“All of them after ‘you,’ Your Majesty,” I say faintly, and the room spins around me. “I … All alone?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! The prince and a few of my soldiers will accompany you. The thief will go as a backup nobody, in case you don’t survive. And our Sylvan and desert-born guests demanded to be part of this.” He glances at the two of them, clearly suspicious of their motives.
The Sylvan lord’s eyes narrow, but the woman next to him only smiles. Neither speaks.
I’m still stuck onin case you don’t survive.
“But—” the sorcerer begins, only to be interrupted by a squawking sound I’ve never heard Trick make before.
“What?I don’t—” My friend’s voice cuts off suddenly, and I glance over to see him bent double and clutching his abdomen.
“Don’t dare speak to the king, you low-life street thief. Even your Guild disowned you,” the guard next to him growls, pulling his fist back.
What? That’s not true. Trick himself told me he’s high in the Guild, practically its leader.
“That’s not enough to give us a chance, and you know it,” Kaelen snarls. “We should take a full battalion, as I suggested.”
“We’ve had this argument before! Do you think we haven’t tried?” The king shakes his head in disgust. “The Fell immediately swarm any party of measurable size.”
“But—”
“I know you want to take back your country from Corvynne’s army,”the king says, sly superiority on his smirking face. “But you won’t do it with my soldiers. Complete this task. Find the keys. Then we can talk.”
I don’t understand this, but I’m not trying very hard. My brain is snagged on the idea of being swarmed by the Fell. The prospect makes me shudder so hard my teeth chatter. It’s whispered the mutant creatures were once human men and women, but Corvynne transformed them into monsters—hideous amalgamations of claws and teeth and terror.
“You’ll go as a party of mercenaries protecting a rich trader,” the king announces.
Everyone looks at me with varying measures of disbelief, and I know what they see. A weak, pale young woman who could never, under any circumstances, be mistaken for a mercenary.
“Soli, you’ll be an expert in poisons and a food taster,” the Air Touched clarifies.
Now everyone nods, even me. Most poisoners spend their lives on the verge of death from testing their wares. My emaciated appearance fits that role perfectly—a fact I decide not to examine too closely.
“And you’ll play the part of the trader, Prince Kaelen,” Pallan says in an ugly, gloating tone.
“No!” The shriek rings out. A girl maybe a year or two younger than me, all black hair and deep purple eyes, races across the room to throw herself at the prince. “Please, Your Majesty, don’t send my brother away.”
Kaelen’s eyes meet mine over the top of her head, and I see a split-second glimmer of pure anguish in them. He hides it when she looks up at him, though, as if he’s drawing a mask over his true emotions. Living in this court for ten years, he must have a great deal of practice at hiding anything he feels.
Maybe the prince doesn’t have more than one personality, mercurial though he seems. Maybe he simply has to hide his real self from everyone around him.
This, I understand.
“You were told to stay in your rooms, Kee,” he murmurs, holding her tightly.
“I escaped my guard,” she says defiantly. “What is happening? Why was there a fire on the floor? Why are the servants whispering about Artemisen, may she be restored?”
Queen Isabella, who’s remained mostly silent, walks forward. “Come with me, Karrina. We’ll have tea and cakes while your brother talks to the king and our … guest.” This last with a glance at me.
The princess, with some effort, stops crying and drops into a perfect curtsy. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Kaelen bends to kiss her forehead. She clings to her brother for a moment, then turns to the queen. As the two of them walk toward the door, I happen to glance at the Sylvan, whose hot gaze follows Karrina all the way out of the room. When he eventually turns back to the king, our eyes meet. I see his expression of utter shock before he quickly schools his face to bland impassivity. I have no idea what that was about, and I can’t find the strength to care.
Kaelen bows to the king. “You will remember your promise, Your Majesty,” he says, more a demand than a request.
The king’s face is a study in arrogance. “I’d think you’d be eager for the chance to avenge your parents.”
“And I am, but I also have a sworn duty to care for my sister.”
