That night, Mite waited in bed, her stomach in knots. Was Julian mad at her? Would he not want to read her a story? She couldn’t sleep if he didn’t. He had read to her every night since Momma died. Mite’s memories about her death were jumbled—she had only been five, after all, which was practically a baby. But she did remember that Julian had read her a story that night, because Momma always did, and that he kept turning away to wipe his eyes.
She leaned over to check on the spider under the bed. Once she’d made it back to her room, she had transferred the spider into a larger jar, which hadn’t been easy. As soon as the spider tasted fresh air, it made a getaway, its many legs ping-pinging against the glass. But Mite knew how spiders thought, and had the other jar ready, so the spider merely ran from one prison into another.
“I’m sorry I can’t let you out,” Mite said regretfully. She usually let her spiders roam free, but given the braided spider’s size, she suspected it would eat the others. “But you’re my honored guest, so I’m going to take care of you for as long as you’re here.”
Mite didn’t know what honored meant, but it sounded welcoming. The spider hulked against the back of the jar, perfectly still. Now that she was able to look at it properly, Mite was impressed by the spider’s beauty. It had a red spot on its back, which gazed up at Mite like another eye.
“We’ll have to think of a name for you,” Mite said. She always named her pets, though given that she had so many, she sometimes forgot what their names were. “How about Patience? That’s the name of the dog in my favorite story.”
When finally Mite heard Julian’s footsteps outside her door, she felt a surge of relief. She shoved Patience back under the bed.
Reckoner came in first, snuffling at the floor. Being nearly blind, he made his way mostly by smell. He flopped onto his usual spot on the woven rug, where every night he left a patch of dragon drool. Mite scratched his head. She liked Reckoner. She was glad Julian hadn’t chosen a scary dragon for his familiar. There had been other dragons on the island where he’d found Reckoner, bigger and healthier and much more impressive pets for a future king, but Julian had felt sorry for old Reckoner, and wouldn’t hear of leaving him behind.
Julian entered the room, carefully stepping over the dragon’s twitching tail. Mite eyed the tray he carried, which held a glass of milk and something wrapped in cloth. “What’s that?”
“This?” Julian settled on the edge of her bed, his face serious, but this time Mite knew he was only pretend serious, and she started to smile. “I heard from a reliable source that a certain princess didn’t get her cake this afternoon. Would there be any truth to that rumor?”
He unwrapped the cloth, revealing a perfect golden cake, studded with licorice and lightly steaming, as if fresh from the oven.
“I warmed it for you,” Julian said as Mite let out a cry of delight and lunged at the tray.
“Thank you,” she managed around a mouthful. Cake and a story was almost too good to be true, especially after worrying that she wouldn’t get either. She was glad Julian had forgotten about what she’d done.
But as if reading her mind, he said, “Don’t think you’re off the hook, Maita. You know you’re not supposed to go off without me or Noa—or Kell, if she’s free. Tomorrow you’ll stay in the tower with me and practice your writing. I should be making you do that more often, anyway. If only that last teacher I found for you two hadn’t panicked and run off . . .”
Mite nodded. She wasn’t worried anymore.
“Where did you go, anyway?” Julian said, flicking through one of the storybooks.
Mite hated lying, especially to Julian. But she knew he wouldn’t allow her to keep a poisonous spider in her room, no matter how pretty it was. Julian didn’t like any of her pets, though he tolerated them as long as they didn’t land in his hair or crawl up his leg. The last time that had happened, he had let out a stream of words Mite had never heard before, then dashed out of the room quicker than she’d ever seen him move. He had finished reading her story through the door.
But Mite knew she had to lie. Because sometimes, spiders needed someone to protect them, just like people did. “I was looking for woodbugs,” she said quietly.
Julian gave her a long look, but he didn’t ask any more questions. Mite let out her breath. Under the bed, Patience went tap-tap against her glass cage, but fortunately the noise was covered by the nighttime scuffling of the stinging beetles that lived in Mite’s closet.
“All right, Mighty Mite,” Julian said. “What would you like to hear this evening?”
8
Noa Attends Her First Meeting of the Council
“Let me get this straight,” Tomas said. “You want me to bake cakes for a sea serpent? One who spends her spare time plotting to kill us all?”
“She especially likes lemon-lime,” Noa said. “Just tell your father they’re for Julian. He won’t ask questions.”
“He might if he notices they’re the size of a seal.”
They were sitting in the shade of a lime tree in the village square, which, in typical Florean style, had a large garden at its center filled with trees and flowering bushes. Noa was happily flaunting her cloak pin—a sapphire-studded JM, overlapping so that the letters looked like a dragon in flight—which was worn only by royal councillors.
“What is this for, anyway?” Tomas said. “Don’t tell me the king’s trying to turn that thing into
