His dark eyebrows bend. “Ríhbiadh killed Marco. Not Dante.”
“You have your murderers mixed up, Cato.”
“Ríhbiadh removed Marco’s head and carried it back to the mountain. Thousands of sprites and Faeries witnessed the butchery.”
I huff out a sigh of exasperation. My friends may have struck a bargain with Dante about keeping their mouths shut on his involvement, but I’m oath-free. “If I ordered Justus to stick a dagger through your heart, and he indulged me, who would you deem the killer?”
“I understand what you’re trying to say, Fallon, but Dante didn’t ask the Crimson Crow to remove his brother from power. You did.”
“I suppose you think Dante wasn’t on that mountain? Where did he say he was? In Tarespagia, fucking the little Glacin Princess he was supposed to marry?” How I wish he’d go back to wooing her.
“He told us you may try to convince us that he wanted his brother gone,” Cato murmurs.
“Did he? How perspicacious of him. Let me guess, he told you under salt oath.”
Cato’s gray eyes shift from silver to flint. “I understand you’re discontent with your lot, but a smear campaign is beneath you, Fallon.”
“Didn’t you hear? Nothing is beneath the Crow wench anymore.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Don’t call yourself that.”
“Oh, I didn’t; your compatriots came up with that new nickname. As well as Crimson whore and Shabbin bitch.”
“Which compatriots?”
“If only I knew, but Dante and Tavo reckoned finding and punishing them of no import, so their identity will remain a mystery a while longer.” My heart beats with spite, until I recall Eponine offering Nebban funds to have my little blue Tarecuorin house restored. I hope she’s safe. And I hope she’s found a better ally than me to help her overthrow her father.
“Your grandfather will return soon with a dress. Unless you want him to be present while you bathe, we should hurry.” Cato’s voice is low and tight—with frustration or deliberation?
I pray it’s the latter. Not only is Cato kind, but he’s also smart. Surely, the light I’ve shed on the events that went down in Monteluce will penetrate his brain and make him realize he’s betting on the wrong monarch.
As we start up again, I ask, “What of Eponine?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has she been made aware that her betrothed has wed another?”
“Eponine returned to Nebba with her father after . . .” Cato rubs his lips as though to block any more words from slipping past them.
“After?”
“You can bathe here.” He pushes open a door, revealing another obsidian chamber, this one no bigger than the bedrooms atBottom of the Jug.
A copper tub sits in the middle of the space. Beside it, a chamber pot, and beside that, a rack with two neatly folded towels.
“The towels are clean. The water, too.” He tries to smile but it doesn’t quite grab ahold of his lips. “You can take the soldier out of the barracks but you can’t take the barracks out of the soldier.”
I lift an eyebrow.
“Hygiene is ingrained in us.”
I give him a slow nod. “Too bad it’s contained to the barracks. Imagine how the army’s sense of cleanliness could help in Rax.”
Cato has the decency to sigh. “Once the war ends, you can make that your first order of business as queen.”
The mention of this war that is being waged throughout the land sends chills scurrying up my spine. If only my Shabbin glibness hadn’t started and stopped with the language. If only I knew the sigil to escape this giant coffin. The next time Justus draws it, I’ll observe him like a hawk.
Cato gestures for me to step inside the humid space. “I’ll turn my back.”
