This sort of talk was getting dangerously close to unwarranted criticism of my sister. “The refugee villages are clean and comfortable,” I said mildly. “I toured them myself. The councils and the Senate have worked hard to provide for those who have been displaced.”
“The councils, the Senate, and your sister, Lady Farrin Ashbourne?” Reynard looked at me keenly, pen poised over his paper. “What do you think of the fact that the late queen Yvaine bequeathed so many of her assets and responsibilities to a woman who has no governing experience?”
An easy question. “I think she chose admirably,” I replied. “Farrin is wise, fair, and knew the queen intimately. What Queen Yvaine would have done, Farrin will strive to do.”
“Yes, they did have quite a close relationship from what I’ve heard,” Reynard murmured. “Some have speculated that’s why the queen chose Lady Farrin as her successor. An exchange of favors, if you will.”
The idea was so absurd that I had to laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Farrington, if don’t stop talking right now and walk away,” Gareth said, his voice low and furious, “I will shut you up myself.”
Reynard’s smile was full of pity. “Under normal circumstances, I would consider it most unseemly for someone of your status to threaten a humble journalist. But given what you’ve been through, I suppose such erratic behavior is to be expected.”
Gareth flinched. His brow was a little damp now, and I saw in his eyes a flash of animal fear that I recognized all too well. I’d seen it on the faces of countless Roses over the years: the assault of unwelcome memories.
And suddenly I understood that Reynard Farrington had been trying to ask Gareth questions about his time as a prisoner inMhorghast—something I wasn’t sure Gareth had even told Farrin about.
“I dare say that Gareth is behaving much more graciously than you would in his position,” I said mildly. “Have you ever been a prisoner of war, Reynard? Have you ever seen someone killed before your very eyes?”
That startled the man, though he recovered quickly. “No, I haven’t. But—”
“Pray you never do. Sometimes the gods listen. And meanwhile, Professor Fontaine and Lady Farrin and I will continue the work that keeps you safe at your writing desk.”
I put my hand on Gareth’s arm and started to gently lead him away, but Reynard Farrington was insatiable. He followed us eagerly, and I barely resisted the urge to kick him aside.
“My contact at the university,” he went on, “says that the Committee of New and Emerging Magics is hard at work on a number of dangerous experiments that could aid the military’s efforts tremendously. Professor, do you think it wise for a man such as yourself, who has been compromised by the enemy, to be a part of such important and sensitive work?”
Gareth whirled around, spitting a curse and clenching his fists, but I darted between the two men before he could strike. I put a hand behind me, urging Gareth to stay back, and fixed Reynard Harrington with a cool stare. He looked quite taken aback at my speed and swallowed hard.
“I suggest you return to the party and enjoy your evening, Reynard,” I said quietly. “It would be a shame for you to spend the whole night working.”
The man snapped his notebook shut, his lips thin with frustration, but he gave us both a curt little bow and left without another word.
A few small groups of people nearby were whispering and watchingus, tittering nervously or throwing Gareth and me silent looks of trepidation. I wondered which they found more unsettling: a survivor of Mhorghast or a Rose in a gown.
“Thank you,” Gareth said. “I could have killed him. Especially because he’s not wrong about any of it. Well, except for Farrin and Yvaine. What scum, to insinuate that.” He dragged a shaking hand through his hair. “But therearethousands of refugees outside these walls, and we’re all in here, dancing the night away and pretending everything will be all right when of course it won’t be. And I shouldn’t be at the university, I should…”
He trailed off. He’d gone pale, and now it was easier to see the shadows of exhaustion under his eyes.
“I should go home,” he said dully. “Far away from all of this. My mother would crow about it until the end of her days. Can you imagine?”
“I haven’t met her,” I replied.
“Lucky you.”
He tried to take another swig from my wine glass, but it was empty, and the realization seemed to break him. He stared at it in dismay, his eyes distant and empty, flat as dull stone. It was a look that did not suit him, and it felt eerily familiar.
Gently I took the glass from him and gave it to a passing servant with a murmur of thanks. Then the orchestra launched into a new waltz, and since apparently the wine hadn’t released its hold on me quite yet, I grabbed Gareth’s hand and briskly led him out onto the dance floor. When I turned to face him, he looked as if he’d been given the shock of his life.
“What?” I said, putting one hand on his shoulder and holding the other up for him to grasp. “Don’t you want to dance with me?”
“Well, of course, but—”
“Then put your hand on my waist, and let’s dance.”
Other couples whirled around us, their skirts and tailcoats a flurry of color, but Gareth hesitated, clearly still shaken.
“You said you wanted to practice your flirting,” I prodded. “What happened to all of that? Have my provocative shoulders rendered you mute?”
