“If you’re bored, we’ll play while we talk.”
She approaches me. Even in this cell, stripped of her jewels, she still holds her head like a queen and I find she still has the ability to frighten me.
“Fine.”
“Gin rummy?” I offer, sounding as confident as I can manage.
“Fine.”
There are fifty-six minor arcana cards, instead of the fifty-two in a regular deck, but divided among four suits, it’s easy enough to play with them.
“It’s unsustainable,” I begin. “Bram has only been king for four months, but he won’t be able to carry on like this for much longer. Any semblance of governance is gone. He spends all night partying with his court and then sleeps through the day. The Others make cruel bargains at every turn, and every day more people die. Citizens are afraid right now, but eventually that fear will give way to anger. You know enough about humans to understand that.”
She considers the card in her hand, then discards. The eight of wands.
“So far, the only fae who have come through the door have been Bram’s court and their staff. They’re outnumbered significantly. If Bram carries on like this, there are going to be riots. People will fight back and he will end up dead.”
I’m bluffing with that last part. I still have no idea how you kill a faerie, but Bram once told me he killed his own father—so I do know it is possible. The question that looms is whether I want to be the one holding the knife.
Mor’s dark eyes flash, but she still doesn’t say anything. She draws a new card. I do too.
“Tell me how to open the door between worlds, if not to save England, then to save Bram from himself. I know you don’t wish to see him harmed.”
She doesn’t look up at me. She’s on a roll now with her cards, discarding rapidly into matching piles until nothing remains in her hand. “Gin,” she announces.
I fold, laying my cards upright on the ancient floor. “Lucky hand.”
“This used to be a temple,” she says after a beat of silence.
I glance up at the vaulted ceiling. We’re underground now, buried in a ruin under the streets of modern Bath, but it’s clear this was once a grand place.
A serene smile spreads over her flawless face, as unchanged as ever. It’s as if we could have once been classmates or debutantes together. “My son put me in a place of worship because he loves me.”
“He buried you underground because you’re a miserable bitch,” Faith says from behind me.
I turn my head to shoot her a glare. “Not helpful,” I hiss.
Queen Mor pays her no mind. She stands up, and I do the same until we’re mere inches apart. She has several inches on me and looks down at me through the bars.
“You want to know what I think?” she snarls. “I think if you truly believed Bram was going to get himself killed, you’d just let him do it. You’d sit there and watch him self-destruct. You’d still be queen when it was all over. If he’s gotten you pregnant, then your children and their children would rule. Wouldn’t that be nice for you?”
I hate the way my face flushes. Bram comes to my bed sometimes, but the idea of letting him touch me likethatmakes me sick.
Queen Mor’s cruel gaze pierces me as sharp as any knife. “You need me.”
“I need you to save him from himself,” I say once more. “If not for the love of England, then for the love of your son.”
“I will not turn against him!” Her voices cracks like a lightning bolt across the cavernous space.
“Even though he has you in a cage?” Marion asks, her voice softer than mine.
Mor turns from me and walks to the other end of the cell, and I know the conversation has ended.
I curse. I pushed too hard too fast; that’s just like me. No patience for anything.
I gather Emmy’s tarot cards from the floor and pass them back to her.
In miserable silence, we walk out of the Roman ruins.
