She pouts. “Ugh, you weren’t here, but after Queen Lydia left the first time, we didn’t have any revels fora month.”
I put on a show, really lay it on thick. “So, you understand why we have to make sure no one speaks a word of what happened tonight to the king.”
Her foxlike eyes narrow. “It won’t be easy.”
I run a finger down her cheek and she leans into my touch. “Yes, it will. You’re so smart.”
She preens a little at this, a slight smile showing off her sharp white teeth.
Thalia was one of the very first people I met at court. She approached me at a revel just like this and promised to help me learn the ways of court life. She’s a large reason I’ve survived as long as I have.
A large reason I’m so dead inside, too.
“It’ll cost you,” she says icily.
“It’s hardly a price to pay when I enjoy my time with you so much.” My words are as smooth as honey but taste like poison behind my teeth.
I think of Ivy sleeping soundly above me. I want nothing more than to be in bed next to her, watching her chest rise and fall, knowing she is whole and well.
“If we’re going to do a little espionage, we should do it up, don’t you agree?” I continue. The band plays a driving beat, and all around us, dancers spin.
She takes a delicate sip from her crystal cup. “What did you have in mind?”
“Bram’s next trial for the girls,” I say conspiratorially.
“It’s being kept tightly under wraps,” she replies. “No one knew about the unicorn until yesterday morning. I asked to have a coat made out of its pelt, but was rudely refused.”
“Surely someone knows.”
She shrugs. “Rhion, probably.”
“Should we start with him?” I ask.
She shakes her head and her crystal earrings jingle like bells. “No, too difficult.”
“Who else saw?” I ask, thinking of the blur of faces peering over the bush, laughing at Ivy and me. If I had anything left in my stomach, I might be tempted to vomit again.
“Only a small crowd. Lord Yarrow and his wife, the Gunner sisters, Lord Garrett, and that mousy little maid.”
“Lyra?”
She presses her wine-stained lips together. “Yes, her.”
“You start with Yarrow and I’ll take the Gunner sisters?” I ask.
She nods and takes another sip from her goblet. If it were any other courtier, I might be worried that they’re too drunk to focus on the task at hand, but I know Thalia well enough to know that she requires stronger stuff.
I spot the Gunner sisters across the revel, dancing with their lithe limbs flailing in front of the bandstand.
“You’re looking particularly lovely tonight,” I say.
One of them—Chessa, I think—narrows her eyes at me. “Which one of us?” It’s a ridiculous question. They look exactly alike. Their limp white hair, sallow skin, and thin lips are identical, as are the dresses they’re wearing. White spider’s silk, old enough that it has begun to yellow, with hems and trailing sleeves that have been torn to shreds by tonight’s dancing.
“You’re a rake.” The other one, Nessa, slaps my chest with her insect-wing fan. Her teeth are stained berry red from whatever is sloshing around in her cup.
“I’m an honest man.” I give them one of my best smiles.
“You can’t fool us. We saw you earlier with that human girl.” Her voice is high and reedy.
