Page 26 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

“It’s... busy ,” she ventured.

“Any place must seem stifling compared to Avanford.”

She sat up straighter. “You’ve been?”

I nodded, remembering the chalky cliffs and the frothing sea. “My father taught me to swim at Claren Cove.”

“I go there every summer.” Her expression brightened. “It’s the best place in Daradon to find shrimp.”

“Honestly, I’ve never been fond of shrimp.”

“Seasoned with garlic and parsley, you might change your mind.”

“You should ask the palace chefs to re-create the recipe,” I said, leading the conversation where I wanted it to go. “Since you won’t be returning to Avanford for a while.”

Perla suddenly deflated, looking a little betrayed at the turn in topic. “Only five more weeks of Rose Season,” she mumbled.

“Oh? You’re not staying longer?”

Her slender throat bobbed. She knew what I was asking: Won’t the palace be your permanent home? Aren’t your sights set on the king?

With all the charm of a paper napkin, Perla wasn’t exactly competition. But right now, I needed Erik’s attention solely on me. I couldn’t have her getting in the way.

“I’d be honored to stay,” she said shakily. “But the decision isn’t mine alone.”

A vague, careful answer. She was certainly harder to crack than Carmen. And from her tight-lipped expression, I gathered she wouldn’t say more.

Withdrawing my specter, I peeled the ace from the lineup. Perla slumped as I turned it over.

“It seems I’ve won the game.” I refastened my earrings and nodded toward Perla’s rings. “You can keep those.”

“You won them fairly.”

I hadn’t, of course. But I stood with a beneficent smile. “Consider them a gift.”

I glimpsed Carmen’s twinkling figure in the courtyard and deemed it safe to sneak out.

Halfway across the Games Hall, I noticed Lady Sabira watching me, her gaze as sharp as Parrian steel.

I nodded as I approached. “Lady Sabira.”

“Alissa,” she replied, so informally that I bristled. She looked pointedly behind me, her armored bodice gleaming. “Well played.”

I glanced around to see Perla shoving the rings onto her fingers and frowning at the cards.

“I remember your mother,” Sabira said, making me whirl back toward her. She drifted close enough that I could smell the old-fabric musk wafting off her, see the pinprick beauty marks nestling like vanilla seeds around her eyes.

“Lady Fiona came from a good family,” she murmured, referring to Father’s late wife. “You don’t look a thing like them.”

The back of my neck prickled. Did Sabira suspect something amiss in my supposed heritage?

“I favor my father’s side,” I said, wary.

Sabira adjusted an emerald ring—the one real jewel she wore—and glanced toward Perla again. “Hm.” Her scornful gaze ran over me. “I’ve noticed.”

And she stalked away, robbing me of the opportunity to turn from her first.

But I had a greater opportunity to seize tonight.

Carmen had all but admitted that she and Nelle still corresponded.

But from her unguarded comment regarding Nelle’s residence in Creak— Goodness, I hope not!

—it seemed she truly couldn’t predict her mother’s movements.

Without a permanent address, Nelle would have to initiate contact—and I believed she already had.

I believed the Bolting Box would contain the time and location of their next meeting.

If I could somehow open the box, I could find Nelle. And then I would learn exactly what had happened the night of Wray’s murder.

I was clacking through the dimly lit grand foyer, heading toward the arched stairwell that would take me to the royal wing, when Keil’s deep voice reverberated against the marble.

“Early night?”

I clomped to a halt.

He was standing under the arch of the second stairwell, hands in his pockets, one shoulder propped against the side.

I smoothed my skirts—calm, unaffected. “It’s been a long day.”

“I can imagine.” He glanced at the stairwell I’d been walking toward—the stairwell that would lead me back to Carmen’s suite.

His mouth turned up in a wicked, knowing smile.

“Don’t let me keep you awake,” he said, pushing off his own arch.

Because behind him stretched the stairwell leading to my own chambers.

If I were really heading up early, I should’ve been walking in that direction.

I ground my teeth, caught between the two arches. But there wasn’t really a choice. Though my specter strained inside me, as if to pull me toward that first stairwell, I couldn’t risk Keil following me tonight. If I wanted that Bolting Box... I would have to wait until morning.

So I smothered my specter and, with it, my desires. Releasing a long, hissing exhale, I walked in Keil’s direction.

He remained in the center of the threshold, deliberately leaving little space on either side as my approaching shadow stretched over him.

Did he know I was searching for the compass? Could I even be sure he was? Right now, I couldn’t be sure of anything. But I knew, as his eyes glimmered with victory and soft chandelier light, that he believed he’d won this battle. And my specter tingled to meet the challenge.

So instead of squeezing gracelessly around him like he wanted me to, I stopped squarely before him. We faced each other under the arch, shadows lapping around us, music from the Games Hall tinkling far away.

Keil raised a brow.

Then I leaned forward—shoulders high, chin angled up—drawing almost as close we’d been in Carmen’s closet. Certainly close enough to get a fresh lungful of the soap-and-linen scent that had rubbed off into my hair.

And from the way Keil’s breath snagged, I would’ve bet that my perfume had rubbed off on him, too.

“Sleep well, Ambassador.” I slipped sideways around him, tilting my neck, giving him a second drink of my scent.

His body turned with me, as if pulled by a magnet.

I smiled the moment his gaze touched my lips.

Then I turned up the stairs, brushing against his chest—relishing that his body shifted automatically with mine again.

Without a backward glance, I echoed, “Don’t let me keep you awake. ”

The Bolting Box was gone the next morning.

Worse—I’d forgotten to relock Carmen’s dresser drawer, and now those shipping documents were missing, too.

Carmen must have realized someone had rifled through her chambers, and she’d known exactly what to hide.

I was thankful for one small mercy: She couldn’t possibly link me to the break-in.

Then, as I was hanging up last night’s outfit, I noticed what had snagged Carmen’s sharp attention in the Games Hall. And a slow, icy horror trickled down my spine.

Because caught in the crystal bodice of my gown, swaying with every stir of movement, was a little pink feather. A feather I must have accidentally torn from the boa in Carmen’s closet.

A feather she must have recognized as hers.