I stared at Rhiannon, unmoving, unspeaking.
She observed me from her throne, eyes slanted down to me. “I have not congratulated you for your success in the second trial. Well done.” She gave a small double-clap. “You are worthy in the eyes of the Wild Hunt.”
I still didn’t speak. I sensed a trap held open, teeth wide, waiting to clamp on me.
Rhiannon’s fingers slid over her scepter. “You may be wondering why I imprisoned you. Unfortunately, it was a necessary measure. You see, changelings can be unpredictable once they discover their magic.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, steady and intense. But I only had eyes for Dorian.
Don’t pretend,he’d said. Rhiannon couldn’t kill me, anyway; I was still in the trials.
I’d speak the truth.
“I’d have done the same.” I raised my shoulders, dropped them. “If I were queen.”
The corner of Rhiannon’s lips twitched. “Would you?” She studied me in the silence that fell. Finally, she said, “You think I’m quite stupid. Do you think we Sylvanwild fae do not learn the subterfuge of the winter court as children?”
I didn’t know quite what she was getting at. The winter court, that was Noctere. “Subterfuge?”
She gripped the scepter. “I can see the hatred for me in your eyes.From the start, you made yourself into a rabbit because you knew the power of appearing small. Now you act at nonchalance when you’d kill me if you held iron.We invaded your kingdom. We killed your people.”
She wore a cold frankness in her gaze. She was trying to inflame me. Yes, most of Rhiannon’s power truly did come from her cunning.
But for once, we could be transparent. And I wasn’t inflamed.
“Speaking of iron.” I lifted one hand to my cloak and brought the edge of it down off my shoulder. The old guard’s pin, secured to the lapel of my cloak, came into the light.
Rhiannon’s eyebrows lifted from their incisive stare. Her face settled into something calmer. But before it did, I caught a glimpse of surprise. She hadn’t known about the pin. “Nowthatis a relic.”
“Given to me by an old fae in the Eldermaze,” I said. “I wonder why it shines so bright.”
Dorian, too, stared at the pin. I could see on his face what Rhiannon had hidden: shock—even trepidation. Like the pin was more than a pin.
Rhiannon’s lips twitched again, though I couldn’t tell if it was humor or pure rage that moved them. Finally, she said, “Perhaps Dorian can tell you. He’s quite well versed in changelings.”
“He told me everything. About changelings, about sunlit iron, about?—”
She lifted her chin. “About his hatred of you?”
I paused, lips parted.
“Oh,” Rhiannon said, almost like she’d discovered a prize. “This is a thing you truly did not know. You see, there’s a reason Dorian was in your kingdom the night of the attack. And it had nothing to do withretrieval.I’m sure he told you as much.”
A needle of pain pierced my chest, a sense of a box being opened that could not be shut. Before I could stop myself, my eyes were on him.
He stared back at me with agony in his eyes.
No, no,no. This I didn’t want to hear. His secret, the thing he’d held from me. We were all entitled to our secrets, but Rhiannon would wrench open that box if its contents could hurt me.
And right now, she was. And he was letting her.
“Or perhaps he didn’t.” Rhiannon’s hand went out as though reaching for him. “Tell her, Dorian, why you traveled to the Kingdom of Storms.”
He didn’t speak. He only stared beyond me like he’d seen something in the distance, like he could perceive his way to the Kingdom of Storms and the southern district even now. He didn’t move from his spot on the dais, but his fingers clenched until the knuckles appeared white under the skin.
“I was there”—his voice was low, practically a growl—“because I was promised I could kill a changeling.”
“But they’re useful tools for the courts.” Rhiannon’s eyes glittered on me. “Why would you want to do that? Give me your exact words.”
