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Of course, he still thought she had to use black silk thread, or her own hair, which was also dark, for her embroidery to be dangerous, but he couldn’t be so specific without looking like he was hiding something.

Ava laughed, looked at her cousin sidelong. “Not even a needle and thread to darn my socks?”

“Nothing.” He took a step closer. “I’m warning you, Balrick, be careful or you will regret it.” For the first time, he looked a little unhinged, a little out of control.

She had seen him that way before, up at the fortress, and she guessed it was his true self, covered over by a loose grasp of manners and some veneer of civility.

But it was so easily cracked.

She was led up to a suite of rooms more suited to a guest than a prisoner, but she didn’t doubt her aunt would change her status in the blink of an eye, if she wanted to.

A bath had already been drawn for her, and she undressed behind a screen and sank into it, taking her shirt with her to wash it as well as keep it safe.

She wouldn’t put it past Balrick to burn everything she had on.

She wasn’t given long. A woman in the gray and white uniform she remembered from her last visit came in to hurry her up, and took the wet shirt from Ava’s hand with a shake of her head.

“I’ll hang it to dry. It looks well enough, I suppose.”

“It’s my favorite shirt, I don’t want to lose it.”

The woman sniffed, but she seemed willing to do as Ava asked, and that was as much as she could hope for.

The clothing set out for her on the bed was a dress, silk embroidered with flowers, birds and leaves.

Ava smiled, tracing the design with a finger, looking carefully at the stitching. She had told Catja she was going to do something like this for her cloak. At the time, she’d been lying, making excuses for why she wasn’t embroidering the outside of her cloak, but this was beautiful enough she might consider it.

She wondered what would happen if she wore the spell workings of another spell caster like herself. She felt no danger from the dress, though, although she was in nothing but a towel. She had no way to tell whether it was dangerous or not.

“What are you doing?” The woman who’d taken her shirt away came back, wringing her hands. “Don’t look at it, put it on.”

Ava had no choice, so she stepped into it and the woman tugged on the lacing at the back to make it fit snugly.

“Where did you get such a beautiful dress so quickly?” Ava asked, smoothing the skirt with her hand.

“It was left behind by one of the queen’s guests a few years ago. I thought it was too beautiful to throw away, and that turned out to be a good decision.” The woman shrugged. “Do the slippers fit?”

Ava slid them on. “Slightly too big, but good enough.”

The woman gave a nod of relief. “You’re due immediately in the throne room.” She led the way out, and the two guards who’d followed her and Balrick up, fell in behind her as she was led down the stairs.

Balrick was waiting for her outside the door to the throne room, and he gave the woman a nod.

“In the time you had, this is good work, Lucinde.”

She curtsied and then hurried away, happy to be shot of the whole thing.

Ava didn’t blame her.

The sound of footsteps ringing on the marble floor made Balrick stop as he reached for the door handle.

Herron was wearing an ornate jacket, and Ava recognized her mother’s stitchwork in the black silk design that was sewn into the two front panels.

He was wearing protection. Protection he had obtained by chaining her mother to a wall and threatening Ava’s life if she didn’t work it for him. And to make matters worse, he’d forced her mother to unpick her own cloak’s protection for the black silk thread.

In that moment, she didn’t think she could hate him more.

And yet . . . her mother had worked that design knowing Ava was at Herron’s mercy. There might be a few surprises worked in for Ava to use, even though it had to have been around a year ago since the item was sewn.