Page 93 of With Wing And Claw

Her spine went cold with either shock or dread.

But she took the letter, because itmightjust contain useful information, and smiled as if this wasn’t a surprise at all, as if she’d always known of whatever game her uncle was playing behind her back. Confusion was weakness. Weakness was death. And so she kept her voice perfectly level, perfectly matter-of-fact, as she said, ‘Thank you for your assistance, in that case – and do you happen to know where I can find the Bargainer at the moment?’

‘Last I heard, he was having breakfast at the harbour master’s place, Your Majesty.’ The girl bent into yet another easy bow, then floated off without another word, long hair swishing against her moss green wings.

The harbour master.

Gods-damned Rhias – a relic from the Mother’s time she’d thought she didn’t need to bother with yet.

With a curse, she slipped the letter into her pocket and made for the nearest exit of the castle.

But of course she wasn’t escaping so easily – not the very day after an effective declaration of war. A tall male demanded to know how the court would guarantee the safety of allied houses on other fae isles. A female soldier complained that only Bereas was being punished for killing fae, whereas the Alliance had yet to face any consequences for their violence against the empire. A father begged for mercy for his two rebellious sons, then turned to threats when Thysandra wouldn’t make any promises regarding their fate.

She’d just disposed of that last conversation partner – the gaping gash she’d left in his wing a helpful reminder of all the reasons not to threaten one’s High Lady – when a flash of glittering black and piled auburn curls came hurrying from the nearest garden entrance. ‘Oh, Your Majesty!’

Gods-damned Orthea.

The Master of Ceremony swept towards Thysandra as if she owned the bloody castle, shooing a handful of nearby fae away so half-heartedly it was clear she’d be delighted to have an audience. ‘There you are,’ she drawled, louder than usual in another obvious bid for witnesses. ‘I’msoglad to finally happen upon you.’

Her honey-sweet tone made it obvious that the meeting was neither accidental nor a pleasure to her. As it had been at least five minutes since Calaria’s interruption and Thysandra still hadn’t reached so much as an advantageously positioned window, the temptation to end the conversation with a blast of red and walk on was close to unbearable.

‘Yes?’ she said instead, so curt it straddled the edge of snapping.

‘There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you about the Hunter’s Moon festival,’ Orthea purred, looking delighted about her coldness. At times, Thysandra wondered whether the damn shrew felt a need to compensate for the illusion of a friendship they’d once shared. ‘With all the recent …uproar… I imagined the list of guests might require some revisions, but of course I did not want to act without your thoughts on the matter. Do you feel like we should still send invites to those who were involved with the … irregularities of the last few days?’

For fuck’s sake.

The game was clear, of course. Orthea knew damn well what the answer would be; she’d never needed to ask. Which meant there could only be one reason she stood here nonetheless: that she sympathised with Bereas’s cause, that she didn’t want to catch flack for banning him and his allies from the festivities, and that this way, a dozen witnesses could confirm that it had been Thysandra’s order, not her own, to rescind those invitations.

Throwing a former friend to the wolves all over again.

How bad would it be to just cancel the entire festival outright?

Bad, probably. Angering the Mother’s loyalists was one thing; pissing off the additional part of the population that didn’t care about politics but definitely fancied a party was perhaps a little too much. She’d have to discuss security with Nicanor, then. And speaking of Nicanor …

‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, making her decision in a single spiteful heartbeat, ‘I would justloveto invite Bereas and his friends. Please make sure the message reaches them as soon as possible. Our Lord Protector has been most eager to have a word with them.’

Orthea’s smile stiffened.

‘Was that all?’ A terse nod at the other side of the corridor. ‘I have a busy programme for the day, unfortunately, so if we don’t have anything else to discuss …’

It was then, as she moved her gaze back to the Master of Ceremony, that she saw the bargain mark on the other female’s bejewelled wrist.

A mark that hadn’t been there last time they’d seen each other.

Fuck.

Had she visibly stiffened? She couldn’t even tell. Orthea’s obligatory parting words went straight past her, and so did the demand-disguised-as-question another passing fae flung at her – because this was Silas’s work again, wasn’t it? Ithadto be. Orthea was by no means in the habit of making bargains with anyone she ran into; who else would be able to offer her something worth the effort and the risk?

Had she been sent here as part of that bargain?

How many of the two dozen people who’d approached Thysandra in the past half hour had been playing someone else’s game entirely?

She barely even saw them anymore, the faces lining up to speak with her. Their questions could bloody well wait. She should have known so,somuch better than to let her uncle roam the court without a single question about his intentions, and she wasn’t speaking to a single soul until she had remedied that mistake – until she knew exactly what web the Bargainer was spinning around her.

‘Go see Nicanor for anything urgent,’ she heard herself bite out as she shouldered past a pair of midnight blue wings, straight towards the nearest window.

Rhias lived in one of the comfortable villas along the north coast of the island, a marvel in white plaster and gold with a lush garden that bordered the beach beyond. A handful of young fae were working in that garden as Thysandra flew over; clearly, the harbour master hadn’t wasted any time solving the issue of his human servants leaving.