Page 25 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

K eil’s soap-and-linen scent still lingered in my hair as I entered the Games Hall, where tonight’s celebrations were in full swing. Nobles laughed around games tables and lounged beside the open doors to the courtyard, chilled glasses of pink lemonade sweating under the starlight.

I returned every smile distractedly. If Garret’s theory proved correct, the night Wray had been murdered, he’d journeyed to Henthorn to meet Lady Nelle. And Nelle had accidentally left her chamber key behind.

But what had happened in the interim?

Nelle had been married to the queen’s younger brother at the time, and Wray had been acting strangely—taking secret outings, burning his journals.

Had they been having an affair? Had Nelle seduced Wray into lowering his guard, then orchestrated an ambush in the city because she’d wished to be the keeper of the compass all along?

It wouldn’t be the first time the Mantis had murdered a partner.

Despite the lack of proof at her trial, there existed little doubt in any courtier’s mind—including mine—that Nelle had poisoned her husband; with his death, Carmen had been made next in line to the throne—and Nelle, mother to the heir presumptive.

Though Nelle had been exiled before reaping the benefits, her beloved daughter had become the court’s darling, flourishing as a blossom among thorns when the world had expected her to wilt.

Now Carmen possessed a Bolting Box—a device used for secret communication. And I could think of no better person with whom she would secretly communicate than her own exiled mother.

“Wretch.”

I jumped at Carmen’s voice, hissing beside me. Though she glittered in tangerine satin, I hadn’t noticed her approach, and it took me a moment to arrange my expression into one of innocence.

“Excuse me?” I asked, pulse fluttering.

Carmen crossed her arms over the swell of her chest. “She’s been rinsing the gentry like a maid with a dishcloth.”

I followed Carmen’s gaze to a middle-aged woman with creamy brown skin, tumbling dark curls, and a green velvet dress paneled with glossy leather armor. While coins piled her side of the table, her Aces opponent fumbled with his scarce handful.

Lady Sabira Kaulter of Parrey, the shark of the Games Hall. Carmen’s wretch .

I exhaled silently. Carmen had no idea I’d been rummaging through her chambers.

“She looks dressed for a fight,” I said, aiming for lightness.

“She’ll incite one, at this rate.” Carmen added, deliberately loud, “Cheating is not condoned within the king’s palace.”

Sabira’s jaw ticked; she’d obviously heard.

“She really cheats?” I asked.

“No, of course not.” Carmen’s voice returned to its normal volume. “She likes to think she’s better than everyone else, and that wouldn’t work if she’s playing pretend.”

“She’s already playing pretend.” I nodded to the quartz stones on Sabira’s bracelets, shining dully in place of diamonds. “I’ve seen better costume jewelry at the local theatre.”

“They’re fake?” Carmen perked up, bouncing on her feet. “This is brilliant—the snootiest courtier in Daradon, skimping on her jewelry! I expect all her gold goes toward those mercenaries she surrounds herself with.”

“I don’t see any mercenaries.”

“Well, Erik would never allow them here ; he hates mercenaries. But she’s been acquiring them for years, building a little private army.

Last week, the Kaulters intercepted a report that sympathizers were gathering in Parrey’s abandoned smithies, trying to organize shelter for Wielders.

At her sister’s behest, Sabira’s been sending her mercenaries to sweep through every site. ”

I startled. Even before the Execution Decree, specters had garnered mistrust—and the people of Parrey had been the least tolerant.

When Wielders began joining the Parrian military, their specters had demonstrated an advantage in combat.

So the Wholeborn soldiers—resentful and frightened—had killed their Wielder comrades while they slept.

When the monarchy turned a blind eye, similar conflicts arose across the provinces, until Wielders were seen as the enemy—a danger to civilization.

Now—in Parrey, of all places—the extent of sympathizer activity had warranted intervention ? Garret had said the rise in Huntings had produced some upheaval, but sympathizer units hadn’t needed to be quashed since the Starling Rebellion.

Was that the new keeper’s aim? To provoke a rebellion?

The Capewells believed the copycats were Wholeborn purists, intent on eradicating Wielders.

I didn’t know to what degree Lady Nelle fit that description, but she certainly possessed motive to incite chaos across Daradon.

After all, an unstable kingdom made for an unstable king.

.. and a clear path for the next person in line to the throne.

I side-gazed toward Carmen, who now stirred a glass of pink lemonade with her little finger. Though Nelle presented a shrewd, flinty contrast to her daughter’s effervescence, the pair had always been close.

If Nelle was truly orchestrating these brutal Huntings to secure her daughter’s future... how much did Carmen know about it?

A clatter returned me to where Sabira’s opponent tossed his last coins across the table.

Inspired, I said to Carmen, “I used to watch your mother play Aces. She would’ve drained even Sabira’s pockets.”

“Oh, she did.” Carmen raised her dimpled chin. “On many occasions.”

“Does she still play?”

“It’s hard to play a court game when you’re no longer allowed at court.” Her voice turned a little sour around the edges, like I’d touched a nerve.

Perfect.

“Of course; I wasn’t thinking.” I dipped my head—the picture of embarrassment. “I heard she’d taken up residence in Creak.”

I’d named the province at random and Carmen chuckled.

“Goodness, I hope not! A little Creakish farm would bore her to an early grave. She likes to keep busy—flitting around Daradon, never staying long in one place.”

“That’s no way to live.”

“It’s an exceptional way to live when the alternative is death.

” The words came out fast and unfiltered.

Carmen paled, abruptly aware of what she’d said.

“Don’t misunderstand, Alissa, darling.” She gave a smile that didn’t suit her—too tight, and dull at the eyes.

“Erik spared my mother’s life by exiling her from court. I’ll never forget his mercy.”

I returned her smile with more sincerity, having gotten what I wanted. Then I strode forward, shucking off the tension. “Come teach me to play Silvers.”

“You don’t know how to play Silvers?” Carmen gasped. “What do they teach you in Vereen?”

My heart panged as I remembered all the games of Double Decks with Marge. But I rallied my energy and grinned. “How to spot fake jewels.”

Carmen cackled as we wended between the tables, all talk of her mother forgotten.

I rounded a marble pillar and startled. Perla was backed in the shadows like a trapped mouse. “Lady Perla!”

She flinched, her eyes darting around before landing on me.

“Lady Alissa,” she said on an exhale, then curtsied to Carmen. “Your Highness.”

Carmen sashayed ahead of me, eyes twinkling. “Dearest Perla, aren’t you a vision!”

Perla cringed, glancing down at her flouncy sand-colored dress.

“Lucky we caught you.” Carmen threw me an obvious wink. “Alissa was looking for an Aces opponent.”

“Oh, I—I’m only watching, Your Highness.”

“Nonsense! Be a doll and fetch a table.”

Perla stammered before dashing off like an anxious little bird.

“Now you’re being mean,” I said, fixing a look on Carmen.

But the princess’s eyes had lowered, trained on a spot just behind my waist.

I frowned, about to turn, when she caught my eyes and smiled. “ I’m not the one taking garden strolls with Perla’s intended,” she said. I stiffened, and her face lit with devious amusement. “Oh, I know everything that goes on in this palace.”

I swore I heard an edge to her voice. And as she left me at Perla’s table, she seemed oddly glad to be rid of me.

“I didn’t bring gold.” Perla tugged a loose thread on her bodice and nervously balled it between two fingers. Her pearl rings gleamed with the movement.

Perhaps Carmen had unintentionally done me a favor. When else would I get Perla alone?

“I didn’t, either.” I unfastened my earrings and placed them between us. “These should do.”

Perla had the good sense to hesitate. I’d paired my earrings with matching bracelets tonight, the amethyst still glinting at my wrists. But Perla only had her rings. In handing them over, she would be stripping herself bare of jewelry. The ultimate submission.

After a moment, she slid the pearls off her fingers, her pink mouth downturned.

I played half-heartedly at first, my mind on Carmen. But soon, Perla was winning against my best efforts.

“You’re very good,” I said.

Color flowered across her cheeks. “My mother taught me.”

As she shuffled for the next hand, I slipped a hairsbreadth of my specter around the ace. The tendril rippled on the card like a tag, avoiding her quick fingers.

You must learn the art of control , Father had said. And the next time I’d chosen a face down card on his desk, I’d curled my specter around it. Father had noticed immediately, feeling the thick ripple of my power.

So the next day, I pilfered one of Amarie’s sewing needles, and, holding the majority of power inside me with gritted teeth, I tried to feed my specter through the needle’s eye.

It was a tedious affair. I’d always Wielded with the boisterousness of youth, and forcing my specter into a thread produced a dull ache behind my eyes.

But again and again, I thinned the power out.

And soon, I knew how to cling to a card’s edges—to spread my specter finely in the places Father wouldn’t touch.

Once he left his desk, I would slide the card from the deck to see its face, satisfying my curiosity.

And so I’d taught myself the art of control. Though, not how Father had intended.

“How are you finding Henthorn?” I asked, breaking Perla’s concentration.