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As if the queen—or anyone but squirrels—ever had tea with her. That would fool no one at all.
Luckily, none of the servants she passed on the journey to reach her door cared two wits about where she was running off to. The old slab of wood and iron creaked rudely open as she went inside, as if the door wished to sound an alarm, but no one was listening. She hurried toward the wardrobe in the bedroom. The bag she’d prepared was hidden behind a back panel, and then it was just one more secret staircase to the?—
She stopped short.
Alekur stepped into view, his fair hair catching the firelight. Her tapestries were still drawn over the windows against the winter cold, so there wasn’t much more illumination, not so different than nighttime, though it was midday.
His smile was a mirror of his mother’s and just as cruel.
“Alekur.” It was barely a breath, let alone a word said to communicate anything. No. He couldn’t stop her, so close to the end. There had to be a way out of this.
If there was, she wasn’t seeing it.
“Iseris, Iseris. Darling sister!” His smile widened as he stepped closer. “You look out of breath. In a hurry?”
“Just a small one,” she said quietly, ducking her head. Her instincts always said to placate him. Not that it had ever worked yet.
“Wherever are you going?”
She groped for a reasonable excuse. “My moon time has started—to the bath and the wardrobe.” That ought to be rid of him.
“Then where are your attendants?” He gestured at the empty room around them.
“On their way,” she lied.
“Ah.” He sat down casually on the padded arm of a heavy chair. “Shall I wait for them then?”
He was calling her bluff. She fought the urge to bite her lip. “If you wish to displease the queen by ruining this dress. And rug. And slippers.” She kept her voice mild, in control, despite the panic raging in her chest.
His elbow resting on his knee, he propped his chin on his fist and held her gaze. His smile grew smug and bordered on a sneer, even as she kept her features flat. She was the picture of calm patience. He’d always had a twinkle of dark amusement in his eyes, but there was a confidence there now too.
He knew he’d won. Even with no cracks in her armor. She was outmaneuvered. Not just in this little dance of hers to get him to leave. In all of it.
She’d be hanging from the gallows tomorrow, surely. Or would they burn her?
He was smarter than she’d given him credit for. He’d realized she would run, hadn’t he? Or he wouldn’t be here now.
He always seemed to know everything, in spite of every attempt she made to hide. Time and again, he saw through it all and then some, to what she might someday become. He could predict her better than she could herself.
“Suit yourself,” she said, shrugging. Perhaps there was one other ploy she could try. “Some mead then, while we wait?” She broke away from his stare, moving to her cabinet where three elegant bottles waited. She yanked out a cork, then picked up a small pewter tumbler.
Usually, he’d have slid into the armchair at that point, looking for opportunities to twist a knife. But it seemed he knew this one had passed. Now, though, a shadow fell over her shoulder, then she saw his reflection in the smooth silver of the pewter tray and glasses.
He was right behind her.
“What do you want?” she asked. The mildness in her voice wasn’t quite there. She sounded nervous. She concentrated on pouring.
“Did you hear there was news from Kavanar?” He was so close, his breath brushed the back of her neck.
“I heard murmurs. What of it?” She forced herself to turn to face him and held out the glass he’d never agreed to.
Delight and malevolent amusement danced in his eyes. She swallowed, tried to take a step back, and hit the cabinet. She pushed the glass harder at him.
He snorted. “I should think you would care to hear of your people’s victory.”
“Are we taking part in the war now?” The words came out more mocking than sincere, more to say you-can’t-catch-me-that-easily rather than any claim at true naivete. Might as well drive it home. “Aren’t my people your people too? Is this a celebratory drink then?”
He chuckled and finally accepted the tumbler, though he cast a suspicious gaze at it. If only she truly did have something to slip into the mead to lull him to sleep. But if such a potion existed, she had no idea how one would acquire it, nor did she have anyone to ask about such dark secrets. Her friends had been the birds, the mice, the squirrels, the owls, Javarin—mostly creatures of the light.
