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This, at least, makes some of them sit up straighter.

“I know the borderlands better than most,” says Pyromey. “If there’s trouble there, I’ll put an end to it. Give me the location and I’ll personally monitor the situation.”

“Really?” I ask, grateful she’s taking me seriously.

“Of course. It’s what any council member would do for another.”

I’m about to describe where we found the humans when the doors to the tavern close with a bang. We look up to see half the opposing team stood there. Turis is near the front—a natural leader, I guess, given his age and status. I see Climent hovering near the back, beside the fae I recognize as Hartflood—the player who transformed into a stag. The fourth member of the group is an older fae like Turis, a female with hair too orange to be natural and golden eyes. For a moment, they stand there, sizing us up, before taking a table near ours. Turis somehow manages to look not a bit like someone whose team just got thrashed. He’s too cool and collected. But the others glare at us as they shuffle past, and I don’t think I’m imagining the particularly dirty looks they save for me.

“That’s strange,” says Elias, his brows knitting. “I didn’t think they let losers drink in this tavern.”

The female bares her teeth, actually hissing at Elias. He just laughs.

“Come now,” says Turis, his gray eyes sweeping over us. “Aren’t we all civilized enough to be able to share the same watering hole?”

“That depends on your definition of civilized,” Pyromey says.

Turis looks her up and down. “Yes, I could see why your understanding of the word might be hazy.”

Jasand growls, a sound that reminds me of the wolf living beneath his skin.

But Turis just turns his back on us as his table orders drinks. I train my attention back on Pyromey, trying to ignore this obvious provocation and pick up where our conversation left off.

“If you want to go and see the work of Evanthe’s followers yourself, we found the bodies about half a mile from the border, on the main mountain pass that leads to Irnua.”

She nods at me, but her reply is drowned out by Elias’s goading of the other team. The redhead has a few drinks in by now, and the volume of his voice had risen accordingly.

“Hey, Clearglen, when are you going to teach that stag of yours how to aim?”

The female he’s addressing rolls her eyes, though Hartflood stands up abruptly, nearly knocking his drink over. But when Turis gives him a long look, he drops back down in his seat with no argument at all. It’s testament to how much sway Turis holds over them. I know how hard it is for an Unseelie to back down. It’s probably why Elias directed the insult at Clearglen rather than Hartflood himself—he wants to needle him without issuing a direct challenge. All the same, it seems strange they’d come here after their loss if Turis doesn’t want them getting into a fight. I resolve to watch him carefully.

The rest of the tavern’s patrons are doing the same, and I can feel several pairs of eyes—High Fae and Low—eagerly studying us, clearly hoping the day’s entertainment didn’t end with the bastet game finished.

Turis looks at Elias with distaste. “Just because you won a game today, doesn’t mean you get to address a member of the noble Clearglen clan so rudely. She’s Lady Brianne to you.”

“And I’m Lord Elias, but you don’t see me standing on ceremony,” he slurs back.

“That’s different,” says Turis.

“Why? Because Elias earned his title in the Divide and she was born with hers?” Pyromey jerks her head at Lady Brianne. “Lord Turis, that sounds positively Seelie of you.”

For the first time since he entered the tavern I see a hairline crack in Turis’s calm demeanor.

“Be careful who you compare to the Seelie, Lady Pyromey. I’m not the one looking to get into bed with the enemy.” He fixes his cold gray eyes on me.

Jasand makes a dramatic show of looking around, even ducking down to search under the table. “What enemies? I don’t see any round here.”

Turis replies with a clipped tone. “Those who wish to ruin this court are everywhere, and it’s more difficult than you’d expect to snuff them out.”

“You mean the Seelie?” Pyromey asks, though I know exactly who Turis is referring to. He wanted me to die in that game, I’m sure.

“The Seelie Court is nothing but a pit of snakes. Filthy backstabbers. Look at the queen, turning against her own son—if that’s the version of events you choose to believe.” He glances at me, inviting a challenge before he continues. “You can hardly be surprised at their quick betrayal, given what they say about his father’s death. Believe me, if it weren’t for the degeneracy of the Seelie, Lucan Hawkstooth would still be alive.”

“You like to throw a lot of big claims around for someone who can’t even get a bastet ball past the post,” sneers Elias.

Climent scowls, but Turis looks amused, raising a mocking eyebrow in my direction.

“If you think today’s result will change the king’s mind about sticking his neck out for his nephew, you are mistaken. If this court is finally going to prove its dominance against the scum across the border, it won’t be just to put a Seelie mutt on the throne.”