“Don’t we all?” he said, yet he took none for himself, only watched me as if to be sure I was eating, then looked across the room. As he had barely stopped talking since we met, I took the opportunity to study him. The books didn’t let on about his green eyes—Ironclaw’s were dark, of course—and they shared the same black hair and nearly the same height, but the resemblance ended there. Sherry Whitehorse had always described him by way of comparison to Ironclaw—which meant by deficit. He didn’t have Ironclaw’s strength. Didn’t have Ironclaw’s fight. But really, it was a comparison that shouldn’t be drawn. That would be like saying Issa wasn’t pretty because the queen was very much so. Draw’s stature was lithe, and any man that lived during this time—in this world—would have some certain strength. Moreover, he seemed utterly comfortable with himself. Arrogant even.
I looked away before he could catch me staring.
I followed Draw’s gaze across the hall, unable to understand what he was zeroed in on. A woman in brown homespun fed a baby as she talked with a friend. I spotted black cornrows and a beard—there was Jerrald, whispering conspiratorially with a company man. I’d have to make my way over before I lost him again.
A group of men in the back seemed to be playing a drinking game, but it was subdued, as if they were trying to pull a sheet over the pallor Ironclaw’s news had left behind. And up at the dais, Ironclaw was still fixated on the queen. The queen seemed as cool as always, but I didn’t like the intensity in Ironclaw’s eyes.
For the first time, despite being surrounded by all those people, I felt alone, or rather dwarfed by the big tasks in front of me. I was supposed to—what were Sorrel’s words?—lighten up? From within the darkest chapters of the series while fixing everything? It frustrated me that she didn’t just plop me in book two before Ironclaw was betrothed to the freaking queen. I had felt quite confident when I first saw him, but now seeing him and the queen together, the whole scenario definitely felt beyond my nonexistent skills as a seductress.
And the impending war. I’d read those scenes in full, of course, but the few battle scenes of the TV show had bundled things up tidily. Viewers saw only what was in front of their POV character. They didn’t hear the screams or see the blood darkening the ground. What I’d seen earlier that day—that felt much more real than anything so far.
Still, they were figments of an imagination—Sherry Whitehorse’s. I wasn’t really here either. If I could read the words on a page and imagine a character’s death, what was the difference if I saw it played out in front of me?
“Come, Lady Mayfair,” Lord Draw said. “They’re convening.”
––––––––
WE WERE NEARLY TO THEdoor of the great hall, Lord Draw’s elbow deftly tucked into my hand—well, he’d offered it, and I’d always wanted to walk on a lord’s arm—when it occurred to me. Feasting on oysters in a castle surrounded by forest. The fine sugar cakes the high table received over our messy honeycomb. How many times had I read the descriptions of the lavish meals of the queen’s table and wished for the same? And here Lord Draw was, eating seared beef with me.
That sneak.After gossip already. A shadow flitted across his face as we passed through the doorway. The sconces cast amber spheres along the hall. Other people dispersed elsewhere as well. “You attend the council meetings but don’t dine with them?”
Lord Draw looked over at me. There was a flicker of something in his eyes. “What, eat up there? That’s not where the best conversation is.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a full, real smile.
It was a longer walk from the dining hall than when I had been shepherded earlier, but we walked in silence. Draw seemed to be thinking, and I wasn’t eager to say more than I had to.
At a set of marble busts with long, thin faces, he turned through a doorway. It was the same stone wall and flagstone floor as the rest of the castle, but this room was much smaller than the receiving hall. It was a dim golden from the lanterns. Painted on the floor in front of us was a numbered grid already set up with knee-high battle tokens. I scanned it quickly. Not just tokens—there were a few tiny gears along the side of the map, and colored yarn ran between certain pieces. My special edition books had a full-color map and I found Castle Creneda, the castle on a hill, forest on all sides, a river to the north, and bogs to the south. We were clearly part of Queen Elthra’s campaign northeast in hopes of finally defeating the Dark Mage Amédée.
I still wondered at the fact that Badgerden and Lionsgate seemed to have switched sides. In the books, Lionsgate was the ally. Sorrel didn’t allude to those changes at all—unless, that was a decision made for the television show?
What else might be switched? Frustration bubbled. I couldn’t know for sure.
I could only focus on my chance to set the story straight. I needed Queen Elthra to shorten her war campaign and bring Issa and Ariana to the forefront to set them up for proper endings, so we could get to what was really important—where Ironclaw would be sleeping that night. Then in the morning I could gently convince him he needed to be more attentive to the queen and call for Sorrel to take me home. Wait...that wasn’t good. I didn’t want to use my night with Ironclaw as leverage, sleep with him only to turn around and accuse him of being a bad fiancé. That needed workshopping.
The room was quiet—the queen had not yet arrived—so I looked around for some social cue as to what we should be doing while we waited.
“Fascinating map, yes? One must hope our enemies never see our plans laid out so neatly.”
I nodded at Draw but dropped his arm. I wasn’t a spy and I wasn’t playing.
A pair of women came in, manuscripts of some kind in their arms. They went to a far table and began spreading the papers out. I made my way to the fire, the hearth here much smaller than the dining hall. It had been a warm enough day, but these rooms in the center of the castle were chilled.
Draw circled the map, his attention off me at last. I surreptitiously tugged the top of my dress up, trying to manage the showcase of cleavage on display. It certainly wasn’t uncommon among the other women here, but I was wholly unused to feeling so exposed.
The queen entered on Lord Parable’s arm in her elegant gown, Issa shortly behind, and then Ariana with an older woman with the same rich brown complexion and lovely eyes. I caught only snippets of their conversation—numbers, of soldiers and hosts, I assumed.
I continued watching the door, my chest flushed pink I was sure. My hands shook as I tucked them behind me, as if I was warming them at the fire. He was coming. He had to be.
Loud footfalls rang through the hall and I straightened. Moments later, Ironclaw rounded the doorway and began speaking at once. His brow was tight with thought. “My queen, the Dark Mage is drawing his entire battle host to him. We must increase our efforts as well. If we’re going to win the warriors of the valley lands to our cause, we’ll need support from the south to subdue them.”
Lord Parable clasped his hands over his paunch and interrupted Ironclaw. “One of our soldiers can take down two of theirs any day, Your Grace. Further, we already have four of the six houses to the south. Taking more would leave our borders open. Amédée is not our only enemy in the world.”
The queen wrinkled her delicate nose. “Enemies? That implies we have a difference of opinion. These threats are evil. There is no middle ground.”
Ironclaw nodded at a thin woman with ink splattered across her hands—or grease, I realized when she pulled a lever, sending a wooden arm out in a circle that triggered a number of items on the board. The gears brought the painted-black armies closer, while another wooden dowel knocked several of the queen’s blue pieces over. At the end, the host of the Dark Mage was great and they were squashed.
Everyone stared at the fallout as if reading chicken bones.
Ariana spoke from the queen’s side. “What does the witch’s...cohort say?”
