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Dru tensed. “I never said—”

Ash’s eyes flashed with fury. A second later, he had slammed his way out of the room, closing the door behind him with a force that left the air vibrating. Dru stood there, staring after him, her heart racing. Well, she thought darkly, at least I’ve mastered one thing in Faerie. The ability to make Ash Morgenstern stomp off in a rage.

Rathna

Rathna pricked her finger with the sharp tip of a needle and winced. Another blood spot on her embroidery, she thought glumly. The Queen always liked her handmaidens to be doing embroidery. Rathna wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t as if the Court seemed to be in need of embroidered items.

She splashed her feet impatiently. This cavern was one of her favorite places to go when the Queen did not require her presence. The walls were damp and covered in moss, and water trickled through the moss to form a stone-bound pool, surrounded by spidery ferns. She liked to dangle her legs in the water and imagine she was home in the wetlands where she had grown up, among happy rusalki who liked to drown things. Rathna had lost her taste for drowning things while in the Court, but she still liked to reminisce.

A voice broke into her thoughts. It was a familiar voice, dark and sweet.

“Lady Rathna, I am sorry to interrupt you. I too often come here to be alone, and to think.”

She dropped her embroidery with surprise and turned to see Prince Ash. He wore a dark blue velvet doublet worked with a swan motif in gold. His crown was a gold circlet today, in stark contrast to the silver of his hair.

Rathna was unsure of what to say. She ordinarily only spent time with Ash in the company of his mother, or their friends Callen and Cuan. When it was just the two of them, his presence felt overwhelming. “Prince Ash.” She dipped into a half curtsy. “Do you wish me to leave you in solitude?”

“Not at all,” he said, coming closer. “Now that I see you, I realize I have a question. One that perhaps you can answer?”

Rathna smiled uneasily. It was hard to know quite what to do with her hands when he was so close to her. There was something about the Prince that made it difficult to look away from the sharp colors of him: green and black and silver and blue all at once. “Ask me, then.”

He looked at her steadily. “Who does my mother trust the most? Whose counsel does she listen to?”

“Oh, there are several who she trusts.” She hesitated. The words had spilled from her mouth easily, though she was sworn to protect the Queen’s secrets. Perhaps this was not a secret. Ash was the Queen’s son. Didn’t he have a right to know?

The Prince reached out a hand and tucked a lock of blue-green hair behind her ear. “Dear Rathna,” he said. “I am only looking out for my mother. I would hate to see her kindness taken advantage of.”

Rathna knew she should draw away, but couldn’t. She looked up at him, almost imploringly. There were those in the Court who didn’t trust him, she knew, because of his heritage and his strange past. But Rathna had always liked that he was different. Where the Seelie Court was the whole world to many faeries, Ash gave the impression of someone who had seen much and done much. Someone whose gaze reached far beyond these twisting tunnels.

“Rathna.” He said her name again. “If you told me, it would make me happy.”

Immediately, Rathna imagined him happy, and the thought gave her pleasure. A tight knot in her chest began to ease. She could see now what the right course would be, because making him happy was all that mattered.

“The two people the Queen trusts most,” she said, “are the Huntsman and Lord Byrne. She always sends us away when she meets with them, for they know more about her than we do.”

“That’s wonderful, Rathna. When is she next meeting with Lord Byrne?”

“Tomorrow, at midday,” Rathna said. She smiled, happy and at ease. “You are the second person to be asking me about Lord Byrne today. He must be very popular!”

Ash’s hand fell from her cheek. His green eyes narrowed. “Who else has asked about Byrne?”

“Drusilla. She asked when he was again visiting Court.” She widened her eyes, worried. “Was I wrong to tell her?”

But Ash’s demeanor had changed completely. He had drawn back, both physically and in every other way. His smile stilled, his eyes hardening. “No,” he said. “You did no wrong. It is the Shadowhunter who is at fault.”

“But, Prince Ash—”

He didn’t hear her. He had already turned and was stalking out of the room, the set of his shoulders revealing his fury. He seemed to have decided he hated Dru, Rathna thought. It was too bad. Everything at Court would surely be more pleasant if those two could learn to get along.

19

One False Glass

The hotel in Munich was gorgeous. Probably because Kit had looked up “fancy hotels in Munich” on his phone, and booked it himself using Reginald T. Murgatroyd’s credit card. It was about time Ragnor coughed up extensively for their troubles.

He’d booked them a suite with a bedroom, a kitchen, and a living room, decorated in minimalist shades of cream and brown and bronze. The ceilings were high and there was an ornate fireplace, guarded by an iron grate, against one wall. The windows were massive sheets of glass looking out over the rooftops of the city.

When Kit went into the main bedroom and tossed his backpack on the floor, the queen beds seemed to whisper to him. He hadn’t slept at all on the train, and both beds were piled with pillows and covered in thick white duvets that looked soft as clouds.