He didn’t say a word as he straightened again, his face maintaining its usual frown.
I just rolled my eyes. And offered a silent prayer of thanks that Octavian hadn’t witnessedthat.I could only imagine how this little scene would have looked from below.
Alastor remained silent as we disembarked, following the rest of the small crowd onto the wooden walkway. And I was perfectly okay with that, as I was quickly distracted by our new surroundings—by the entire world that seemed to exist up here in the branches.
From below, this had looked like a giant treehouse. Now that I stood here, though, I realized it was so much more than that. Wooden walkways spread through the branches, connected by arched bridges in some places and rope bridges in others. In some spots, where supports allowed for it, there were wider platforms—for mingling and watching the dancers below, mostly. There were even bigger platforms around the trunk of the tree, wide enough to hold stalls selling drinks and trinkets to those who passed.
Another marketplace, all the way up here in the tree.
I tipped my head back, hoping to get a better view of the stars and moons above, but they were blocked by thick, leafy branches—which held stars of their own, in the form of hundreds of lanterns hung among the leaves to light the canopy. After admiring them for a few seconds, I turned my attention below, looking over the wooden railing to the green hilltop beneath us.
The dancers were still going, twirling to the beautiful strains of the orchestra. The music drifted all the way up here, but it was muted, distant, like a song from a dream.
It took me a moment to realize I was looking for Octavian again. I pulled away from the rail, determined to focus onanythingelse.
“Who did Radven go to meet?” I asked Alastor.
He looked my way, brow wrinkled. “Hm?”
“When you…found us. You mentioned a contact. He still has contacts here after…” I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “After all this time?”
“My brother has contacts everywhere,” Alastor said. “He’s always had a special talent for cultivating a network of intelligence wherever he goes. Particularly within the underworld.”
“Even in my world?”
He gives me a look. ”Especially in your world. His kind of influence is…useful. Particularly in situations where my kind of influence is not.”
“What’syourkind of influence?” I asked.
He hesitated, then said, “I suppose you would say I have a talent for politics.”
I considered that. “Are Theradorian politics anything like those from where I’m from?”
“In some ways, yes. But in others…” He glanced away, his eyes going distant. “The courts of Therador are a world of their own. There are as many battles and secrets within those gilded halls as there are in entire history books.”
“But you know how to navigate them?” I was intrigued.
Another pause. “Once, I did.”
He didn’t elaborate, so I said, “Are you planning to go back?”
He was silent for so long that I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me. And when he did finally speak, his voice was colder than I’d ever heard it.
“I will do whatever Therador demands of me.”
His tone made it clear he had no interest in talking about it further, but I tucked away this new bit of info to mull over later.
Three brothers—each with a very different talent. Octavian was the hero, the protector, the fighter. Radven was the spy, the rogue, the intelligence agent. And Alastor was the prince, the one with the influence and political experience—even if it still wasn’t entirely clear whether he intended to claim his title again.
They have three very different powers, too, I thought, reminding myself of what Octavian had told me in the bath before we’d gotten distracted by other things. He’d said that Alastor couldsee the future—but he’d declined to give me any meaningful details about what exactly that entailed.
Had Alastor seen something about this curse? About his future in Therador?
Sadly, it was clear that—for the moment, anyway—the so-called Prince of the Lost was not open to further questions. He stalked ahead, his face completely closed off, and when we reached the stalls at the heart of the tree he marched directly to the closest one and bought himself another drink. He downed it in one long swig, then immediately ordered another.
I stood back, not particularly in the mood to get my head chewed off. While he was consuming his second drink—more slowly this time—I took the opportunity to raise the deathless rose to my ear once again. Just in case.
This time, I didn’t just listen. I remembered feeling ashiverof essence when the seller had held her ear to the little plant, so maybe I needed to tap into essence, too.
