either of us could say that would convince Lark not to give his brother this one final chance at peace, this last opportunity to do the right thing. Even though neither of them seemed particularly convinced that there was any chance he might take it.
“When do we leave?” I asked simply.
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter fourteen
A Brother's Keeper
Nooneseemedallthat concerned about the fact that we had begged for refuge just six weeks ago and now were already leaving together to visit one of the most powerful Fae in the realm who, coincidentally, was half of the reason we had needed refuge in the first place. In fact, I wasn’t certain the Queen of the Court of Light and Life had been informed of the reason for our swift departure at all. Which was why I kept my mouth firmly shut as Cass and I left our room that morning and strode, not toward the common room, but toward the gates.
Lark was already awaiting us there, milling about impatiently.
“What took you so long?” he asked through gritted teeth, on edge, when we reached him.
“Semyaza wouldn’t stop fussing over her gown,” Cass said with a roll of her eyes and a jerk of her head in my direction.
It was true. Semyaza had been particularly irritable this morning, spending over an hour brushing through my hair and selecting my attire for the day. She had finally given into the idea of gray and had brought me a gown of gray chiffon so fluffy that I could barely put my arms down. But I hadn’t dared to complain, not when she was finally coming around to the realization that I would not be wearing white while staying within their walls and not while she was muttering under her breath the whole time about all the work it had taken to find a gown that wasn’t white, how she had needed to trade for some dye in the market and oh, how she hated going to the market.
“She shouldn’t be wearing a gown at all,” Lark growled, annoyed.
Cass just raised a manicured brow and he shook his head, frowning.
“Fine. I’ll whip something up,” she muttered, turning toward me and cocking her head to the side, thoughtful. A moment later, she cast a glance over her shoulder at her brother. “Unless you’d like to strip it off her yourself.”
His jaw tensed. His gaze flicked to me once for the briefest of moments in which I thought perhaps he might actually be considering it. But then he loosed a breath in an exaggerated sigh.
“You always get so crude when you’re nervous, Cass,” he accused.
“I do not get crude,” she argued, waving a hand so that my muted gray gown transformed into a glittering cascade of silver, tight tunic and tight pants beneath with shining silver combat boots laced halfway up my calf. “I am always crude.”
