Then again, why would a marquess travel to Tarelexo? Purelings rarely walk the streets of Tarelexo. It’s only our canals they traverse, on the hunt for the nocturnal companionship that eludes them in their refined neighborhoods where women must be courted to be bedded.
Although I’m tempted to raise the reason for our spat, I’ve already done so, and it resulted in Cato begging me to be quiet. I can’t imagine I’ll receive any sympathy from the men surrounding me. Besides, I need to expedite this hearing, not drag it out.
A crow awaits me. One I pray Nonna hasn’t yet become acquainted with.
Once Ptolemy steps out of the throne room and the metal doors clank shut, King Marco rises and strides off the dais. Since he’s garbed in gold from crown to boot, he sparkles as he walks.
I notch my chin up, in part because the king is tall like his brother, and in part because Nonna taught me that boosting one’s head boosts one’s aplomb, and my aplomb could do with a little boost.
Marco holds out his hand toward my grandfather. My stoicism weakens and I step back.
Silvius latches onto my arm. “Not scared of serpents—or of marquesses—but scared of a little salt?”
My heart’s tempo brakes so suddenly, I feel faint. I thought I was about to be beheaded.
I must sway because Silvius’s fingers dig harder into my flesh, as Justus thumbs open a gold snuffbox adorned with faceted rubies.
The king pinches out a few coarse white flakes. “Open up, Signorina.”
Even though I would much rather serve myself, I oblige the ruler, who flicks salt onto my tongue as though he were seasoning me for a roast.
After my throat dips, he asks, “How is it that our greatest pests have not crushed your bones or dragged you down into their lair, Signorina Rossi?”
I slide my lips together, trying to decide how best to answer. “Perhaps because, unlike certain lords, beasts do not feel threatened by me, Maezza.”
Marco snorts. Even though a crown sits upon his head and magic lances beneath his skin, the sound reminds me that the monarch’s crafted from as much flesh and bone as I am. “I’ve seen children fall into Mareluce—human and Fae alike—and bleed as they are carried away. I very much doubt the serpents feel threatened by our young.” His lids lower over his amber eyes, puddling the orange with shadows.
“Perhaps those children lashed out and scared the serpents. After all, we’re taught to hate and fear them before we’re taught to walk.”
“And yet . . . you don’t fear them.” Marco binds his hands behind his back, the rich embroideries of his tunic stretching over his chiseled pectorals.
The only serpent I know and trust is Minimus. Perhaps his brethren would drag me under. “I do.”
“You fear them, yet you willingly jump into the canal to protect them?” He swings his incendiary gaze toward my grandfather. “Did you hand me sugar instead of salt, Justus?”
“No, Maezza.”
“Then how come your granddaughter lies?”
“If I may speak, Your Majesty?” Silvius’s tepid breaths bluster through the flyaways framing my face.
“Go on, Commander.”
“I’ve only seen Signorina Rossi interact withoneserpent. A monstrous pink one with scars along its neck.”
My blood becomes an icy current.
“Perhaps sheisafraid of the others.”
Marco steps so close that I must crane my neck. “So you have a pet.”
Although murderous daydreams unspool behind my lids, I school my features. “The commander’s mistaken. I have no pet.”
“Companion. Acquaintance.” Silvius tosses a hand in the air. “Call it what you want, Signorina Rossi. It’s forever the same beast that lurks beside you. That follows you. Thatyoufollow.”
“I follow no creature.” My neck hinges sideways, and before I can think better of making Silvius look like a fool, I snap, “Unlike you, Commander.”
Silvius’s eyes widen in shock.
