“No. He can be different. He can be more.”
“You want him to make enemies. You want him to die.”
“I want him to live for himself.”
“You don’t get it—what he wants doesn’t matter.” Her voicewas hard, sharp. Like a tutor exhausted with a stubborn pupil. “He’s a prince and he has obligations to this country, and to me. And rest assured, Fox, I intend to see that he discharges them.”
He cared about me, and I knew her words wouldn’t sway him. But there were weapons other than words. She was an aristocrat, and that made her dangerous.
Never underestimate your opponent, my father had said. It was the last lesson he’d given me.
I paced inside my room until I’d burned off some anger, then went back to the prince’s room. He was gone, but I found a tray with pastries and sweetened barley water, undoubtedly left by Orda. And beside it, a small, wooden puzzle box. It was like the one Gryffin had given the prince during his visit, but a bit larger.
I looked over at the table, where the first box sat, just where Nik had put it. Had Gryffin sent another?
I walked to the hallway and held up the puzzle box to the guards. “Did someone deliver this to the prince today?”
The guards looked at it. “The prince’s uncle brought it, my lady. He’s visiting the prince.”
“Uncle Gryffin?”
The guard nodded. “They were in His Highness’s rooms, then went for a walk.”
“I don’t suppose you know where?”
“No, my lady.”
“Thank you.” I went back in, put the box back on the table, and ensured that the wind hadn’t completely mussed my hair. I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity for more travel stories.
And then I paused, and looked back at it.
There was a dark spot on the wood. Curious, I walked overand picked it up again. Not a spot, but a small image neatly etched into the wood: a square with a crescent moon inside it. I checked the first box and found the same.
“Must be a signature,” I murmured. But that splinter of worry poked at me again. Hadn’t I seen that mark before? Where?
I closed my eyes, thought back. One of the books in the library? Maybe other artwork in the palace?
And then my belly went cold. I needed the clues we’d already found.
I pulled open drawers, sifted through notes and debits and reports he hadn’t finished reading, then a bureau with books and reports and complaints about the stronghold’s roads and springtime flooding…and found a linen envelope. Inside were the scrap of paper we’d found in Tommen’s forge and the crescent of wax we’d found on the assassin who’d killed him. In the bottom corner of the paper where the page was torn was a partial symbol: a small square with a crescent moon inside it. I put the wax seal beside it. The same image had been stamped there.
The man who’d made the box and the man who’d ordered the weapon—or maybe even designed it—were the same. And the practitioner’s henchman, the man who’d died in the woods of the arrow shot, had managed to hide away a bit of that man’s wax seal. For protection? Because he knew the man’s true identity?
Now I did, too.
I ran to the door. “I think the prince is in danger. Go to the armory. Tell Red. Have him send men to search the palace and the grounds. Armed men.”
“Who are we looking for?”
“The prince’s uncle. He’s going to try to kill the prince.”
Maybe I was wrong. Overly worrying because things were too settled, and I was too happy, and I was convinced the turning of the day would bring pain and fear.
But maybe I wasn’t.
I checked the throne room. Empty. Ballroom. Empty. Game room. Tried the first door. Locked. Tried the second door. Locked. I put an ear to the door, could hear nothing. Kneeled down, looked through the keyhole. Could see nothing. So maybe the room was just locked because it wasn’t in use.
But maybe it wasn’t.
