Rhusana smiled serenely at the assembly. “Would anyone else care to contribute their opinion?”
No one said a word.
Fie had seen that lost, unsteady look before, on the faces of Splendid Castes and upper Hunting Castes, when there was a rare case of the Sinner’s Plague among their own. She’d seen it on Geramir’s face, when she reminded him of the dead girl whose face she now wore.
They had not thought themselves in danger from a queen who’d come from Swans, someone whose lot in life it was to sing sweet songs, dance sweet dances, and perhaps bring sweet pleasures to their beds. They thought they knew the rules: the Peacock aristocrats paid and the Swan courtesans did what they were asked. Even if Niemi hadaccidentallyslipped into the Well of Grace… Well, that was an accident, and it was to be expected at the hands of a Phoenix prince.
Rhusana was the Swan Queen, and they would tell themselves she was more style than substance, easily manipulated, a puppet monarch. So long as she only savaged servants, and only murdered challengers to her crown, they figured themselves safe. Their money and their rank and the promise of their support—that would protect them above all else.
And not a one of them knew what to do with a queen who cared for none of it.
Not even Tavin, who had not moved once from Fie’s side.
“Remove this mess,” Rhusana said, waving a hand, and Fie felt a knot in her spine slip loose. Khoda would likely have scars, but compared to Lord Dengor’s sister, those were a light price to pay. Hawks emerged from the shadows to hurry both Khoda and the wounded Peacock out.
The glint of red on Rhusana’s diamond-tipped claws caught her eye, and she pursed her lips.
“Do…” Tavin cleared his throat. “Do you want me to send for a new gown, Your Majesty?”
Rhusana wiped the blood off in a slow, deliberate movement, leaving a trail of rusty stripes across her skirt.
“It already has red on it,” she said flatly.
Fie looked around the Midnight Pavilion, almost desperate. She found hesitation in the faces of the gentry. She found calculation. She found cold, quiet triumph.
She also found fear. Anger. Helplessness. Horror. This wasn’t the way it was done. This wasn’t how highborn were supposed to behave in the open.
But no one moved.
No one moved.
No one moved.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
REAL ENOUGH
“I’ll admit,” Tavin said, “that was not what I had planned for the evening.”
His tone was light, but there was a measured clip to his words, and Fie knew it was due to the Hawk guards who had joined him in escorting her back to the guest quarters. She’d held out for a few minutes after Khoda had been hauled away, but once it wouldn’t be terribly conspicuous, she’d claimed a “poor constitution” (Niemi’s words) and asked to retire.
Even now, for the life of her, she couldn’t manage to sort out how she should answer as the guest quarters drew nearer—was she supposed toflirtafter that? Niemi’s spark surged at the opportunity, and for once Fie was grateful for it. “And whatdidyou have in mind for the evening?”
Tavin let out a tense, short laugh. “Let’s just leave it at… not that.” They came to a halt outside the entrance to the guest quarters.
Don’t let him follow you in, Niemi warned.It would be unseemly if you were to take him to bed so soon—
Oh, been there, done that, Fie told the dead girl, tired.Repeatedly. Reckon it worked outrealwell.
“Perhaps tomorrow you’ll allow me to make it up to you.” Tavin slid his arm free of hers but let his fingers run along the inside of her arm, up her palm, lifting her knuckles to his lips. “Just the two of us. Wherever you’d like to go.”
Home.The thought was a dagger, sudden and sharp.
She’d learned better, though. There was no home for a girl like her.
“When?” Niemi asked for her, breathless.
“Midmorning. I’ll send a messenger.” He let go and spun on a heel, then threw a too-familiar grin over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you wait.”
