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“It’s not just Lord Ainsley. He was merely preying upon fears that already existed. The islanders know you. They trust you, but the nobility—all they have are stories and conjecture and pre-established bias. I told you there would beconsequences to completely removing yourself from the rest of the world.”

Ivain didn’t answer right away. He stared into his tea, as if expecting it to hold an argument strong enough to refute hers. It didn’t. “I’m not sure what exactly you want me to do about that right now.”

“For one, you could act your age.”

He eyed her but sat up. He put on a better front for the children. When they were alone, the walls came down, and she could barely tell the difference between him and the boy she used to know with yellow hair.

“And I’m not saying you need to do anything except to have a bit more care for the things you do and say. You have a brilliant mind. If you would just get out of your own way, others would see that.”

“Now you’re trying to butter me up.”

Yes, because appealing to his ego was about the only thing that still worked on the old coot—that or getting Taly to ask him. Ivain always caved in the face of those big, gray eyes.

He reached to refill his tea. “Kalahad was being possessed by Aneirin last night,” Sarina said, and his hand slipped. He cursed as hot tea splashed his hand. “Possession magic. We’ve got ourselves a jumper.”

It was a shadow mage’s spell. Aether was the underlying substance of all things, so some advanced practitioners were capable of shaping and shifting their consciousness from one location to another.

Ivain wiped at his sleeve. “You did that on purpose,” he grumbled.

Sarina didn’t bother arguing. “He had Taly cornered last night.” Her brother tensed. “Nothing happened, thankfully. Though I daresay, we have our answer on whether he wascomplicit in sending Vaughn. We need to decide what we’re going to do with this information.”

It was the one victory of the evening. And considering the precarious position they now found themselves in—that of trying to accuse a man deemed innocent in that all-important court of public opinion—they needed a sound strategy before barging in.

Ivain’s fingers tapped nervously against the table. “What are you doing right now?” she asked. “What’s with that face?”

Indeed, she knew that face. That grim, wary expression accompanied by a slight tensing in his shoulders as his eyes flicked to the nearest fire douser.

“Spill it.”

Her brother sighed. “I’m sorry to throw a wrench in all your grand machinations, of which I’m sure you already have a few.”

“A couple,” she said. “Twelve.”

“I have news.”

Sarina’s stomach dropped. “Oh no…” How had that wily bastard managed to outsmart her now? Had he saved a baby from a burning building? Or done something equallyprecious… It’s what she would’ve done. Build off the momentum of the evening. One rumor would spark another, and before you knew it the people would be proclaiming him a saint.

“Kalahad fell ill early this morning,” Ivain said. “I received word first thing.”

Sarina blinked. It took a moment for the words to register. “Ill,” she finally managed. “What do you meanill?”

“He fell into a dead faint as the last of his guests were leaving. Then he started spasming and choking up blood.”

“So, he was poisoned.”

“No. His private physician ruled that out.”

“But that…” Sarina snatched the letter from his hand. Maybe her brother wasn’t as sharp as she gave him credit for. “That doesn’t make any sense. Highborn don’t fallill.”

“Not often, I’ll agree. But he’s also not native to the island, and… I don’t know. I always feel a little funny during Solnar. So do you. Dawn Court pansy probably just has a weak constitution.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“No. Maybe. Either way, we won’t know anything until he wakes up. His physician put him in a healer’s sleep. It’s unclear when he’ll come out of it.”

“Well, isn’t thatconvenient,” Sarina murmured as her eyes scanned. “Fever… delirium… poison ruled out…” She snarled softly. “Damn. That bastard really did think of everything.”

Whether he was faking or not, if he was in a coma, he couldn’t be questioned. He was a dead end with a sparkling reputation, the legend of which was only growing by the second. And the longer he remained on his sick bed, the more his allies would rally around him.