It’s the first time I’ve ever wondered if she feels the same way I do—trapped by the circumstance of our birth.
Could I do it?
Could I take a lover?
“And what happens afterward?”
Andraste’s lashes smother her eyes. “I will see if I can convince Mother this alliance is not in our best interest.”
Neither of us holds much hope of that. It’s written all over her.
My mother rules Asturia with an iron fist. The whims of her daughters are never taken into consideration. We are pawns for her to move about at whim.
“There,” she whispers, stepping back. “There’s some color in your cheeks now. Get dressed. Meet us by Mother’s tent. Hopefully by then, you’ll have made a decision.”
She leaves as I stare at myself in the mirror.
Find someone.
A shiver runs through me.
I’ll need more than that if I’m to escape this trap.
Because I will never marry Etan of the Goldenhills.
Not even if I have to kill him myself.
3
Thiago
“Why does she have to look so smug?” Thalia demands, glaring across the clearing at the Queen of Asturia.
Adaia sits upon a gilded throne before the bonfires, her expression cool and serene. A red velvet gown clings to her breasts and falls to the floor. Her pale shoulders are bare, the gown looped around her throat with a golden collar. Rings glitter on her fingers and a golden snake curls around her upper arm. It’s far more muted than anything I’ve ever seen her wear, but the mask makes up for it.
Glorious red, blue and gold feathers, somewhat akin to a plucked parrot, cascade over her forehead. Her golden hair is slicked back and falls down her spine.
“Because Adaia doesn’t know any other expression.” My gaze hasn’t shifted off my enemy since she arrived in this clearing, but there’s something about the way Thalia says it that makes me glance down at my cousin. She’s on edge. We’re all on edge. But while my cousin might look like the sweetest member of my court, she’s also the most dangerous when she wants to be. “Relax, Thalia. What is it you always say? Information is currency. Patience is its own reward. Right now, we have neither. We need a confirmed sighting of Finn, and then we can set plans into motion.”
“Or I could simply walk across this clearing, draw my knife and drive it through that merciless bitch’s heart,” she murmurs as she lifts her wine glass to her lips and drains it.
“She doesn’t have one.” Alarm spikes through me. There are no knives on her that I can see, but then the mysteries of female clothing are lost on me. Apparently, there’s a long-running vendetta against the lack of pockets on female clothing.
Thalia likes improvisation.
She designs her own wardrobe.
Which means she could be carrying half an arsenal in the folds of those skirts.
“What’s wrong, Thi?” She knows exactly what I’m looking for. I can see it in those wicked green eyes.
“I love you and you know that. But I wouldn’t even send Eris after Adaia, and she can kill anything,” I point out. “You wouldn’t stand a chance. Don’t do something stupid.”
Thalia merely smiles. “Oh, please, Thiago. If I wanted to kill the Queen of Asturia, she’d never see me coming. But I won’t. Because that would prove a considerable headache for us right now. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to retaliate. All I can say is that Adaia ought to be careful how much wine she drinks tonight.”
I look at her sharply.
She taps the side of her nose, her mask obscuring the top half of her face. “Lysander might think my little legion is hardly going to win us a war, but he’s wrong. Nobody looks at the demi-fey. Even if they’re slipping powdered shepherd’s rot into the queen’s wine.”
Shepherd’s rot is a mushroom notorious for bursting the stomachs of sheep. It’s rarely deadly for the fae, but it does cause a bout of indigestion that is extremely painful. The effects last for months too.
On one hand, if Adaia suspects us of being behind it, then she’ll only be more intractable than usual.
On the other hand, maybe it will improve my mood.
If I could bottle Thalia’s rage and send her to war armed with only that, then I’d probably be holding Adaia’s crown in my hands by the end of a week. Thalia takes great joy in fine silks and velvets, and indulging in honey cakes and sweet wine, but mistake her at your own peril.
“I have a better idea,” I say as a hush falls over the gathering, my voice lowering. “Save it for the last night when we have Finn back. A gift, courtesy of Evernight.”
Thalia grins at me and I straighten my mask.
It’s subtle and molded expertly to my face, courtesy of Thalia. A hawk’s sharp leather beak with velvet feathers. The cloak I wear is plain, my doublet made of crushed black velvet. Among all the glitter and glamour of the fae courts, nobody would look twice at me.
It’s perfect.
“Let us all sing to the night,” the herald calls, interrupting our plotting. He lifts his enormous staff and brings it down upon the flagstones in front of the bonfires. “Let us sing to the fires! Let us sing to the coming dawn!”
The three enormous bonfires that stand in the heart of the clearing tower over us. The queens of Aska, Ravenal and Asturia gather before them, prepared to light them, and the crowd hushes.
Right now, Eris and Baylor should be making a furtive foray into the Asturian encampment. I doubt they’ll have much luck. Adaia will expect it. But I want more details about the way the camp is set up, and preferably a glimpse of Finn.
Just because the demi-fey say he’s alive, it doesn’t mean he’s in a decent condition.
All Thalia can
