“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a witch?”
“No.” I laugh, shaking my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “If I were a witch, I would be living in a coven. Witches don’t mingle with humans or fae, for that matter. They certainly don’t travel with performance troupes.”
He considers this. “That’s true. Generally speaking.” He tilts his head. “But there are always exceptions.”
“I’m not an exception. I’m just a simple performer.”
“Hardly simple. Explain to me what happened today.”
I take a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “I have no idea. I was doing my routine like always. Everything was fine, and then I suddenly started to feel hot. Unnaturally so. Then came the pain.” I press a hand to my chest, remembering the burning. “I almost fell, but thankfully I got caught up in the silks. I was lucky I didn’t get injured.”
“Go on.”
“When the pain stopped, and I came to my senses, everyone was looking at someone in the audience. A fae man. People were saying he was one of the Lost Kings.” I shake my head. “I thought it had to be a mistake. Then guards grabbed me, brought me here, and threw me in a cell.” I spread my hands. “That’s all I know. I don’t even understand why I’m here. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Corvius watches me carefully. His pleasant expression hasn’t changed, but something shifts in his eyes. Something calculating.
“I believe you have magic,” he says. “I believe you’re lying to me about being innocent in all this.”
“I’m not—”
“Are you working with the fae who is pretending to be King Sebastian?”
“What?” I stare at him. “No! Absolutely not. Today was the first time I ever set eyes on him. I’ve never spoken with him. I don’t even know who he is.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“I’m going to ask you one more time.” His voice is still pleasant, but there’s steel beneath it now. “And I want you to think very carefully before you answer. If you’re truthful with me, we’ll go easy on you. There will be a place for you here at the Shadow Court. You’ll be valued and protected, Isla.”
Valued and protected? Not hardly. I’ll be no more than a slave.
“Last chance: can you perform magic?” he presses.
I roll my eyes and sigh. “This conversation is growing tiresome. I have no magic. I’m a performer. That’s all. Can I go back to my tent now? To my troupe? Master Roland will be worried.”
“No, you may not go back.” His eyes narrow on me. “People from the audience were interviewed. Many of them felt your ability was beyond simple talent. Beyond what any human should be capable of.” He leans forward. “Are you lying to me, Isla?”
“No.” Frustration builds in my chest. “I’m not lying. If I had magical abilities, do you think I would have fallen recently? Do you think I would have hurt myself so badly that I almost lost my place in the troupe? It took a full moon-cycle for my arm to heal enough to be able to practice, let alone perform again.”
That makes him pause. “You fell?”
“Yes.”
“At which court?”
“The Ice Court.” I hold his gaze. “My hands must have been too cold to grip. I can’t remember much. I also hit my head. I lost my grip and fell. I missed the next court performance entirely. I’ve been extremely nervous since. Master Roland nearly dismissed me.” The memory is real, at least. The fall did actually happen. I just leave out the part about how the cold made it difficult for me to use my firefae magic. That’s why I fell. I didn’t have the helping hand I rely on.
Corvius leans back in his chair, studying me. Then he smiles. It’s not a pleasant smile.
“You know what, Isla? I have a nose for sniffing out liars.” He stands slowly, walking around the desk. “Although there is truth to what you say, I believe that you’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“Let me help you remember the truth.”
