Emeline rose from the bench and went with her.
“I don’t know how to waltz,” Emeline admitted as they left the table behind.
Grace waved her hand, as if this were nothing. “I’ll show you.”
When they entered the crowd of dancing couples, Grace turned to face Emeline, her lavender scent warring with the smell of sweat and beer, her eyes bright with concern.
All at once, the dancers around them started to notice the king’s singer—who’d conquered a dragon and defied the king. She heard their whispers and felt their stares.
Grace ignored the onlookers. Her hand settled on Emeline’s shoulder. “Everything looks the same in the Stain. It’s easy to get lost there,” she said, leading them in the steps of the waltz. “But Sable has dozens of maps of the woods. She won’t notice if one goes missing. I’ll bring it.”
Emeline frowned, her hand on Grace’s waist as she tried to follow the pattern of Grace’s feet. “What do you mean?”
When a pair of dancers came too close for comfort, Grace steered them away, out of hearing distance, and lowered her voice. “I’m coming with you to the Song Mage’s house.”
Emeline slowed, nearly tripping over Grace.
“When does your singing lesson end tomorrow?”
Judging by today’s lesson with Calliope?“Late afternoon.”
“Perfect. We can be there and back before nightfall.”
Her words rang with authority, reminding Emeline that Grace was the eldest of three sisters and used to getting her way.
“Are you sure? You heard them.” Emeline nodded towards the table at the back. “It sounds dangerous.”
Before Grace could answer, the waltz ended and one of the bartenders stepped up beside them. He was tall and thin, with shoulders that hunched like a hawk’s. Around his waist was a checkered apron.
“Fortification,” he said, holding out a glass of what looked like the whiskey Emeline had left behind at the table. “From a friend.”
Thinking that friend was Rooke, Emeline thanked him. Taking the glass, she slanted her head back, downing the drink in one swallow. It wasn’t nearly as smooth as the moonshine sitting on Hawthorne’s kitchen sill, and a strange aftertaste bloomed in her throat: like flower petals and honey. A sudden queasiness turned her stomach, and she pressed her hands to her abdomen, sure she was going to be sick.
But all at once, it passed.
When she looked up, she found Grace glaring hard over her shoulder. Emeline turned to look.
In the corner, at the table they’d left, Rooke leaned towards Aspen, deep in conversation, with Emeline’s drink still beside him. It was Nettle who watched them. Nettle’s owl-like eyes stared at the empty glass clutched in Emeline’s hand as she smiled that too-strange smile.
It’s Nettle’s favorite game,Grace’s words rang through her mind.She enchants her friends by spiking their drinks with spells.
Emeline’s blood hummed.
Grace’s face darkened.
“What should I do?” Emeline whispered in horror.
“Go.” Grace’s voice prickled like a thistle. “Sleep it off. I’ll come get you tomorrow afternoon, and we can leave from there.”
Emeline thought of Hawthorne, who hadn’t turned up yet. She still wanted to ask him about the missing music.
But did she really want Nettle’s spell to manifest with Hawthorne in the room?
Hell no.
She headed straight back to the palace.
TWENTY-ONE
