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‘Hm.’ She seemed to consider that, studying the buildings we passed on her side of the street – small restaurants, an expensive-looking tailor. Most shops were still closed and empty. ‘Then how come you did not grow up with him?’

‘The Mother was keeping him prisoner while I was born. Apparently, she realised he was developing a little moresympathy for her human slaves than she was comfortable with.’ There – that should be a convincing enough argument in favour of his good intentions, shouldn’t it? ‘By the time she released him and he returned to the Crimson Court, both my mother and I were gone.’

Rosalind was silent for a moment, staring ahead with a small frown on her face as she walked. ‘And you believe his story?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hm,’ she said again, and I couldn’t tell whether she pensively agreed or thought me unbearably naïve. With her gaze aimed at the small tearoom looming before us, it was hard to read her expression. ‘Well, that is clear enough. We’re left only with the mystery of you, then – but let’s find ourselves a table, first.’

The tearoom, which was calledThe Jasmine Vineand had walls covered in little painted jasmine flowers, was run by a woman who looked old enough to personally remember the Last Battle and hauled kettles of boiling water around as if they were feather pillows. She huffed grumpily when Rosalind asked for a table without eavesdroppers, but sent us into the garden with the promise she would keep the rest of her clients indoors as much as possible.

‘That was easy,’ I muttered as I followed Rosalind outside into a small and very charming garden crammed between three other houses, every square inch covered in flower garlands and iron lanterns and colourfully painted wooden birds. A flutter of movement in the corner of my eye had me turn my head – Alyra, taking up position between the reddening leaves of the courtyard’s only tree.

I smiled. She looked as if she was suppressing a triumphant shriek.

‘Half of politics is knowing what people owe you,’ Rosalind was saying in the meantime, paying little attention to any tiny falcons suddenly appearing in our surroundings. ‘She makes halfher yearly income off me at this point. Take a seat – the sun will be creeping into that corner in a few minutes.’

I installed myself at the table she’d pointed out, on a little wooden chair that creaked like it was about to collapse underneath me. The old lady came sailing out of the building at the same moment, carrying a steaming teapot, two cups covered in more jasmine flowers, and a plate full of cinnamon biscuits.

‘You know me so well,’ Rosalind said fondly.

The only response was another snorted huff, but this one sounded a little more affectionate.

‘So,’ Rosalind continued once our host had vanished inside and inched the door shut behind her gnarled back. ‘About you, Emelin.’

The mystery of you, she’d said before we’d reached our destination. I shifted a tad uncomfortably in my chair – more desperate creaking ensued beneath me – and said, ‘There really isn’t anything mysterious about me.’

‘Hmm.’ She picked up the steaming teapot and poured us each a cup of deep golden tea – smelling not just of tea, somehow, but of almonds and orange too, and a hint of … was that cardamom? ‘Young woman no one’s ever heard of before, showing up in the heart of the Crimson Court to blind the Mother, only to subsequently vanish from the surface of the earth again for weeks. Reemerging at the Golden Court a little later, damaging the empire’s army badly with an unknown poison no one has ever heard of. Vanishing for months again, then turning up at a nymph isle to destroyan entire fleetsinglehandedly—’

‘I had a little help,’ I said modestly.

Rosalind gave a chuckle. ‘And if I substitute “half a fleet”, clearly all my questions have been answered at once.’

I snorted a laugh and picked up a biscuit, wondering just how much I could reasonably be expected to tell a woman whose existence I had not known of until two days ago. ‘Most of itsounds more dramatic than it was in the moment, honestly. The core of the story is I’m trying to kill the Mother, and I think thatdoesanswer most of the questions in one way or another.’

She watched me without answer, eyebrows drawn up a fraction, waiting for more.

I took a bite to win myself some thinking time. The biscuit was sinfully delicious, sweet and spiced and crispy; it took an effort not to let out a content moan.

‘Look,’ I said after I’d swallowed that first bite, suppressing the urge to stuff the rest of the plate into my mouth as well. ‘Don’t get me wrong – I would be overjoyed to work with you, and if weareworking together, I’ll be happy to fill you in on every little detail of the past few months. But some of these answers come with information the Mother would be extremely interested in, and even though I appreciate your company—’

‘You know very little about my intentions or allegiances in this conflict,’ she finished, looking oddly … proud? Content?

As if this, too, had been some test. As if this was the answer she’d been hoping for.

‘Yes,’ I said, because it seemed a safe thing to say.

‘Sensible and understandable.’ She brought her teacup to her mouth, blew the steam off it, and watched the rippling surface for a thoughtful moment. Then, slowly, she added, ‘Let me explain where I stand.’

This time I was the one to wait.

She put down her cup, visibly searching for words as she parted and closed her lips, fingers fidgeting with the cuff of her robe in the first outward sign of nervousness I’d seen from her. It made her look younger, somehow. Less like a consul. More like a …

Friend?

Hell, I had to stop liking her so much. Was I so desperate to fit back into the human world that I would imagine myself aninstant friend of the first woman who smiled at me and offered me a kind word or two?

‘They took me at fourteen,’ she said brusquely, and all other thoughts evaporated.