Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

T he world seems to tilt beneath me, and I grab the chair's armrests. I have to employ my entire self-control not to look straight at Nivene, though I'm watching her from the corner of my eye.

She maintains her composure, looking at the Dream Stalker with nothing but the curiosity of a calm onlooker.

I allow myself a closer glance—quickly—and I notice the way her knuckles tighten around her goblet.

Fuck.

Talan leans forward and puts an arm on the shoulder of a Fey man with wavy black hair, thick eyebrows, and a white cravat. "Lord Ael here has been spying for the humans. In fact, a guard he knows released one of our prisoners. A demi-Fey spy named Raphael."

Nivene glances my way just for a second, her eyes widening slightly. I'm still holding my breath.

Lord Ael's face pales, now white as his cravat. "What?" Lord Ael stammers. "I never…is this because of the blue dragon?—"

Talan's movement is so fast, so smooth, I nearly miss it. The man's chair topples over, and the next thing I know, he's lifting Ael by his throat, as if the Fey noble weighs nothing. The man's eyes bulge, his face reddening and feet kicking as he tries to take a breath. He's clawing at Talan's hands.

"In His Majesty's court, there is only one punishment for traitors." Talan's voice is ice-cold. With his free hand, he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a dagger. The blade glints in the candlelight. For just a moment, the prince releases Ael's throat. But as he does, he slashes with his dagger, carving right through the man's neck. A simple, elegant swing that sends blood arcing over the flagstones. The Fey falls to the floor, legs kicking as he grabs at his throat, emitting horrible gargling sounds. I stare, willing it to be over. Time seems to slow to a painful crawl as the crimson rivulets stream over the floor, the stains spreading on the delicate embroidered rug.

The woman next to him—his wife, I presume—is sobbing. She covers her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the sound of her cries. At last, Ael's body goes still. His green eyes stare lifelessly up at the ceiling, where candleflames gutter in hanging chandeliers. Blood glistens around him, and a deadly silence settles over the room, broken by the sound of that woman's sobs.

Only King Auberon keeps his composure, taking a bite of the roast boar as if nothing happened at all. I'm pretty sure he's been eating this whole time.

Talan stabs his dagger into the table and turns back to the hall. His venomous smile makes all the heat leach from my body. "Well? That was exciting, wasn't it? It's awfully quiet in here. How about some music? Play something fun, for the love of the gods." He nods at the musicians, then picks up Ael's glass of mead and drinks the rest of it.

Lady Ael cries into her hands, trying to be quiet.

Two violinists and a piper begin playing a cheerful musical piece, their faces pale with fright. A few servants hurry to carry the dead lord's body away.

I stare at Talan as he saunters back to me. He gives me a dazzling smile as he holds out his hand. "Dance with me."

All eyes are upon me. Faintly, I can see the sheen of blood on his dark jacket.

"It would be my pleasure." I stand and take his hand.

We're trained on Fey dances in Avalon Tower, and yet I still somehow don't feel prepared. It's one thing to dance with Serana or Darius under the bright lights of the training room. It's quite another thing to dance with the Dream Stalker seconds after he slit a man's throat, then drank his mead.

He pulls me in, leading me in a close dance. Awkwardly, my head comes up to his chest. Still, he dances gracefully, every step in the right place, commanding my body with ease to move with his. He's the kind of dancer who makes his partners seem skilled, even if they aren't. I just let him lead.

Quickly, other couples join, twirling around us. Maybe it's the mead, or maybe it's the coppery scent of blood hanging in the air, but I'm starting to feel dizzy.

I glance up, my gaze catching on the large, brightly colored butterflies fluttering above us as we dance, their wings shimmering.

"We can talk now." He leans down, whispering. "The music covers our voice even from the keenest of listeners, and no one can read our lips as we move."

I stretch higher onto my tiptoes so I can whisper. "That was brutal. What the fuck was that?"

"Just keeping everyone safe from traitors and spies, my love. Your heart has been racing out of control all evening, and I have to wonder why. Something surprising, farm girl? I thought you'd heard all about my reputation."

"Maybe I'm a little surprised. I didn't realize I'd ever meet anyone worse than the merchant who tried to shag one of our pigs, but here we are." I smile up at him as I say it, taking the sting out of it.

"I'm below the pig shagger in your hierarchy of people?" he murmurs softly. "Truly, I am cut to the quick by the poor opinion of a diminutive, half-starved, woefully uptight onion farmer. How will I recover from this mortal wound to my soul?"

"Why worry what anyone thinks when you're the best at everything? Killing, manipulating, fucking…"

"So you've heard."

"You're quite the full package, aren't you?"

An arched eyebrow. "A full package. I've heard it described that way. I don't usually brag about it in polite society, though clearly, there's none to be found before me. Or below me, in this case."

"You truly don't care what others think, do you?"

"I would be a masochist to dwell on what other people thought of me. I've been despised since I took my first breath. So, I don't really give a fuck what they think. You are not unique or original in your assessment. But I can say you are the only one who says it out loud, so at least you make it interesting. Perhaps it almost makes up for the fact that you're the size of half a person and you loathe having fun."

As we dance, I'm a little distracted by the feel of his powerful muscles shifting slightly beneath his clothes.

Obviously, there are some things I will not be saying out loud. "I say what I think because we're not taught courtly manners in Lauron."

"That is apparent. And that is why they can't stand to have you here."

"Your father certainly doesn't seem happy," I whisper.

"Yes." His lips curl in a wicked smile.

"This might be fun for you, but you've put me in danger."

"You truly make an art form out of being overwrought, don't you? I've given you a life fit for a princess, and you're still upset about it. Don't worry, I won't let anyone harm a hair on my faithful mistress's head. But now I really do need your skills."

"Now?"

"Yes. One of our targets is right here. Duke Ker-Ys. My sources claim that he has been plotting some kind of treason."

"And you're not just going to slit his throat or enter his dreams?"

"No, I need him alive. And dreams are complicated. Some peoples' dreams are intricate and detailed, full of their lives. Others are fantasies and fears, and some barely dream at all. Duke Ker-Ys dreams almost every night that he is counting green beads. Hundreds of green beads. I cannot manipulate his dreams, nor see anything in them. His own tedium is a powerful shield. That's what I need you for."

"You want me to read his thoughts and see what he's planning?"

"No. I don't care what he's planning. If I wanted to know, I'd have him arrested and interrogated. I want you to take control of his mind and make him confess to me privately."

My breath quickens. I've become entangled in Talan's murderous web. "What's the point? You can slit people's throats with impunity. Why do you need me to make him confess?"

"Don't worry about why. Just do as I ask. Do you understand what I need? I need him to talk to me privately and confess all the details of his treason. To me only. Not to anyone else."

"I understand," I say. And I do. Slowly, the pieces are sliding together in my mind. If he arrests the duke and gets a confession, he will only take down the duke. The duke's son will simply take his place, and Talan will gain nothing. But if the duke confesses to the prince in private about his betrayal, Talan will gain leverage over him. Ker-Ys will be in Talan's pocket. A duke on the council of nobles, voting and acting every way Talan needs. Not to mention, Ker-Ys might expose or fabricate additional conspirators whom Talan could blackmail.

"Pay attention." He twirls me, and I lean into his arm, my head thrown back. I get an upside-down glimpse of the dancers spinning on the floor. Then he pulls me upright. "Did you see the man with the deep green jacket trimmed with gold?" he asks.

"Yes. Dancing with a woman in a silver dress with a flower crown."

He lets out a short laugh, one that almost sounds like surprise. "Very good. The woman is Lady Breval, a tedious old witch. Ignore her. The man is Ker-Ys. He's your target."

I nestle my face against his chest, but my eyes are on Duke Ker-Ys. He's easy to pick out in a crowd, with a shock of long white hair, bronze skin, and eyes that glitter like emeralds. I whisper to Talan, "My powers only work with touch."

"Don't worry. Ker-Ys will ask you to dance. He is nothing if not predictable. And when you dance together, you'll get your chance."

I almost feel guilty at the part I'm playing in this macabre and twisted play. The stage is set, the curtain is rising, and I will play a starring role in the ruthless pageant of Talan's making.

But I don't dwell too long on guilt. After all, everyone here is an enemy who'd kill me in moments if they knew who I was.

When the dance ends, Talan bows deeply and brushes a kiss across the back of my hand. His dark eyelashes flick up, and he gives me a faint smile before dropping my hand and sauntering away once more.

I'm about to return to my seat when Nivene stumbles toward me, giggling. "Sister!" She grabs my arm drunkenly. "Can you believe this? Us, dancing here, with all these important people?" Her face is flushed pink, and her dress is a bit askew. She leans against me, struggling to keep her balance.

"Yes, it's all our dreams come true," I say.

She has her hand up as though she's whispering, but her voice comes out in a loud imitation of a drunk girl. "I danced with the owner of the biggest wine cellar in Brocéliande. He has so. Much. Wine."

She tugs on my arm as she falters.

At least, I hope this is an imitation of drunkenness.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

"I'm fine," she murmurs. "It was just a lot of really good mead. And wine. And sparkling wine…oh, wow, the room is spinning really fast."

"Maybe you should go lie down," I suggest, playing along.

"That is such a good idea." She giggles. "Just…lie down. In my huge bed."

"Right."

"Where is my bed?"

I sigh. "I'll ask someone to show you to your room."

"Nooooo…I don't want to admit that to strangers. They'll think I'm a farm girl idiot who can't handle her mead. Just show me the way yourself."

"Fine. Here. Lean on me. We'll look for it together." I have no idea where her room is, but that's not the point of this charade.

I lead her through the doors, relieved to be out of the noisy hall, even for just a second. We cross into the hallway, where a swooping stairwell curves to the upper floor. Out here, the masonry is exquisite but haunting, winged creatures slaying each other with swords and their bare hands. Moonlight pours in through the windows—silver in some places, red in others.

I glance behind me to make sure we're alone. "Please tell me you're not really drunk."

"Of course not, but we can't talk in there. Half the room would be listening. My room's up the stairs."

Arm in arm, we climb the stairwell, and she leans on the curving stone banister, still feigning drunkenness in case anyone is watching.

"Holy shit, that was unnerving," I whisper. "The prince, just cutting that man's throat at dinner. Do you think Lord Ael is really a traitor?"

"It's possible." She leans in close. "I'm not privy to every secret agent passing on information to Avalon Tower. But we know for a fact that he's not the one who let Raphael go."

"Right. And what do you know about Duke Ker-Ys? Talan wants me to mind control him, to force him to confess treason. In private."

Nivene frowns. "If he wanted to get rid of Ker-Ys, he would have made the confession public. So, I assume he wants you to do it for blackmail purposes?"

We reach the upper floor, where chandeliers hang from pointed vault arches high above us. Stone statues of knights line the corridor.

"Yes, I think blackmail," I whisper back. "What do you know about him?"

Nivene sighs. "Okay. This is where it gets more complicated. Ker-Ys is likely plotting against Auberon, but not with the help of any humans or our agents. Just out of his own self-interest. The problem is, one of our assets has been involved in this. His name is Goulven, and he works with Meriadec. Ker-Ys has no idea that he's aligned with us. If you force a confession out of Ker-Ys, that might land our asset in the torture chamber, giving up every secret he knows."

I swallow. "How do you know all that?"

She shoots me a sharp look. "I'm a trained spy, Nia. It's literally my job to uncover things like that with my sharp deduction skills. Also, Meriadec told me."

I exhale. "Okay, so I can try to remove Goulven's name from his confession, if I can."

"If you can't, Goulven is fucked, and hopefully, he doesn't break under torture," Nivene says darkly. "But if there's no way around it, get the confession with his name in it. He knows the risks, like we all do. And fortunately, he doesn't know about you and me."

I swallow hard as dread dances up my nape. "Right."

"I nipped back to Avalon Tower earlier today," Nivene says. "Briefed Viviane and Wrythe."

My jaw drops. "Wrythe, too?"

"There was no way around it," Nivene says grimly. "He realized you were gone and demanded to be included. Anyway, we have our instructions. First of all, the Fey are advancing quickly through Scotland, getting closer to Edinburgh and Glasgow every day. If they get there, the casualties will be astronomical, and the war on Scotland will be lost. The Americans have sent troops, buying us some time, but it's not looking good."

I swallow. "How long?"

"A month at the most. Our sources report on special strategy plans that the Fey have. You and I need to get our hands on them. If we do, we might be able to reverse the tide of the war."

"Any idea where to start?"

"None. Keep your eyes open."

We pass thick, gothic-arched doors inset into the walls. I think her room actually is around here. "Okay, what else?" I whisper.

"We need to prepare for a possible assassination attempt, like Viviane suggested. It will be aimed at Auberon and Talan, at the very least. We need you to map their living quarters. You're the only one who can get close to them. Figure out the guards' schedule, and preferably figure out any routine that the king or prince have. Note anything we can use. With your information, we'll be able to plan our attack."

"Got it," I say. "I'll get the intel. And what's the plan for Raphael and his sister?"

"That's not in the mission scope."

"I know that's not in the mission scope," I hiss. "But he's a knight of Avalon. We need to make sure he's okay and get him out of here."

"No," Nivene says firmly. "That's not our mission. We're doing this to stop the war. And like I said, Nia, we all know the risks."

Frustration coils in my chest.

Nivene stops before a grandiose wooden door flanked by torches. A flicker of movement turns my head, and I glance at a maid on the other end of the hall, dressed in black and carrying a basket of clothes.

"Can I help you, my ladies?" she asks, hurrying closer to us.

I clear my throat. "My sister had a bit too much to drink. She needs help getting to her bed."

The maid bows. "Of course."

"Don't need help, I fucking…" Nivene slurs, pulling away from my grip. She nearly falls down, and the maid quickly grabs her arm to stabilize her.

"Just get her to bed," I whisper to the maid. "Before she embarrasses me anymore. She's only just arrived at court, and she's making a spectacle of herself."

The maid sets down her basket and nods at me.

I hurry off through the corridor, back to the banquet hall.

Nivene's words still echo in my skull like a dirge. We all know the risks.

But I'm not okay with leaving Raphael here.

If Avalon Tower won't help get Raphael back to safety, then perhaps Mordred Kingslayer will.