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‘Everyone’s loyalty can be bought,’ I retorted, choosing my words with painstaking care even below the throwaway arrogance. ‘I’m just trying to figure out your price.’

Was that too much? Her dark cheeks turned even darker, a furious blush in the cold, pale light; her voice hit me like the lash of a whip. ‘Howdareyou, you little—’

‘Please, Thysandra.’ I leaned towards her, emphasising the plea. My last chance. My finishing move. ‘Just one binding – just something to make bloody Lord Khailan swallow his pride. I’mbeggingyou.’

‘I’ll give you your one binding,’ she spat, half coming up from her plank bed. ‘Khailan’s is the twenty-third orb in the fifth west aisle. A boon you don’t need in return for your useless offers. Now getout.’

I could have cried.

Instead, all I said as I scrambled to my feet was, ‘I hope you’ll come to appreciate us more during your stay.’

‘I hope you drown in your own chamber pot,’ she snapped, eyes blazing. ‘Get out of my fucking sight. And if you want me to ever speak another word to any of you’ – she drew in a deep breath, words suddenly wobbling a little – ‘you’d better keep Anaxia away from me.’

I turned in the doorway, sliding my gaze over her one last time – hands clenched to fists, muscular forearms bulging against her alf steel chains, breasts heaving with agitation under her torn red dress. Her gaze met mine with roaring fury and something that was perhaps a hint of …

Fear?

‘I’m very sorry,’ I said, stepping out. ‘I truly don’t think anyone down here is that powerful.’

Her curse was the last thing I heard as I slammed the door behind me.

And then there was just Creon’s laughter, a sound that made me forget in the blink of an eye about festering hatred and unruly allies – a reward far more glorious than even success itself, echoing through the bleak corridor in bursts of gravelly, infectious triumph.

Lord Khailan’s binding.

Step one, at least, I’d managed.

Step two burst into the Skeire home after breakfast the next morning.

I was just setting the last stitches to finish my adjustments to the dress I’d pilfered from Lyn’s extensive adult wardrobe – a billowy, velvet creation in such a deep red I could blow up half a city with it – when Cas arrived, faded straight into the living room by a crook-nosed alf female I didn’t know by name. The phoenix was blushing with agitation, his awkward not-long-but-not-short-either hair tousled in a tell-tale sign of sleepless nights.

‘Emelin,’ he panted, collapsing into the nearest armchair as if he’d run all the way from Phurys to the Underground. ‘The elders have agreed to see you. Inhalf an hour.’

Deafening silence answered him.

I stared at the flustered young male before me, my needle frozen in my fingers, the implications of his words taking an age to land. Next to me, Creon had stiffened over his hastily sketchedmap of the halls of the Cobalt Court.Agreed to see you– but in half an hour?

That was not an agreement. It was hardly an invitation.

Rather, a summons.

Sitting at the table, Tared broke the silence with a slow, heartfelt curse.

‘I’m sorry,’ Cas stuttered, wringing his hands as he turned his gaze to the alf. ‘I passed on the message you gave me – that Emelin wanted to discuss their proposal and had some confidential news on her magic to share with them – but I didn’t expect—’

‘They’re grasping for control,’ Creon interrupted, pulling his feet from the chair where they’d so leisurely rested while he puzzled over potential organisations of the bindings. His voice was a little better this morning – husky rather than hoarse – but the anger in it was no less cutting. ‘Do they have any other conditions?’

‘She’s supposed to come alone,’ Cas said hurriedly. ‘The alves can bring her to Phurys, but she’s to take no one with her into the Fireborn Palace.Especiallyno fae company.’ His grimace at Creon was half apology, half nervousness. ‘They seem to be a little uneasy about you.’

‘Can’t imagine what I did to deserve that,’ Creon muttered, turning to me. ‘Is half an hour enough?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m always ready.’

That drew a small smile from his lips. ‘You could refuse to come running, though.’

‘They’re capable of making us wait another three weeks,’ Lyn said through her fingers, staring miserably at the table. ‘Is our annoyance really worth that much?’

Tared groaned. ‘Possibly, yes.’