“Do you think it stops them? What about what happened after the last war? The fae punished the isle’s humans—people who played no part in the recent attacks—by robbing them of their lands. They claimed rule over the isle. People lost their homes, their occupations. Is it any wonder we rebelled? My people sought only fairness—”
“That may be how we felt then,” Father Viktor says, half rising from his seat. A smile tugs his lips, but it does nothing to hide the sudden fear in his eyes or the quaver in his voice. “The Church of Saint Lazaro supports peace, not rebellion, I assure you. We were wrong in rebelling against our monarchs. It was only the radicals amongst us who organized the uprising in the first place.” His gaze rests on me, and I realizeI’mthe source of his fear. Or my father is, at least, for if I were to repeat Dorian’s words back to any of the fae royals, the entire church would be held under severe scrutiny. I can only imagine how the priest’s fear would grow tenfold if my maternal parentage were publicly known…
Viktor clears his throat and gives Dorian a pointed look.
He clenches his jaw. “Father Viktor is right. We don’t think that way anymore. Only the radicals ever did.” Dorian’s words come out forced and stiff, but that’s how I want to hear them. Because it condemns him. Shows his true colors.
Makes him that much easier to kill.
17
The rest of the dinner concludes with far less tension, thanks to the more benign questions Glint McCreedy asks thereafter. Even so, when Initiate Jeremy arrives to escort me back to my room, I’m more than eager to follow. After my tense conversation with Dorian, I can’t stand to be anywhere near him a second longer. The fact that he didn’t take a bite of food after tells me he likely feels the same about me. At least now I know Nimue was right about him. Dorian Ariko is just like his father.
Once we reach my room and close the door, I slump against it and release a groan. Exhaustion and irritation battle for supremacy. When I hear a tapping on my window, I drag my feet across the room to let Podaxis in. It seems he managed to sneak out of the dining room after us.
“You really shouldn’t have said what you said, Maisie,” he says as soon as I shut the window behind him.
I shrug. “What does it matter? It’s not like I can be eliminated until tomorrow night.”
“What if things don’t go as planned during your date with him tomorrow? What if you aren’t able to…do the deed?”
“I’m going to walk up to him and shove my lips against his. It’s as simple as that.”
He taps a hind claw on the floor. “What if it isn’t as easy as you think?”
“How hard could it be? I slip my hands into pockets and take purses straight from people’s hands.”
“A kiss is not the same.”
“What would you know about it?”
“I’ve…studied the art.”
I smirk. “Oh? And when are you ever going to use this art you’ve so closely studied?”
“Someday.”
“With Nadia? How? As a crab or as a seelie fae?”
He taps his claws again. “I’m working on that.”
I bark a laugh, but the sound is cut off as my door swings open. My first instinct is to hide Podaxis, but he’s already scurrying under my bed. Besides, the intruder only has eyes for me.
Vanessa strides into my room, arms crossed, her face a mask of fury. “What’s your angle?”
Her chaperone rushes in behind her. “Miss Courter, this is hardly appropriate.”
“What’s inappropriate is this…this sinful creature pretending she somehow rescued Brother Dorian.” Her lips lift in a sneer.
I try to hold her gaze with defiance but I can’t keep my eyes from dipping to her neck where I notice a sparkly emerald necklace. A gold bracelet adorns her wrist, perhaps even more stunning than the necklace, with teardrop pearls dangling from it. My nose twitches at the sight of it. I curl my fingers, desperate to find a way to snatch it from her. But no, that’s not what I’m here for. To sate my urges, I bring my hand to the side of my head where my shell comb remains. It only slightly alleviates my craving for the brilliant bauble around the girl’s wrist.
The older woman wrings her hands. She whispers something in Vanessa’s ear, but all I can make out is the wordprincess.
Vanessa only scoffs. “Princess! I highly doubt that. You probably aren’t even fae, are you? I bet your ears are fake.”
“Oh, like mine,” comes another voice as Greta Garter strolls in. She taps her pointed ear. “It’s a stage prop.”
Vanessa rounds on her, and I’m relieved to see her anger directed elsewhere. “Stage prop?”
