“… the king’s condition has worsened,” said a man to Milady’s right, his voice smooth but heavy with disdain. He was a large man, his rings catching the light as he gestured with his goblet. “The court physicians are scrambling to keep the rumors contained, but everyone knows he won’t last much longer.”
Milady tilted her head slightly, her ruby earrings swayingwith the motion. She offered him a serene smile as she swirled her wine. “And what do you think will happen once he’s gone, Ban Hallow?”
Ban Hallow snorted. “The same thing that always happens when a weak king leaves no heir. Chaos. Every lord with a speck of ambition will come crawling out of the woodwork to claim the throne. And the Temple …” He paused, his lip curling. “They already think the One-Eyed God favors them above the crown.”
Another guest, a wiry man with sharp eyes, gave a short laugh. “It wouldn’t be the first time a faith has tried to rule. But Priests make poor kings. They’d outlaw every vice they can’t control, tax the life out of us to fill their coffers, and likely burn half the kingdom to cleanse it of imagined sins. No, if the Temple gains power, it’ll be the end of reason—and profit.”
I risked a glance at Milady, whose expression was a mask of amused detachment, her sharp eyes taking in every subtle shift in tone and gesture.
“And what of Foley?” asked a quiet voice at the far end of the table.
I stiffened and tried not to show it.
The man went on, “Rumor has it he’s already begun making overtures to the smaller houses to align them with the king’s interests.”
“Foley is ambitious, but he’s not foolish,” Ban Hallow said, pouring himself another glass of wine. “He knows better than to provoke the Temple outright.”
“He’s still dangerous,” Milady said softly, her voice cutting through like a blade. All eyes turned to her. “Men like Foley don’t wait for opportunity to come to them. They create it.”
“And you would know, wouldn’t you?” the wiry man said with a smirk, raising his goblet in a mock toast.
Milady’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “I merely observe the tides, my lord. Some of us have the foresight to prepare for what’s coming. Others … drown.”
“What about the Plague?” a young lord asked hesitantly, breaking the tension. “I’ve heard whispers …”
“Whispers have a way of growing louder when fear takes hold,” said Milady. “The Temple knows that well. They’ll use these rumors to tighten their grip.”
“Speaking of whispers,” said Ban Hallow, “I heard that a band of Followers will be passing this way very soon.”
Groans around the table. These men clearly disliked the Followers—I supposed because they had to offer hospitality to them, by law. Despite their vast estates and dozens of unused bedrooms, they resented having to share any of it.
I clenched my fists beneath the table, my unease growing with every word. These men spoke of the kingdom’s collapse as if it were merely a game to be played for their own advantage. And Milady, poised and composed, seemed to be pulling every string in the room.
A man on one side of me asked polite, conventional questions and listened to my responses, but I knew how to make myself seem dull and slow-witted, and he soon abandoned his attempts. I was determined to make Milady’s mission as difficult as possible, without actually courting any more punishment. I turned my attention to one of the spoons instead, tilting it to catch the light, and then realized that someone else was speaking to me. The man on the other side.
“Persinette, your name was?”
“Yes, sir.” I managed to keep my gaze averted. “But people call me Netta.”
“Interesting name.”
I looked up. The speaker was a handsome man in a dissipated way: middle-aged, heavyset, with a lazy power in the way he sat and moved. Unexpected muscles rippled beneath the silk of his sleeve as he reached for his wine glass. One of his wine glasses. I counted five at each place setting.
“It’s … a plant. A herb,” I said. “It grew around … where we lived, when I was small.”
“Ah yes. And where was that?” he asked.
I stumbled over my response and settled on, “Far from here.”
“What a pleasure, to live in such a wonderful place as this, beneath the warmth of your lady’s smile.”
“Milady is very kind to me.” I hoped he didn’t hear the acid in my voice.
“How could she be anything but kind to such a sweet young woman? You are the moon, my dear,” he said, raising his glass almost imperceptibly, “pale and bright.”
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes.What rubbish.
“If I am the moon, sir,” I said in over-sweet tones, “then I owe any beauty I might have to the sun. Any light I possess was given to me by Milady, who shines brightest of all.”
