Page 18 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

I startled. Though the last Hunting had exposed the Jacombs’ staff as Wielders, I hadn’t yet heard news of the family themselves. “They stood trial?”

Carmen nodded. “They were accused of knowingly housing those employees. The lady of Dawning pleaded ignorance and stripped her jewelry at Erik’s feet.”

To strip one’s jewelry was the ultimate act of submission at court—as degrading and damaging as a brand.

“Erik pardoned her?” I asked.

“Of course he did. She submitted .” Carmen’s voice soured, and I understood why.

Carmen’s mother, Lady Nelle—afterward dubbed “the Mantis”—had allegedly poisoned her husband, the late queen’s younger brother, five years ago.

No courtiers had defended her at the trial.

And when she’d refused to submit to Erik’s judgment—to strip her jewelry before his throne—Erik had exiled her for her insolence.

On the other hand, the lady of Dawning had submitted... and Erik had been lenient.

It was unnerving—how many lives could be destroyed or salvaged according to the seesaw temperament of one man.

“But really,” Carmen said with renewed vigor, “all anyone can talk about is the Ansoran ambassador, though they do so out of Erik’s earshot. Nobody knows how he wants them to react, and gods forbid they think for themselves.”

I asked, carefully casual, “Is the ambassador...?”

“A Wielder?” Carmen managed to say the word without it sounding like an insult. “We can’t very well ask outright. It might be like asking a woman’s age or her shoe size. But between us, I don’t think Erik would host a Wielder regardless of diplomacy.”

My specter twinged, but it was for the best. Though my kidnappers had only wanted to rescue Wielder prisoners from the Capewells’ hold, the bitter aftertaste of that night still lingered.

If I hoped to find the compass before the copycats struck again, I couldn’t afford more Wielder-shaped distractions—especially in the form of the ambassador, who may try to retrieve the compass for his ruthless empress if he discovered it was missing.

We already stood on opposite sides of the gameboard.

And truthfully, I didn’t want to be disappointed again.

Carmen suddenly yanked me across the dance floor.

She nodded toward an alcove, where a petite young woman watched the revelry, her untouched wine flute glinting from the shadows.

Possessing the porcelain features of a doll, complete with large brown eyes and a mass of raven-black hair, Lady Perla Byrd of Avanford had always seemed more breakable than beautiful.

“It’s uncanny,” Carmen whispered. “Every event—the same alcove. She’ll stand for hours—on those rickety heels, too, mind you—then retreat to her chambers without having spoken a word.”

“Perhaps she’s grieving,” I said. “I heard her older sister passed last year. Petra, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, and gods rest the poor darling! Where Petra was quite an enchantress, Perla is mild, obedient, and tepid as a cup of old soup. When her father heard that Erik was considering marriage this year, he bribed Erik’s advisors into campaigning for her.”

“He’s so eager to marry off his only remaining daughter?”

“His grandchildren would rule Daradon. He’d be a fool to dally.” Carmen gave me an appraising look. “Especially since His Majesty has eyes for another.”

My cheeks heated, but I kept my face neutral. “You’ve done your research.”

“I have a duty to my kingdom.”

“To be a gossip?”

She lightly smacked my arm. “To learn everything I can about Erik’s future consort.” She added in a singsong voice, “Whoever that may be.”

I drew my attention back to Perla. Her family, the Byrds, ruled Avanford, a coastal province renowned for their naval forces and fishing economy. Of all the ruling families, I knew the least about them. But any information I gathered could aid my search for the compass.

So, I said, “Introduce us.”

Carmen’s eyes sparkled. Then she prowled forward.

“Lady Perla!” she called, startling the poor girl. “Meet Lady Alissa Paine. It’s her eighteenth season too.”

I smiled, nodding in greeting. “It’s a pleasure, Lady Perla. We met once as children, but I wanted to officially make your acquaintance.”

“I remember it well,” Perla murmured, though we’d had an unmemorable meeting at Erik’s coronation, both eleven years old and mere shadows behind our ruling fathers.

Now drowning in a bruised-plum gown and clinging to the gloom of her alcove, Perla didn’t look much changed. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Alissa.”

She didn’t smile, but inclined her head lower than I had.

As she drew up, her gaze snagged on my plunging neckline, which revealed the faded edge of my blueneck fever scar—a faint bluish splotch creeping up between my breasts.

Perla must’ve mistaken it for a bruise because she glanced away, her mouth pinched tight as if by a drawstring.

“You girls have much to look forward to,” said Carmen, oblivious.

She’d secured a pot of chocolate mousse and now spoke around a heaping mouthful.

“We Henthornians pride ourselves on Rose Season entertainment. Oh, and the fealty ceremony, of course,” she added as an afterthought.

“But take my advice, and don’t challenge Lady Sabira to a game of Aces if you want to keep your gold.

She’s been working the Games Hall like a shark this year. ”

Before I could reply, a fanfare trumpeted through the room. Perla flinched, wine sloshing over her flute. Not just timid. Jumpy, too.

Despite the mass of people, it wasn’t hard to spot the king.

Erik never weaved through a room; he walked straight across it, expecting the crowd to scatter for him like birds in the way of an oncoming carriage.

Because unlike the rest of us, he didn’t need jewels to announce his power. His power announced itself.

The gentry bowed, servile and reverent—all except Carmen, who went for another bite mid-curtsy, her spoon clacking inside the pot.

As the music resumed, Erik strode toward Lord Rupert Brogue of Creak.

The older man’s walrus mustache twitched in delight at the king’s attention.

With their teeming fields of grain and dullroot, the agricultural province of Creak had always experienced preferential treatment from the Crown—and Rupert, its retired ruling lord, had made himself a particular favorite.

True to form, he now guffawed at something the king had said, the sound so exaggerated that it sent him into a coughing fit.

Carmen muttered, “If Rupert stoops any lower to lick Erik’s boots, he’ll need a back brace.” Then she glanced at Perla and froze, as if she’d forgotten the girl was there. “Tell me, dearest Perla”—with a new, dazzling smile—“did Rupert really purchase a house on the Avanish coast?”

Perla gulped. “I’m afraid I don’t—”

“Oh, if the news reached us here in Henthorn, you must have some idea!”

Perla squirmed like she wanted her gown to swallow her, rickety shoes and all. “I’ve heard rumors—”

“Aha!” Carmen jutted her spoon at me. “That’s his third summer home this year, each one worth a treasury. Is he growing gold alongside the grain?”

I shrugged. “Maybe’s he’s taking pointers from Lady Sabira at the cards table.”

“That oaf wouldn’t know a winning hand if it sat on his lap and sang him a sea shanty.” Carmen scraped up her last spoonful and dropped the pot with a passing server. “Well, ladies? Shall we relieve my cousin of Rupert’s company?”

Perla tensed, color rising to her ivory cheeks.

“Lady Perla,” I interjected before Carmen dragged her away by her sleeves. “The Verenian jewelers have been eyeing your rings.” I nodded to the white pearls adorning her fingers. “Perhaps you could indulge them with a closer look?”

Perla looked pitifully grateful as she scurried off—in the opposite direction of the king.

Carmen was watching me, her azure eyes keen and bright. “Clearing away the competition, I see.”

“What competition?” I said sweetly, then weaved between the spun-sugar towers. Carmen hurried after me, not one to be excluded.

At our approach, Erik sent Rupert off with a good-natured pat on the back—a clever little gesture that had Rupert beaming, even as he was being dismissed.

Then the king turned to me with a knowing half smile. I’d left him searching for me in this very ballroom after his almost-proposal, and his roses had arrived with an almost-threat.

We didn’t finish our conversation. Soon.

Now here I was, curtsying before him, a present glittering in silver wrapping. Is this soon enough? I wanted to bite out.

“Lady Alissa.” He took my hand to draw me up from my curtsy, then dropped a kiss to my knuckles. “I see the princess beat me in welcoming you to our home.”

“If I’d known it was a race, Your Majesty, I would have let you win.”

Erik’s eyes flared—with surprise, perhaps, but certainly satisfaction; I’d never returned his flirtations before. I ignored every instinct that told me it was a mistake to start now. That told me to run, like Perla, away from the king. This had to be done.

“Look at you two.” Carmen cackled. “Shall I have the wedding bed prepared already?”

Erik sighed. “Forgive my cousin’s crude humor. She has no suitors of her own to occupy her.”

“I won’t settle for less than I deserve.” Carmen swooped red-painted nails down her curves. “The gods themselves would worship these hips.”

“As would an Orrenish royal,” Erik countered.

“You would marry me off to Orren? After that trunk of Rose Season gifts?” Carmen swiveled to me and exclaimed, “The Orrenish sent daggers and jewelry and cutlery sets—all doused in dullroot essence!”

My stomach bottomed out. “How—how did you know it was dullroot?”

“The note, of course! ‘May these protect you from foul guests this season.’”

I cringed. Though the kingdom of Orren had eradicated its Wielders centuries ago, Orrenish royals still bathed in dullroot so specters couldn’t touch their skin. To extend that extremism to Erik...

“They’ve heard about the Ansoran ambassador,” I said.

Erik laughed, low and unconcerned. “The Orrenish have always wanted our backing in the Western War. They’re bound to be disgruntled.”

That was one way to put it. Orren had been launching attacks on Ansora for two decades, claiming that the Wielders would extend their rule to our continent if given the chance.

The Orrenish military camps were situated so near our borders that our forces had had several skirmishes with them over the years—skirmishes that, according to the Orrenish, would cease upon a formal alliance.

But Daradon had always remained neutral.

Now the Ansorans had come knocking on our door. And Erik had let them in.

The Orrenish were probably a step or two beyond disgruntled .

“Speaking of our political endeavors...” Carmen looked over my shoulder and excitedly ruffled her curls.

Erik was suddenly beside me—too close, too unexpected—and I went rigid as his hand settled on the small of my back. “I’ll be here,” he whispered, intimate and reassuring. “The creature wouldn’t dare to harm you.”

He drew away, and I was too tense from his nearness to fully understand. He said, “Lady Alissa, meet Ambassador Arcus of Ansora,” and I turned, heart hammering—

Then stopped dead.

And met Keil’s golden eyes.