Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

B y the time I return to the banquet hall, King Auberon is no longer gracing us with his presence, but everyone else is still dancing and drinking. The thick perfume of wildflowers floats through the air, and the ghostly sounds of the Fey music echo off the high ceilings.

With glass after glass of mead, the guests are spinning and twirling around the floor between the banquet tables.

In the far corner of the room stands Talan. Leaning against a stone column, holding a crystal goblet of mead. He's talking to one of the nobles, who wears a jewel-encrusted brocade jacket, and while Talan's body looks relaxed, his expression is predatory. The noble is literally trembling with fear, his face pale as moonlight. This is the effect my sweet, dark-eyed prince has on everyone around him.

I scan the room, searching for the shocking white hair of Duke Ker-Ys. Prince Talan doesn't strike me as the kind who would look fondly on me if I borrowed Nivene's "I got too drunk and had to go to sleep" excuse.

"Jasper, right?" A woman's melodious voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn to see her moving smooth as a panther, her silver hair tumbling in waves over a jade gown. Candlelight warms her milky skin, and her eyes sparkle in the exact shade of her dress. Arwenna is standing right before me now, peering down at me, and a shiver dances over my skin.

I look down at my dress. "Jasper, yes. He designed this today, with help."

She sips from her goblet. "Interesting. I am Countess Arwenna de Bosclair of Val Sans Retour, though I'm sure you already knew that. Jasper did my dress, too, of course, as I am to be engaged to the prince."

"Right. Well, he's very talented." I look away from Arwenna, desperately searching for Ker-Ys.

Arwenna leans in, not letting me go. "You know, Prince Talan and I have had an understanding for years. But he gets distracted sometimes. He has already had girls like you. So many, many girls like you from the dirt-encrusted laboring classes."

The look she's giving me sends a whisper of icy dread cascading down my spine.

"Girls like me?" I ask.

"Girls like you." Her voice rises, echoing off the tall ceilings. The rest of the banquet hall falls to a hush as people listen in. "Dull, inconsequential, easily forgotten. Girls who hike up their skirts, bend over in the dirt, and let the prince do what he wants. Sure, you can hold his attention for a few moments through sheer debasement. Of course, the humiliation of the peasant classes has a certain appeal to a man like him, but he will never respect you, and neither will any of us. You. Do. Not. Belong. Here."

My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. I can feel all the eyes on me and the sharp tension piercing the room.

I lean in closer to her. Nia Melisende might be a people-pleaser, but Nia Vaillancourt is an absolute bitch in the right circumstances. I can't exactly change personalities now.

"I'm the dull and inconsequential one, am I?" I say loudly enough for everyone to hear. "And yet here you are, throwing a public temper tantrum to get my attention, demanding that I look at you. Desperate for me to acknowledge you. Because it hurts, doesn't it, to sit so far, far away from the prince? To not earn his pledges of devotion?"

Her features pale, and then pink splotches appear across her neck. "When I am queen, you will regret your words. People who cross me always live to regret it."

"Weird. You don't seem as if you are about to become queen, at least not anytime soon."

"I remember one of his girls from six months ago. He met her during some holiday trip. She was his favorite toy for a few weeks. Later, they fished her corpse from the nearby lily pond. That's what happens when the prince tires of his playthings. You get a beautiful moment basking in the warm, dazzling sun of his attention. You get little trinkets and baubles like the necklace you're wearing, and you think he loves you. Then he casts you into the shadows. Soon, they'll dig up another bloated corpse of a whore. Or they'll find you trampled by a horse. The world won't mourn the loss of another desperate harlot. But I will still be around."

"All those bodies you referenced—are you accusing His Highness of murder ?"

Her smile falters, and panic flashes in her eyes. "Of course not. I'm suggesting they ended their own lives after they found he no longer wanted them. The nobodies like you who come from nowhere, who bask briefly in the light of wealth and power, of seduction by a prince. You'll get a taste for the intoxicating nectar of what belongs to people like me. You'll grow addicted to the prestige, the money. And when you're sent back to the dark obscurity of the filthy pig farm that spawned you, you will want to die, too. Then he will return to me. If I were you, Nia, I would get lost now before you learn how it feels to plunge from the lofty heights of Perillos back into the squalid Lauron dirt. Don't forget, Talan and I have known each other for years . Much longer than your two-day romp."

This monstrous harridan seems perfect for Talan, really. But with someone like her, I can't afford to back down. Fear fuels her strength.

I sigh loudly. "Well, that's just the thing, isn't it? We all tire of the boring old things we grew up with. Those comfortable but worn-out belongings that no longer seem quite so exciting, like an old pair of slippers. He's had so long to marry you. Quite frankly, it doesn't seem like he wants to. All of this is starting to seem a bit sad, I think."

I turn sharply away from her to find Talan draped over his chair, watching us with amusement. I think he likes having women fight over him.

I walk over to a bowl of fruit laid out on the tables and pluck a raspberry, popping it in my mouth. The crowd starts murmuring again, no doubt gossiping over the scene we just caused. I pick up my glass of mead and take a sip as I watch Arwenna discreetly. Mentally, I make a note of every person she speaks to, memorizing their descriptions. Later, I'll run them by Nivene to see what she can tell me.

At last, I spot the bright white hair of Duke Ker-Ys. When I turn to look at him, I realize he's watching me, leaning against one of the hall's pillars. I school my expression to look lost—a remnant of the girl I used to be before Avalon Tower. Staring into my glass, I pretend that I don't know what to do with myself. It works like a charm. Instantly, the duke is heading toward me.

He stops a few feet away and bows deeply. "May I have this next dance, miss?"

"It would be my honor, my lord," I say shyly. I slide my glass onto the table and try to prepare myself for what will come next, the disorienting rush of mind-control powers, followed by a skull-shattering headache. I have little desire to repeat that experience, but a job is a job.

The duke leads me to the dance floor, then grabs my hand stiffly. Duke Ker-Ys isn't nearly as good a dancer as Talan. He manages to step on my toes twice within the first minute, then chuckles. "A bit clumsy, aren't you, dear? Don't worry. Enough time with us at court, and you'll learn."

I'm now desperate enough to end this dance that I start to summon my telepathy powers—the strings of crimson magic like red ribbons I unfurl. As I draw on my powers, pain lances my skull, nearly making me gasp, and my fingers tighten. I command a ribbon of red energy to slide into Ker-Ys's mind.

It's hard to concentrate on Ker-Ys's thoughts through the constant pain, but I just about manage. He's old, his mind byzantine, a labyrinth of desires and fantasies. Foremost in his mind is the way he imagines how dominant he is, dancing with the royal prince's mistress. Everyone around him can see that he doesn't fear the prince, that he is a real man who can lead.

But diving deeper into his mind, I find the source of those thoughts—the ever-present, gnawing terror of the crown prince and his father. What will they do if he loses their favor? Will he end up bleeding on the banquet floor, dragged out by servants because of the wild whims of a mad prince?

What will he do if that twisted prince suddenly covets his lands—or, horror of horrors, if they find out what he has planned? It's treason, of course. There's no way around it. And the way they kill traitors in Brocéliande is enough to make anyone's blood curdle. Considering what might have happened to Ael, the slow, excruciating public evisceration, he was given a merciful death. What would they do to Ker-Ys, though? Something far worse. He knows it would be worse, and that he would not be brave in the face of that punishment, that he would shriek like a girl as the horses pull him limb from limb, as they peel off his skin.

I can make his fear work against him. I could do it right now and stop this torment. My head throbs as if my brain is being skewered repeatedly with a blunt sword.

But I force myself to keep digging. I have to make sure he'll keep his mouth shut about Goulven.

I run deeper into the maze of his mind, searching for the plot to take down Auberon. I glimpse it there—the meetings with several lower nobles—and then a shady individual called Goulven. A commoner who could help with some of the more unsavory, bloody tasks.

I clench my teeth and ram my powers into that memory, crushing it. I wipe the name Goulven from Ker-Ys's mind. He doesn't remember what he's called or what he looks like. In fact, he's not even sure if he was there.

Done.

Now my body is shaking with pain, skin sweating, my jaw clenched. I feel like I'm about to throw up. Just a bit more…

I focus on Ker-Ys's fear of discovery.

Talan already knows , I whisper into his thoughts. He must've unearthed the secrets in your dreams. That grotesque display with Lord Ael was a warning for you, a prelude to the fate that awaits you. Talan probably intends to arrest you after the banquet. But there is hope. Just a tiny, flickering glimmer of hope. The only chance of leniency is if you confess first. If you give away the other conspirators' names, Talan and his father might show mercy. In fact, maybe Talan hasn't told King Auberon yet. You must confess to Prince Talan alone, away from prying ears, and throw yourself on his mercy…

I pull away, the agony still ringing in my skull like a cursed bell.

Ker-Ys is pale, looking as sick as I feel, but I mask my pain as best I can.

"Are you all right, my lord?" I ask.

"I need to speak to the prince," he croaks.

I blink innocently. "Of course. I have his ear. I could talk to him, set up a meeting for you in a few days."

He's shaking, sweating. "Now. Please. As soon as possible."

Clenching my jaw, I spin, catching the eye of Talan. He waits in the shadows, his gaze on me. He lifts his chin, and light from the stained-glass windows streams red and blue over his sharp jawline.

I walk with Ker-Ys toward Talan, my fingers still delicately touching his wrist. I keep the thread of magic between us alive, though it feels like a white-hot needle in my skull. Talan leans back against the column, raising his goblet to me. A lock of his dark hair falls before his eyes. With a rakish smile, he says, "There you are, my love."

"My prince," I say. "The duke wants a word in private."

Talan sips from his glass, and his rings glitter in the light. "The night is early. Perhaps a bit later."

I can feel the duke's hesitation and give him a prod, stoking his fear into complete terror.

"Please, Your Highness," he stammers. "It's…quite urgent."

Talan's twinkling eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of…something there. Admiration? No, it must be amusement.

"Fine. Follow me." The prince sighs. He practically tosses his goblet onto the table, and without another word, he turns to saunter from the hall, all eyes on him.

"Of course, my prince." Ker-Ys hurries after him, and I follow.

The large doors groan open, and we cross out into the corridor. I stare at Talan's broad form as he walks before us. His crown is still askew, and he pulls it off to drop it on the head of a knight's statue that we pass.

From the hall, he pushes through a wooden door to a small library. A fire burns in the fireplace, and I drop into a wooden chair upholstered with deep red velvet, the magical connection with Ker-Ys stretching painfully. Talan opens a liquor cabinet, uncorks a bottle of wine, and pours us three glasses of claret.

With his wine, he perches on the edge of his desk. "What's all this about, then, that you had to pull me from a party?"

"Your Royal Highness," the duke blurts, "I must confess. I've recently learned of a terrible conspiracy against you and King Auberon. A few of the lower nobles are conspiring, I'm afraid. Riling up the commoners. They complain that the king spends too much on war, too little on them. They complain that the men from their baronies are dying in the war. These conspirators are turning the common people against the royal house. There's talk of getting the army on their side. I can tell you their names."

"Interesting." Talan arches an eyebrow. "But I'm ever so curious. How, exactly, did you learn about this conspiracy, Ker-Ys?"

"I…I have my sources. I…"

I send another surge of magic into our connection. He knows I whisper in his mind. Come clean. It's the only way to escape a traitor's death.

"I was part of the conspiracy, Your Highness." The duke starts sobbing, his body trembling. "But I realize now how foolish it was. That's why I've come clean, you see. To demonstrate my loyalty. To show you that I atone. I will do anything now to prove myself. I am not a traitor."

"Your loyalty. Of course, I demand nothing less." Ice slides through his tone. "And your coconspirators? You'll give me the names of those you've been working with?"

"I can give you the names of the nobles, of course, my prince. As for the commoners…I've never really met any of them. I think I saw…I don't remember…a shady man…"

Talan's expression looks almost bored now. "I don't give a fuck about the peasants. Nia, will you give us some moments alone?"

"Of course."

At last, I can release the threads of magic between Ker-Ys and me. It takes all of my self-control not to stumble on my way out of the room. As soon as I shut the door behind me, I grunt with pain, grabbing my head in both hands. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and nausea turns my stomach. I lean against the wall, trembling with the effort not to puke in one of these stone alcoves. My legs are shaking, and I want to drop into a bed and never move again.

I hunch against the wall and sip the wine. I'm not sure how much time passes before Talan opens the door again. With the hammering, jaw-clenching headache, it seems like hours, but maybe it's only a few minutes.

Talan closes the door behind him, and he peers down at me, eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What's wrong with you?"

"Using my powers is painful now, ever since you brutally severed my connection to Cadoc. Now, when I use them, I feel like someone is trying to hack their way out of my head."

"Ever since we first met?" He hooks his finger under my chin, lifting my face to his. He's examining my face.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you mention it?" He lowers his hand.

"Does it matter? You need me to do this, and none of the healers can know about it."

He frowns, staring at me, then pulls out a silk handkerchief and hands it to me. "Right. Of course. I suppose it doesn't. Your nose is bleeding."

I dab at my nose. Red streaks across the blue silk.

"I'll walk you to your room," Talan says. "You look half dead."

"There's no need," I say sharply. "I can get there on my own."

He glances at me. "Has it ever occurred to you that when a prince of the Royal House of Morgan says he is going to do something, he isn't asking for your approval or permission? I said I was going to walk you to your room, and I will. And I will send my healers for you. I do whatever the fuck I want, love, and when I die someday, I will have no regrets. It's the privilege of being me."

Despite the harshness of his words, his voice has a smooth, lyrical cadence that I find strangely soothing.

He offers his arm to me, and I lean against him.

He dips his head to my level. "Come on, then, I can't have you causing a scene in the hall. I already know how tetchy you get. Even without a headache, you're wound tighter than a drum, with no release in sight."

I close my eyes as I let him lead me through the hall, reminding myself that I can't get comfortable with him—not even for a moment. Because I saw in Ker-Ys mind what Talan would do if he knew the truth about me, and it would make this headache seem like a day at the beach.