Vivi pokes at her venison and then licks blood from her knife.
Oak grins across the table and starts to mimic Vivi, but Oriana snatches the cutlery from his grasp before he can slice his tongue open. Oak giggles and picks up his meat with his fingers, tearing at it with sharp teeth.
“You should know that the king will soon abdicate his throne in favor of one of his children,” Madoc says, looking at all of us. “It is likely that he will choose Prince Dain.”
It doesn’t matter that Dain is third-born. The High Ruler choosestheir successor—that’s how the stability of Elfhame is ensured. The first High Queen, Mab, had her smith forge a crown. Lore has it that the blacksmith was a creature called Grimsen, who could shape anything from metal—birds that trill and necklaces that slither over throats, twin swords called Heartseeker and Heartsworn that never missed a strike. Queen Mab’s crown was magically and wondrously wrought so that it passes only from one blood relation to another, in an unbroken line. With the crown passes the oaths of all those sworn to it. Although her subjects gather at each new coronation to renew their fealty, authority still rests in the crown.
“Why’s he abdicating?” Taryn asks.
Vivi’s smirk has turned nasty. “His children got impatient with him for remaining alive.”
A wash of rage passes over Madoc’s face. Taryn and I don’t dare bait him for fear that his patience with us stretches only so far, but Vivi is expert at it. When he answers her, I can see the effort he’s making to bite his tongue. “Few kings of Faerie have ruled so well for so long as Eldred. Now he goes to seek the Land of Promise.”
As far as I can tell, the Land of Promise is their euphemism for death, although they do not admit it. They say it is the place that the Folk came from and to which they will eventually return.
“Are you saying he’s leaving the throne because he’sold?” I ask, wondering if I’m being impolite. There are hobs born with lined faces like tiny, hairless cats and smooth-limbed nixies whose true age shows only in their ancient eyes. I didn’t think time mattered to them.
Oriana doesn’t look happy, but she isn’t actively shushing me, either, so maybe it’s notthatrude. Or maybe she doesn’t expect any better than bad manners out of me.
“We may not die from age, but we grow weary with it,” Madoc says with a heavy sigh. “I have made war in Eldred’s name. I have broken Courts that denied him fealty. I have even led skirmishes against the Queen of the Undersea. But Eldred has lost his taste for bloodshed. He allows those under his banners to rebel in small and large ways even as other Courts refuse to submit to us. It’s time to ride to battle. It’s time for a new monarch, a hungry one.”
Oriana furrows her brow in mild confusion. “By preference, your kin would have you safe.”
“What good is a general with no war?” Madoc takes a large, restless swallow of wine. I wonder how often he needs to wet his cap with fresh blood. “The new king’s coronation will be at the autumn solstice. Worry not. I have a plan to ensure our futures. Only concern yourselves with making ready for a great deal of dancing.”
I am wondering what his plan might be when Taryn kicks me under the table. When I turn to glare at her, she raises both brows. “Ask him,” she mouths.
Madoc looks in her direction. “Yes?”
“Jude wants to ask you something,” Taryn says. The worst part is, I think she believes she’s helping.
I take a deep breath. At least he seems to be in a good mood. “I’ve been thinking about the tournament.” I imagined saying these words many, many times, but now that I am actually doing it, they don’t seem to come out the way I planned. “I’m not bad with a sword.”
“You do yourself too modest,” Madoc says. “Your bladesmanship is excellent.”
That seems encouraging. I look over at Taryn, who appears to be holding her breath. Everyone at the table has gone still except for Oak,who taps his glass against the side of his plate. “I am going to fight in the Summer Tournament, and I want to declare myself ready to be chosen for knighthood.”
Madoc’s brows go up. “That’s what you want? It’s dangerous work.”
I nod. “I’m not afraid.”
“Interesting,” he says. My heart thuds dully in my chest. I have thought through every aspect of this plan except for the possibility that he won’t allow it.
“I want to make my own way at the Court,” I say.
“You’re no killer,” he tells me. I flinch, my gaze coming up to his. He looks back at me steadily with his golden cat eyes.
“I could be,” I insist. “I’ve been training for a decade.”
Since you took me, I do not say, although it must be in my eyes.
He shakes his head sadly. “What you lack is nothing to do with experience.”
“No, but—” I begin.
“Enough. I have made my decision,” he says, raising his voice to cut me off. After a moment when we both are silent, he gives me a conciliatory half smile. “Fight in the tournament if you like, for sport, but you will not put on the green sash. You’re not ready to be a knight. You can ask me again after the coronation, if your heart’s still set on it. And if it’s a whim, that will be time enough for it to pass.”
“This is no whim!” I hate the desperation in my voice, but I have been counting down the days to the tournament. The idea of waiting months, just so he can turn me down again, fills me with wild despair.
