Chapter 20

‘Sash— Your Majesty. Your Majesty .’ Naxi’s voice, quiet but shrill, caught up with her before she’d even reached the castle gates through the steadily thickening throng of fae pouring out. ‘Your— Oh, come on, slow down ! I have short legs!’

Short legs and stupidly delicious lips. Thysandra smoothly circumvented a group of armed fae jogging towards Nicanor, then finally crossed the castle’s doorstep and into the magnificent hall beyond without looking back. There were even more eyes here. On the other hand, more walls and doors within reach, too, and she’d prefer to have at least a few of those around before daring to meet her pursuer’s gaze again.

‘ Thysandra !’

She walked even faster.

Around her, feverish whispers rose from the crowd, the news moving swifter than even the fastest pair of wings. No one accosted her directly, though – not yet. Whether it was due to the little demon trailing behind her or her general dubious reputation, she wasn’t sure; either way, it wasn’t inconvenient .

It took a minute or two before she finally spotted an open door between the flutters of wings, coats, and dresses. Another minute before she managed to reach it in a manner that did not give the impression of a flight. The small powder room was mercifully deserted, at least, just a circle of velvety chairs, two walls of gilded mirrors, and an imposing assortment of hair brushes, perfumes, and wing powders on the tables. She slipped in, unable to hold back a sigh of relief, and rested the back of her head against the brocade-covered walls as she waited for Naxi to join her.

Ten counts of rest were all she was granted. Then the door clicked shut, the noise abruptly quieted, and Naxi’s high, breathless voice squeaked, ‘ Sashka !’

She closed her eyes.

The wall was blissfully cool and stable.

‘ Stop him if he makes the same mistake ?’ Naxi blabbered on without waiting for a response. ‘ Scale up the defences? Is that fae code for “we’re at war with him now”?’

‘It’s fae code for “we’re at war with him but he’s the one in the wrong”,’ Thysandra sourly corrected. ‘Otherwise, yes.’

The scoff she expected didn’t come. ‘So you’re in danger now?’

‘I was in danger already.’ She rubbed her face, then warily looked up. Naxi’s eyes were almost painfully blue, staring at her from three mirrors at once. ‘There’s no such thing as safety at this court.’

‘But you’re in more danger now,’ Naxi shrilly insisted.

Gods have mercy – what in the world was this about? It wasn’t new, was it, the notion of deadly risks in this place? Nobody came to the Crimson Court to experience a peaceful vacation, and either way, she’d been clear enough about her intentions when she returned from the Cobalt Court – no more sitting back, and no more accepting the unacceptable.

Really, wasn’t that the entire reason she’d started making deals with demons in the first place?

‘I suppose I am?’ She came away from the wall and ruffled her wings into a more comfortable position, unsure how to proceed in the face of this unexpected protest. ‘Good thing I have you and your legendary loyalty on my side, then.’

Naxi’s face darkened. ‘I’m not joking , Sashka.’

‘Then what are you trying to say, exactly? Because I was under the impression we both came here rather prepared for—’

‘You don’t need to do this!’ Naxi burst out, small fists trembling.

Thysandra stared at her.

‘You could just … leave. Couldn’t you?’ There was nothing melodious left in that singsong voice – nothing but shrieking misery. ‘The bastards are making everything worse! You tried very hard already! So why not let them figure out their own mess and get out of here?’

And just like that, it made sense.

Come live somewhere else with me.

‘And move to that idyllic island with you instead?’ she said slowly, hearing the warning in her own voice.

‘Well.’ Naxi’s bottom lip quivered, but she did not back down, did not move from where she stood stiff as a rod by the door. ‘We’re having fun, aren’t we?’

Fun.

Hell take her.

It shouldn’t be painful, the realisation – it shouldn’t be new or surprising or even something that required a reminder at all. Demons chased their fun. Thysandra did not. As easy as it was to work together, as much as Naxi kept her safe for now, there would be no common destination in the end. They would go their separate ways one day.

Sweet lips and clever fingers be damned.

‘The problem is,’ she said, sucking in a breath as she turned away and paced to the circle of chairs, ‘that I want to do this.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Naxi sounded almost indignant behind her. ‘You hate it. You’re frightened every single minute in this place. You—’

‘Alright, fine . I don’t want to not do it – is that better?’ It took an otherworldly restraint to keep her voice from soaring into a shout. ‘I have a lifetime of mistakes to fix. I promise you I’m not going to feel any happier lying on a beach while I know innocent people are dying all over the archipelago again. ’

Naxi was quiet for so long Thysandra almost started thinking she might have fainted. But when the demon finally spoke, she did so softly, feebly – almost sadly .

‘So we’re staying?’

‘Well, I’m staying.’ She turned back around, seeing the movement reflected in the mirrors on either side of her – a sweep of gold-black wings, a sway of purple. Naxi still hadn’t moved, blue eyes trained on Thysandra’s face as if to pin her in place. ‘You’re free to leave whenever you decide there’s nothing for you at this court anymore, of course. I would just appreciate a warning so I can account for your absence.’

Cold. Pragmatic. And fine, she would regret losing an ally this powerful … but then again, better to have no alliance than to have a former ally working against her. This, too, had no business making her heart twinge so painfully.

That kiss had proven all too well what a hazard demon hearts could be.

‘Alright,’ Naxi said, voice a little choked, and Thysandra’s heart skipped a beat all over again.

‘Do you … do you mean you’re leaving?’

‘No.’ A sniffle. ‘Just that I’m an idiot.’

A befuddled silence fell. In the distance, loud enough to be heard through the closed window, Nicanor was bellowing orders at flocks of fae.

‘What?’ Thysandra said, feeling like she had somehow missed half a minute of the conversation.

‘I should have seen that coming.’ Naxi’s joyless little laugh was bitter as unripe berries. ‘I mean, I did see it coming, which—’

Something smacked against the outside of the door.

Not a fist. The sound was too dull, to unfocused for a knock. Rather, it sounded like an entire limp body had crashed into the wood; a roar of pain followed a moment later, the shriek of steel against steel, a flash of red visible through the chink above the threshold.

Someone shouted, ‘ Your Majesty! ’

Oh, hell .

‘You know what?’ she snapped, reflexively checking her knives as she made for the exit and all but shoved Naxi aside in passing. Soldier’s instincts took over – fights before feelings. ‘Let’s have a word later, alright? Need to survive the day first.’

She was out just in time to see the first corpse being dragged away.

The trouble with war preparations was they left painfully little time for talking.

By the time all army commanders had been grilled thoroughly on their loyalties, all surveillance schedules had been implemented, and all scouts had been sent out to survey the surrounding islands for hiding spots, it was hours past midnight and Thysandra was tired enough to almost fall asleep before she’d dragged herself back to her rooms. Naxi was quiet and subdued beside her. Whether the reason was exhaustion or whatever emotion had overcome her in that powder room, Thysandra couldn’t tell; she did not have the brainpower left to ask, either.

Checking her defences for the night was all she managed to do. She didn’t bother to undress and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

Dawn woke her after what felt like mere minutes – an unusually noisy dawn, the shouts and clamour of armour outside signalling a change of guards around the castle. Beside her, the bed was empty. For a single, bloodcurdling moment, she thought Naxi might have slipped away in the night; then she heard the quiet humming from the living room, the padding of bare feet, and a watering can tapping against plant pots, and her heart abruptly settled back into its usual rhythm.

Just a matter of strategy, of course.

She would be a fool for it to be anything else .

All the same, it took her more effort than it should have to drag herself out of bed, get out of yesterday’s rumpled dress, and make herself presentable again. We’re having fun . The words still echoed, a demon’s goals and dreams – dreams so utterly incompatible with Thysandra’s that it was hard to imagine those uncanny demon senses had not picked up on it before.

Perhaps she had not been clear enough herself? Perhaps Naxi assumed that the loss of her loyalty to the Mother, to the empire of old, meant she had lost all sense of loyalty entirely – that she was no longer still the same fundamentally dutiful person beneath with that thin veneer of obligation scrubbed off. Perhaps demons just couldn’t grasp the notion that there was so much more worth bleeding for: home, principles, love.

If so, it might be a kindness to them both to point that out as quickly as possible.

But when she finally gathered the courage to leave her bedroom, Naxi was already standing by the locked door, dressed in buttery yellow, a fuzzy pink shawl around her shoulders. And all she said – no greetings, no questions – was, ‘I forgot to visit the Labyrinth yesterday!’

So Thysandra unlocked the door and then ate breakfast alone, with only the monstrous plants for company, reminding herself with every bite that it was nonsensical, truly nonsensical, to feel envious of a mountain.

‘Your Majesty?’

She couldn’t walk halfway down a corridor this morning without being waylaid by yet another fae with questions, warnings, demands. This girl was young, too young to be allowed at court at all, really, and yet she came striding from a small salon with the air of an accomplished courtier, all fawn-eyed shrewdness and glittering confidence. She was holding a folded letter in her hand; on the inside of her wrist, green against brown skin, gleamed a single bargain mark.

‘Yes?’ Thysandra said, not bothering to force a smile.

‘The name’s Calaria, Your Majesty. Maleon’s house.’ A swift, artful bow; the girl’s long blonde ponytail swept down and up with the motion. She smiled brightly as she straightened. ‘My sister is one of the people who left with Bereas. I found a letter from her on my table this morning and thought it might be of interest to you.’

She held out the parchment as she spoke. A tempting offer, but too tempting – people did not betray their own kin without wanting favours in return.

‘And what would you require for your service to the crown?’ Thysandra said, not moving to accept the gift.

‘Nothing at all, Your Majesty.’ Calaria’s sunny smile grew even wider as she turned her wrist up. ‘I have already made arrangements with the Bargainer, as a part of which I am obliged to present you with this information.’

Silas?

Her spine went cold with either shock or dread.

But she took the letter, because it might just contain useful information, and smiled as if this wasn’t a surprise at all, as if she’d always known of whatever game her uncle was playing behind her back. Confusion was weakness. Weakness was death. And so she kept her voice perfectly level, perfectly matter-of-fact, as she said, ‘Thank you for your assistance, in that case – and do you happen to know where I can find the Bargainer at the moment?’

‘Last I heard, he was having breakfast at the harbour master’s place, Your Majesty.’ The girl bent into yet another easy bow, then floated off without another word, long hair swishing against her moss green wings.

The harbour master.

Gods-damned Rhias – a relic from the Mother’s time she’d thought she didn’t need to bother with yet.

With a curse, she slipped the letter into her pocket and made for the nearest exit of the castle .

But of course she wasn’t escaping so easily – not the very day after an effective declaration of war. A tall male demanded to know how the court would guarantee the safety of allied houses on other fae isles. A female soldier complained that only Bereas was being punished for killing fae, whereas the Alliance had yet to face any consequences for their violence against the empire. A father begged for mercy for his two rebellious sons, then turned to threats when Thysandra wouldn’t make any promises regarding their fate.

She’d just disposed of that last conversation partner – the gaping gash she’d left in his wing a helpful reminder of all the reasons not to threaten one’s High Lady – when a flash of glittering black and piled auburn curls came hurrying from the nearest garden entrance. ‘Oh, Your Majesty!’

Gods-damned Orthea.

The Master of Ceremony swept towards Thysandra as if she owned the bloody castle, shooing a handful of nearby fae away so half-heartedly it was clear she’d be delighted to have an audience. ‘There you are,’ she drawled, louder than usual in another obvious bid for witnesses. ‘I’m so glad to finally happen upon you.’

Her honey-sweet tone made it obvious that the meeting was neither accidental nor a pleasure to her. As it had been at least five minutes since Calaria’s interruption and Thysandra still hadn’t reached so much as an advantageously positioned window, the temptation to end the conversation with a blast of red and walk on was close to unbearable.

‘Yes?’ she said instead, so curt it straddled the edge of snapping.

‘There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you about the Hunter’s Moon festival,’ Orthea purred, looking delighted about her coldness. At times, Thysandra wondered whether the damn shrew felt a need to compensate for the illusion of a friendship they’d once shared. ‘With all the recent … uproar … I imagined the list of guests might require some revisions, but of course I did not want to act without your thoughts on the matter. Do you feel like we should still send invites to those who were involved with the … irregularities of the last few days?’

For fuck’s sake .

The game was clear, of course. Orthea knew damn well what the answer would be; she’d never needed to ask. Which meant there could only be one reason she stood here nonetheless: that she sympathised with Bereas’s cause, that she didn’t want to catch flack for banning him and his allies from the festivities, and that this way, a dozen witnesses could confirm that it had been Thysandra’s order, not her own, to rescind those invitations.

Throwing a former friend to the wolves all over again.

How bad would it be to just cancel the entire festival outright?

Bad, probably. Angering the Mother’s loyalists was one thing; pissing off the additional part of the population that didn’t care about politics but definitely fancied a party was perhaps a little too much. She’d have to discuss security with Nicanor, then. And speaking of Nicanor …

‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, making her decision in a single spiteful heartbeat, ‘I would just love to invite Bereas and his friends. Please make sure the message reaches them as soon as possible. Our Lord Protector has been most eager to have a word with them.’

Orthea’s smile stiffened.

‘Was that all?’ A terse nod at the other side of the corridor. ‘I have a busy programme for the day, unfortunately, so if we don’t have anything else to discuss …’

It was then, as she moved her gaze back to the Master of Ceremony, that she saw the bargain mark on the other female’s bejewelled wrist.

A mark that hadn’t been there last time they’d seen each other.

Fuck.

Had she visibly stiffened? She couldn’t even tell. Orthea’s obligatory parting words went straight past her, and so did the demand-disguised-as-question another passing fae flung at her – because this was Silas’s work again, wasn’t it? It had to be. Orthea was by no means in the habit of making bargains with anyone she ran into; who else would be able to offer her something worth the effort and the risk?

Had she been sent here as part of that bargain?

How many of the two dozen people who’d approached Thysandra in the past half hour had been playing someone else’s game entirely ?

She barely even saw them anymore, the faces lining up to speak with her. Their questions could bloody well wait. She should have known so, so much better than to let her uncle roam the court without a single question about his intentions, and she wasn’t speaking to a single soul until she had remedied that mistake – until she knew exactly what web the Bargainer was spinning around her.

‘Go see Nicanor for anything urgent,’ she heard herself bite out as she shouldered past a pair of midnight blue wings, straight towards the nearest window.

Rhias lived in one of the comfortable villas along the north coast of the island, a marvel in white plaster and gold with a lush garden that bordered the beach beyond. A handful of young fae were working in that garden as Thysandra flew over; clearly, the harbour master hadn’t wasted any time solving the issue of his human servants leaving.

Knowing him, she should probably have someone check whether his new fae gardeners were in fact working for him voluntarily.

She heard Silas’s voice the moment she landed on the beechwood porch – his timbre low and guarded, a marked contrast to Rhias’s ostentatious joviality. Her knock on the front door was little more than symbolic. She walked in before anyone had shown up to let her in, following the sounds of voices and clattering plates to the patio at the heart of the house – closer and closer to where Rhias was contently regaling his visitor with a story of some mutiny he’d ended by flogging the wings of the fae involved.

Bastard.

Was this the sort of ally Silas thought he needed? The sort of ally he thought she needed?

She tugged a last beaded curtain aside and stepped into the sunlight, where the two males were sitting around a table loaded with enough cream buns, strawberry tarts, and salmon sandwiches to feed an orphanage. As if the grain stores weren’t running out at an alarming rate. As if the same gods-damned fishing fleet Rhias was responsible for hadn’t suffered a devastating blow fewer than twenty-four hours ago.

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to smother the harbour master in his own fucking cream buns when he turned to her, barely rising from the seat in which he lounged, and gave her a lazy grin with not a shred of surprise in it.

‘Your Majesty!’ An expansive gesture at the table accompanied the greeting. ‘What an honour to have you appearing at my humble morning meal. Will you be joining us, by any chance?’

I’d rather share a dinner with a dozen alves out for my blood , she wanted to say.

Instead, she turned to Silas, whose only greeting was a fleeting smile that did not reach his eyes. His simple white shirt didn’t fit in with the extravagance of this home, the lack of colour almost a challenge – a reminder that he did not need any of that gaudy red as long as he had the powers that lay embedded in his very own skin.

Was she imagining things, or had the scattering of marks on his right arm become visibly denser already?

Alarming.

She schooled her face into stony indifference all the same. Alarm was weakness. Weakness was death.

‘I was looking for my uncle,’ she said, choosing not to respond to the invitation at all. ‘Apologies for interrupting your breakfast, Silas, but could we have a word?’

From his nod, she couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or glad to be out of Rhias’s company; the gesture was as calm, as unemotional, as any other of his movements. He rose from the deep velvet seat with the stark composure of a mountain getting to its feet – the sort of composure that made one wonder if there even was any inner turmoil beyond.

Miserable , Naxi had said.

She shouldn’t be thinking of Naxi now .

‘Of course,’ he said only when he was already standing, sending Rhias a look Thysandra couldn’t easily decipher. ‘Enjoy the remainder of your breakfast, Captain. We’ll continue our conversation soon.’

The harbour master raised his glass of fizzy white wine in response, that same grin sliding across his face again. ‘I look forward to it.’

Oh, yes. Definitely alarming.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way out through the maze of silk-lined walls and elaborately carved doorframes. Two of the gardeners had moved to the front of the house, it turned out when they stepped into the sunlight – better not to say anything on the porch, then, either.

‘Beach?’ she suggested.

Silas muttered an agreement as he swept out his golden wings.

They flew past that row of villas, up to the next small bay, where the houses were smaller and had been built farther from the surf. There Thysandra landed, her uncle following close behind. The sand was white and powdery here, the sea so crystal clear that it didn’t even look blue for the first ten yards or so.

Gulls screeched overhead. As good a cover for their conversation as anything.

‘Alright,’ she tartly said, raking her hair back in place as she flattened her wings against her shoulders and turned to the male by her side. Frustration sizzled in her veins, dangerous and utterly useless. Being frustrated at that still, stoic face of his was like shouting at a piece of rock. ‘First of all, Rhias ?’

Silas shrugged. ‘I’d rather have him restricted and in my debt than free to cause us whatever trouble he’d very much like to cause us.’

‘Is that why you’re going around making bargains with everyone and their mothers – to try and restrict them?’

‘Yes.’ He stuck his thumbs in the pockets of his trousers as he began walking, edges of his wings fluttering in the breeze. ‘What else did you expect me to be doing, Thys? I’m a creature of habit, and my number of useful skills is, frankly, quite limited.’

What else had she expected him to do?

Perhaps the problem was she didn’t even know .

‘I’d have liked a little more information before you threw yourself back in the game,’ she stiffly said, following him along the surf line. Flecks of white foam clung to her boots, to the hem of her tangerine dress. ‘How am I supposed to work with you if I don’t have a clue what you’re doing in the first place?’

He raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘You can just tell me you don’t trust me. I won’t shatter on the spot.’

‘That’s not the point!’ Even though, admittedly, it quite was the point. ‘But I need to know what you’re working towards. I need to know what you’re trying to achieve. If I have to guess about your motivations while more and more of my own people show up with your bargains on their arms …’

Then how am I supposed to rely on you?

How do I know you aren’t quietly working against me after all?

She didn’t finish the sentence out loud, although she wasn’t sure why. He wouldn’t crumble at the implied accusation, would he? She’d be nothing but sensible to point it out, either. Even if he hadn’t been planning to hurt her, she had no idea how much he’d care if that turned out to be an accidental side effect of his activities.

But with the silence between them, the salty sea breeze in her hair, and the wet spray of the waves against her wings, it felt almost like a betrayal to speak the words.

‘The main thing I’m trying to achieve,’ he said finally, in that calm, low voice that made it so damnably tempting to believe him, ‘is to keep you alive. It appears you could use the assistance.’

She winced as if he’d slapped her in the face.

Weakness . The shock of it made the words come out sharper than intended – ‘I’m not twelve years old anymore, Silas.’

‘No,’ he said, eyes on the horizon. ‘I’m well aware.’

‘Then what makes you think I need—’

‘A handful of soldiers,’ he mildly interrupted, ‘have been making plans to smuggle Bereas and his consorts back into the castle through a delivery of food crates. Their arrival was supposed to coincide with the Hunter’s Moon festival, and their primary target would have been you. Did you know? ’

From anyone else, that last question would have been a taunt. From him, it was just … a question.

‘Where did you hear of this?’ she said, voice too feeble.

‘A letter sent to a girl named Calaria. I’ve sent her your way – in return, I’ll have to try and save her sister from the hounds, although banishment would be acceptable.’ He paused, his golden eyes narrowed against the sun. ‘And then someone was caught tinkering with the water pipes leading to your rooms – we found a bag of arsenic in her possessions. I’m also still working out who started the circulation of a letter that was allegedly sent to you by members of the Alliance, thanking you for your invaluable assistance in winning the battle at the White City.’

Thysandra swivelled around, almost losing her balance in the loose sand. ‘ What ?’

He merely shrugged, never slowing down.

Traitor’s daughter . Traitor’s daughter . Her voice went shrill as she hurried after him and started, ‘I didn’t—’

‘Oh, I know,’ he interrupted, swatting her protest away with a twitch of his wing. ‘Two or three people have already admitted under bargain that the document is falsified, and we’ll get to the root of it soon enough. What I’m trying to say …’

He paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. She barely managed to keep moving her feet in the silence that fell, her heart pounding its deafening rhythm of hide, hide, hide – because they could call her a tyrant for all she cared, they could call her a bitch and a murderer and a spoilsport intent on ruining everyone’s parties …

Traitor’s daughter , the waves whispered to her left.

The hounds howled in her memories.

‘I know you’re bloody capable, Thys,’ Silas finally said, his voice so unbelievably flat. ‘I know you’d likely have survived most of these attempts by yourself, if not all of them. But you’re also surrounded by a few thousand people all clamouring for their own gain, and for more than a few of them, you’re standing between them and their victory. You only need to be unlucky once. ’

‘It’s not a matter of luck.’ Too quick. Too brusque. Her heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. ‘I have people working for me. Protecting me. Anyone who wishes to kill me needs to get through my allies before they can reach me at all.’

‘Hmm.’ He nodded on the edge of her sight, still no feelings or opinions breaking through the broad mask of his features. ‘And do you trust them? Your allies?’

More than I trust you .

It seemed unkind to make that point out loud, though, so instead she went with a more or less composed, ‘I offer them a path to achieve their goals.’

He glanced at her beside him, eyes boring into her face. ‘That’s not what I asked.’

Wasn’t it?

She couldn’t help an owlish blink or two. ‘But you said …’

‘Yes,’ he admitted, and there was a touch of grimness to the set of his jaw as he averted his gaze again and ran a gem-studded hand through his short black hair. ‘Yes, I suppose I did. Gods help me – she trained you well, didn’t she?’

What?

This whole conversation was making less and less sense. She was the one who’d had justified questions, for hell’s sake, and somehow he’d pried those out of her fingers and punched them straight back into her face – sending her teetering, while he was still sauntering along without so much as a blink of confusion. How could he claim he was just keeping her safe when he was tugging at the very pillars that had always kept her alive in this world?

‘I don’t see where you’re going with this,’ she sputtered.

‘Never mind.’ He rubbed his brow, then stuck his hands back into his pockets. ‘Tell me about your allies.’

Was he trying to destroy her trust in them, too?

‘Look,’ she said, voice rising above the crashing waves in a sudden burst of agitation, ‘do you have any actual reason to think I should not be working with them? Any concrete accusations? If Inga confessed anything when you spoke with her yesterday—’

‘Oh, no,’ he interrupted – steady and without hesitation, yet all the same, she couldn’t help but sense an unexpected sliver of … was it defensiveness in his voice? ‘The conclusion of that conversation was that Inga definitely did not leak your plans.’

Thysandra snapped back around to him. ‘You managed to get a bargain out of her?’

His shrug showed neither pride nor false modesty at the accomplishment. ‘We had a good chat.’

‘Good gods.’ That was helpful, admittedly – but then, it made his insistence that she distrust the people around her all the more ridiculous. ‘Fine, so we can trust Inga. Whose loyalties are you doubting, then?’

‘Everyone else’s?’ His wry grin came as close to an apology as anything she’d ever seen from him. ‘What exactly made you decide to start working with a demon , of all creatures? To the point where you trust her to sample the emotions of others for you?’

So he had noticed Naxi behind that hedge yesterday. What could she say? Don’t worry, I bribed the little menace by feeding her honey cakes and fucking her into the ground several times over – not a great way to improve his faith in her sanity, and in any case, with the odd way Naxi had been behaving yesterday, their agreement may not even last that much longer.

‘Bargains constrain demons as well as anyone else,’ she said instead, aiming her gaze at the motions of her feet, the small clouds of sand she was kicking up at every step.

‘True,’ Silas said, his voice neither sceptical nor impressed. ‘Then again, poorly worded bargains constrain demons as little as they constrain everyone else.’

‘I’m not a fool,’ Thysandra said, looking up to glare at him. ‘Anaxia bargained not to willingly harm me, and she’s bright enough that I doubt she’ll do it unintentionally.’

He canted his head. ‘A demon’s idea of harm may not be identical to yours, of course.’

‘Of course,’ she said, unable to keep the frost from her voice entirely. ‘Your concerns have been noted. ’

‘Excellent.’ Another joyless grin crossed his face. ‘How about Nicanor, then?’

‘Nicanor gets what he wants from me. Also …’ We’re old friends. He’d pick the painless poison for me – sentimental arguments that she should surely ignore if she ever wanted to convince her uncle that she’d picked her allies well. ‘If he wanted me out of the way, he could just have stood by and waited when I was attacked a while ago. Considering that he single-handedly saved my life on that occasion, I see no reason to distrust him now.’

‘Beyond him being a self-serving bastard,’ Silas dryly added.

She huffed an unwilling laugh. ‘Yes, and that’s been accounted for in the plans.’

‘Alright. Gadyon?’

‘Would Gadyon ever harm anyone except those leaving dog ears in his books?’ she countered, starting to feel a little steadier on her feet. This was familiar ground. Better than the utter dread of that falsified letter still pulsing in the back of her mind – traitor’s daughter . ‘He doesn’t strike me as the kind to stage violent uprisings.’

Silas pursed his lips. ‘He survived at the Crimson Court despite the disadvantage of a physical impediment, though. I doubt he’s as harmless as he seems.’

‘Are you trying to make me feel like a fool for placing even the most minimal, well-considered amount of trust in anyone else?’ Her voice soared. ‘Then what should I do – never exchange a word with anyone for the rest of my life? Or is the suggestion that I rely only on you and your assistance, perhaps?’

His steps did not falter.

He did not even blink.

‘What I want you to do,’ he said, slowly and meticulously, every word punctuated as if it set the conditions for a life-or-death bargain, ‘is to not take any assumptions for granted at this court. You’re living in a tinderbox, Thys.’ A mirthless laugh. ‘One spark and it’ll burn us all alive.’