I wonder if this horrible thing is Grimsen’s work.
Seeing her bound, I can’t help but think about Oak. I glance at Oriana, wondering if she’s reminded of him, too, but her expression is as calm and remote as the surface of a frozen lake.
We go to the table. I am seated beside Oriana, across the table from Grimsen. He spots the sun-and-moon earrings I am still wearing and gestures at them.
“I wasn’t sure your sister would give those up,” he says.
I lean in and touch my gloved fingers to my earlobes. “Your work is exquisite,” I tell him, knowing how fond he is of flattery.
He gives me an admiring look that I suspect is pride in his own art. If he finds me pretty, it’s a compliment to his craft.
But it’s also to my advantage to keep him talking. No one else here is likely to tell me much. I try to imagine what Taryn might say, but all I can come up with is more of what I think Grimsen wants to hear. I drop my voice to a whisper. “I can hardly bear to take them off, even at night.”
He preens. “Mere trinkets.”
“You must think I am very silly,” I say. “I know you have made far greater things, but these have made me very happy.”
Oriana gives me an odd look. Did I make a mistake? Does she suspect me? My heart speeds.
“You ought to visit my forge,” Grimsen says. “Allow me to show you what truly potent magic looks like.”
“I should like that very much,” I manage, but I am distracted with worry over being caught and frustrated by the smith’s invitation. If only he’d been willing to brag here, tonight, instead of setting up some assignation! I don’t want to go to his forge. I want to get out of this camp. It is only a matter of time before I’m caught. If I am to learn anything, I need to do it quickly.
My frustration mounts as further conversation is cut off by the arrival of servants bringing dinner, which turns out to be a massive cut of roasted bear meat, served with cloudberries. One of the soldiers draws Grimsen into a discussion about his brooch. Beside me, Oriana is speaking of a poem I don’t know to a courtier from the Court of Teeth. Left to myself, I concentrate on picking out the voices of Madoc and Lady Nore. They are debating which Courts can be brought over to their side.
“Have you spoken with the Court of Termites?”
Madoc nods. “Lord Roiben is wroth with the Undersea, and he cannot like that the High King denied him his revenge.”
My fingers clench on my knife. I made a deal with Roiben. I killed Balekin to honor it. That was Cardan’s excuse for exiling me. It is a bitter draught to consider that after all that, Lord Roiben might prefer to join with Madoc.
But whatever Lord Roiben wants, he still swore an oath of loyalty to the Blood Crown. And while some Courts—like the Court of Teeth—may have schemed their way free of their ancestors’ promises, most are still bound by them. Including Roiben. So how does Madoc think he is going to dissolve those bonds? Without some means of doing that, it doesn’t matter whom the low Courts prefer. They must follow the only ruler with the Blood Crown on his head: High King Cardan.
But since Taryn would say none of that, I bite my tongue as the conversations swirl around me. Later, back at our tent, I carry pitchers of honey wine and refill the cups of Madoc’s generals. I am not particularly memorable—merely Madoc’s human daughter, someone most of them have met in passing and thought little upon. Oriana gives me no more odd looks. If she thought my behavior with Grimsen was strange, I don’t think I have given her further reason to doubt me.
I feel the gravitational pull of my old role, the ease of it, ready to enfold me like a heavy blanket.
Tonight it seems impossible that I was ever anyone other than this dutiful child.
When I go to sleep, it is with a bitterness in my throat, one I haven’t felt in a long time, one that comes from not being able to affect the things that matter, even though they are happening right in front of me.
I wake on the cot, loaded with blankets and furs. I drink strong tea near the fire, walking around to loosen my limbs. To my relief, Madoc has already gone.
Today, I tell myself, today I must find a way out of here.
I’d noticed horses when we made our way through the camp. I could probably steal one. But I am an indifferent rider, and without a map, I could quickly become lost. Those are probably kept all together in a war tent. Perhaps I could invent a reason to visit my father.
“Do you think Madoc would like some tea?” I ask Oriana hopefully.
“If so, he can send a servant to prepare it,” she tells me kindly. “But there are many useful tasks to occupy your time. We Court ladies gather and stitch banners, if you’re feeling up to it.”
Nothing will give away my identity faster than my needlecraft. To call it poor is flattery.
“I don’t think I’m ready to answer questions about Locke,” I warn.
She nods sympathetically. Gossip passes the time at such gatherings, and it’s not unreasonable to think a dead husband would provoke talk.
“You may take a little basket and go foraging,” she suggests. “Just be careful to stay to the woods and away from the camp. If you see sentries, show them Madoc’s sigil.”
I try to contain my eagerness. “I can do that.”
As I draw on a borrowed cloak, she puts a hand on my arm.
“I heard you speaking with Grimsen last night,” Oriana says. “You must be careful of him.” I recall her many cautions over the years at revels. She made us promise not to dance, not to eat anything, not to do anything that could result in embarrassment for Madoc. It’s not that she doesn’t have her reasons, either. Before she was Madoc’s wife, she was High King Eldred’s lover and saw another of his lovers—and her dear friend—poisoned. But it’s still annoying.
“I will. I’ll be careful,” I say.
Oriana looks into my eyes. “Grimsen wants many things. If you are too kind, he may decide he wants you, too. He could desire you for your loveliness as one covets a rare jewel. Or he could desire you just to see if Madoc would give you up.”
“I understand,” I say, trying to seem like someone she doesn’t need to worry over.
She lets go of me with a wan smile, seeming to believe we understand each other.
Outside, I head toward the woods with my little basket. Once I hit the tree line, I stop, overwhelmed with the relief of no longer playing a role. For a moment, here, I can relax. I take some steadying breaths and consider my options. Again and again, I come back to Grimsen. Despite Oriana’s warning, he’s my best bet to find a way out of here. With all his magic trinkets, maybe he’s got a pair of metal wings to fly me home or a magical sled pulled by obsidian lions. Even if not, at least he doesn’t know Taryn well enough to doubt that I’m her.
And if he wants something that I don’t want to give him, well, he has a bad habit of leaving knives just lying about.
I hike through the woods to higher ground. From there, I can see the camp and all its pavilions. I spot the makeshift forge, set back from everything else, smoke rising in great quantities from its three chimneys. I spot an area of the camp where a large, round tent is a hub of activity. Maybe that’s where Madoc is and where the maps are.
And I spot something else. When I first took stock of the camp, I noticed a small outpost at the base of the mountain, far from the other tents. But from here I can see there’s also a cave. Two guards stand as sentries by the entrance.