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Clover gives me a sideways look. “He wants to do an experiment…”

“Anexperiment?”

She grimaces. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

* * *

When we reach Pranmore’s quarters, we find Lawrence’s knights waiting in the hall.

“How did the meeting go, Henrik?” Miguel asks.

Just the mention of it dredges up irritation, but I conceal it. “I’ve assigned the search territories, and the commanders should begin sending out bands this afternoon. We’ll continue to check all cargo coming into the villages, along with every shipment leaving the port cities.”

He begins to respond, but the door opens, and Ayan sticks his head out. With a grin I don’t care for, he says to me, “You’re here.”

“I am…”

The High Vale jerks his hand, gesturing us inside. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He closes the door behind us. “Clover told you what Lawrence wants you to do?”

“Me specifically?” I glance at Clover. “You left out that detail.”

She shrugs.

“Henrik.” Lawrence appears from the back room, followed by Pranmore. “You’re here.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I ask warily. “And why are you all staring at me?”

Audra has the decency to avert her gaze, but the rest don’t bother.

“I want you to talk to Camellia,” Lawrence says.

A beat passes as I wait for him to correct himself. When he doesn’t, I say, “Excuse me?”

“I want you to try communicating with my sister through Della.”

I work my jaw as I think about his request. When I can hold it in no longer, I say, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sure Clover mentioned that we think she’s using the girl to watch you,” Pranmore explains, glancing at the closed door. “If you say her name, it might catch her attention.”

They are serious.

“Should we light some candles to set the mood?” Ayan says flippantly. “Close the drapes, play some haunting music? I’m decent with a flute and not too bad with a lute.”

“You’re rubbish with a flute,” Audra interjects. “And even worse with a lute.”

Lawrence snorts and says to me, “It probably won’t work, but it can’t hurt to try.”

“The flute or the lute?” Ayan asks.

The king casts him a scathing look. “Communicating with Camellia.”

“Flute and lute rhyme,” Bartholomew whispers to Pranmore. “You should write them down to use later in your poetry.”

Temporarily distracted, Pranmore asks, “What kind of poem would—”