Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

L ight streams through the windowpanes in my room, painting my silky bed sheets with diamonds of coral. I allow myself to luxuriate in that single moment of contentment.

For two weeks in this castle, I've alternated between bad sleep and a constant state of wakeful hypervigilance. No wonder Talan described me as wound tighter than a drum, with no release in sight.

The moment I walk out of my room, my senses kick into overdrive. I'm constantly scanning for information and threats, wary of danger, perpetually fearful of someone discovering the truth.

Throughout it all, I feel what Mordred spoke of. My powers are growing, a nervous energy within me itching at my mind, threatening to burst.

At night, I've been drifting into a restless half-sleep. Just as Mordred taught me, I summon the veil in my mind before I fall asleep. And that is managing to keep the Dream Stalker out of my thoughts, but it's also keeping me from having proper dreams.

Dawn is the time when I can feel like myself again. Right now, as the peach morning light streams into the room, everything seems temporarily perfect. In the quiet of morning, with the birdsong outside, I'm at peace. A few moments of just being Nia, curled in a soft bed, before I throw myself into the lion's den again.

As I stretch out, a gentle, nervous tap sounds at the door. I close my eyes, inhale, and become Nia Vaillancourt, Prince Talan's chief mistress.

"Come in," I say.

The door opens, and my handmaid, Aisling, tiptoes inside. "Good morning, my lady. Should I give you a few more minutes of sleep?"

I've asked Aisling to wake me every morning as soon as the sun rises. Even if I'd love to stay in bed longer, I want to get some work done before the rest of the castle starts to stir. A dawn wakeup is an almost unheard-of request for the aristocracy of Brocéliande, but not quite so strange for a simple farmer.

"Thanks, Aisling. I'm getting up. The gods smile on those who rise with the sun."

She pushes through the door with a tea tray and slides it onto the table by my bed. Steam coils from the teapot. She tucks a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. "They didn't tell me that you'd be rising this early, but I'm fine with that, of course." She sniffles, and I see that the tip of her freckled nose is red.

"Are you all right, Aisling?"

She nods and opens my wardrobe, then starts to rifle through the clothes for dresses. "Oh, well. Not really. My husband left me long ago. And I thought I'd found love again at last. Not that I even really wanted love again, but I wanted someone to talk to. And also I thought if we got married, I might be able to do something else with my life, you know? I guess I wanted something more…I always dreamed of living out in the countryside, learning how to paint. Not that I mind being here."

I understand how she feels. I used to feel trapped in a life of empty bank accounts and looking after my mom. "Maybe you don't need a partner for that. You never know when your life might take an unexpected turn."

Aisling's expression brightens, and she nods. "I suppose. Never mind. It's a nice day today, positively sunny. I've heard about the Dream Stalker…" She freezes, and her freckled cheeks flush bright red. "Apologies, my lady. He hates to be called that."

I shrug. "I won't tell him."

She relaxes, smiling at me. "I've heard it's connected to him. My daughter says His Highness controls the weather with his moods. Can you imagine that? All grown up now, she is, but she still doesn't know her arse from her elbow." She tuts, shaking her head.

"I haven't heard that one."

"Well, I told her nah, that's nonsense. First of all, the prince is never in a good mood, between you and me. Second, that's not how his magic works, is it? It's the Dream Stalk…you know. Dreams. And his tongue does magic things. Runs in the royal family, that one. The Royal House of Morgan. Magic tongues."

"His tongue—what?"

She nods vigorously. "He can cast enchantments with his tongue. Or is it his saliva? Haven't seen it, of course. It's not like I often get to see the prince's tongue. And he rarely does it, I suppose. He's more into killing. No offense."

"None taken."

She sets out my clothes as she talks. "Anyway, my daughter has all sorts of silly ideas. Listens to whatever the cook says because she saw the cook's bare chest once, and she can't stop thinking about his muscles. I said to her, Aela, I said, half the men in in Brocéliande have perfect chests. We're Fey. It's not like we're human. We have cheekbones too, you know? Not like humans. Do you know what they look like? I've seen one in a picture book. They're like a bloated toe with a face drawn on. Like a bowl of quince sauce with eyes. That's not us Fey. And do you know what else? I once caught the cook fondling the uncooked bread dough in a way that I would call…well, I would call it unsavory. I really would, with the look he had on his face. The way he violated that dough with his hands…and do you know what that lump of uncooked dough reminded me of? A human face, really. So, that's what he fancies, I imagine. Humans. Imagine that." She tuts and shakes her head, and a corkscrew curl dangles before her eyes.

I let her words wash over me as I sip from the tea. At first, Aisling's frequent word barrages made me dizzy. But slowly, I'd grown accustomed to them, until they became a crucial part of my morning wake-up process. Now, along with the strong tea, her stream of consciousness jump-starts my brain.

She sets out hot water next to my bed for me to wash my face and fluffs a fresh towel. "…and she told me, that's not a sea dragon, that's a whale. Can you imagine that, Nia? A grown woman talking about whales and other such myths? I'll go get your breakfast, my lady. Where will you be eating today?"

"I think I'll take breakfast down the hall at the balcony of the Barenton Tower in twenty minutes."

"Very well, my lady. I'll set it out there. There will be an execution today, so that's exciting."

My heart speeds up. "Of whom?"

She smiles brightly. "Traitors. Spies. People secretly working with the humans, even after everything they did to us. I won't be sorry to see them dealt with. We're lucky we have the King's Watch looking out for us. The humans and the demi-Fey caused the famine, you know."

I swallow hard, mastering control over my expression. "Oh. Did they find actual demi-Fey? How horrifying."

She shakes her head. "Gods, I hope not. I think Fey traitors. Who knows what the humans are paying them for their treachery? Get dressed, then. I'll bring your breakfast to the balcony."

She bustles out of the room.

I force myself out of bed at last and spend a few minutes washing in the sun-drenched bathroom. I pull on the dress Aisling left for me—a luxurious material, periwinkle with a pale silver bodice and bell sleeves. Then I sit down by the desk and pull a blank piece of paper from a drawer. I pour myself another cup of tea. Carefully, I write a coded message, summarizing everything I observed yesterday. I detail the new guard that joined the roster, the section in the eastern wall overgrown with vines, Count Cian's affair with his butler, and the change in the patrol route. Any detail I can think of to help plan the assassination.

Sipping my tea, I write in tiny letters, using a code that should be unbreakable, so I'm not doing this as quickly as I'd like. My encryption skills are still quite basic since I missed most of those classes during training. When I'm done writing, I finish the tea, then roll the paper to slide it up my dress sleeve. I pull on a blue cloak over my dress.

The moment I open the door, my shoulders tense a little. I never know when someone might be watching me here. As I stride through the empty halls, I keep scanning for movement, but I don't see anyone. Just the morning light washing over the stone floor, the cracks greened with moss, and the flowers that grow around the leaded windows—primrose and foxglove. I turn a corner, and a servant passes me carrying a fresh bouquet of flowers. He bows slightly as I pass.

When I peer out the window, my heart skips a beat. I take a step closer to the window, my breath clouding the glass. There, far below me, is a stone courtyard, where a large wooden platform has been set up. Ten metal blocks have been arranged on top of it, with curved indentations where necks will lie. My blood goes cold. Are these for real spies working with Avalon Tower?

Goosebumps spread over my skin.

I walk on, and reaching the balcony, I step out into the wintry air, hundreds of feet above the snow-dusted earth. My gaze flicks over the walls. Most of the city of Corbinelle spreads out to the west of here, so the view to the east is one of a landscape of frozen trees. The Paimpont River carves through the forest, and it widens to a lake with a metallic gleam, with mist coiling from its surface. It's serene today—the air chilly and crisp, the sunlight glinting off the snow like diamonds. I drop into a chair, with a heated brazier just by my side, warming the air. When my gaze flicks to the lake, I feel a sharp pang of homesickness for Avalon Tower.

The door creaks open behind me, and Aisling steps onto the balcony. She slides a tray onto the table in front of me—one with hot bread, tea, mead, and strawberries. "Here you are, my lady. I had the cook make more of those rosemary-seasoned rolls that you like. I kept an eye on him this time, made sure he wasn't doing anything untoward with the dough. You know, when I was a little girl, I used to dream about a giant bread roll the size of a house that I could live in."

"Oh?"

She stares out at the landscape. "I can see why you like this spot. It really is the most beautiful place in the castle."

"And it faces east," I say with a smile. "So sometimes, I think I can almost see my village from here."

"You poor thing. You must miss it so much."

"Oh, but I'm so lucky to be here, Aisling." Smiling, I start to butter one of the rolls.

Of course, the real reason for this spot isn't the gorgeous view or my supposed yearning for my home in Lauron. It's that from the Barenton balcony, I can see the main gate and one of the patrol routes. From this vantage point, I can make notes of everyone coming and going, and the different guards and their habits. On top of that, one of Auberon's tower bedroom windows is visible from here. So far, I've glimpsed him twice. All these things go into my daily reports for Avalon Tower.

By now, I've mapped every nook and cranny in the fortress—except for the prince's and the king's chambers. Mistress or not, I'm not allowed into either of their bedrooms, and I desperately need to find a way in.

Even more worrying, I've found no information about the war in Scotland. No mention of the Fey plans I'm supposed to uncover. Every day, thousands are dying in that war, and I can't learn a thing. We're running out of time.

"Well, enjoy your breakfast," Aisling chirps, and she leaves me alone on the balcony.

As I eat, I watch the guard shift change before the open gatehouse doors. I watch closely as a merchant passes through. While the guards are changing, they don't inspect him as they usually do.

Then I tense as a familiar figure strides along one of the lower bridges between the towers. He's so far away, I nearly miss him, but Talan has a strange way of catching the eye, as if he sucks in all the light around him. I stare as he descends a stairwell, heading for the courtyard, black cloak trailing behind him.

What's he doing up at this hour?

He crosses the courtyard, walking purposefully to a spot by the wall that I've already noted, one hidden by brambles and hedges. With the morning sun coming from the east, that area is cast in shadow. No one in the courtyard would see him as he stands there, waiting.

And it doesn't take long for me to see who he's waiting for.

A rider comes through the gate, dressed in the black jacket of a messenger—one of dozens that go through the fortress every day. He seems to be riding toward the closest stables, but he's not taking the most direct route. And as he passes Talan, he discreetly tosses a package to him. No, not a package—a crimson envelope. Talan slides it into his black cloak and stalks back toward the castle.

Why would a prince need to receive secret messages? Part of his plot against the king, I suppose.

I frown. Whatever he is up to, it is definitely worth reporting back to Avalon Tower.

I rise and brush the crumbs from my clothes.

With my new information stored away, I take the spiral stairs all the way down to the lowest level of the castle. A guard waits at the door, he follows me as I step into the courtyard.

My skin prickles. Whenever I leave the palace, someone follows me. Is it because Talan suspects me of lying, or is he trying to protect his secret weapon against the king?

I step outside, my boots crunching in the crisp snow. As I cross a hedge, I pretend to stumble. I let the parchment in my sleeve drop into my palm and quickly shove it under the thorny hedge. Then I rise, laughing awkwardly and brushing the snow from my cloak. I keep walking. One of Nivene's people will pick up the message and get it to her, and she'll take it to Avalon tonight.

As I turn back toward the castle, something shiny draws my eye, glinting in the sun.

Mordred's silver moth flutters over the snow in plain sight as I watch it, then flies away.

I pull my cloak more tightly around my shoulders.

My father wants to see me.