Page 36 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

“You stole somebody important in order to lure me here. You cannot expect me to submit to the court’s whims.”

“And why not?” Zomo snaps. “Your family has doomed our entire realm. We do not wish to return to the other. Why should we?”

“That is not—”

“She will be here tonight. You need to rest and refresh yourself anyway. Get your magic under control.”

Lark’s glamour slips, just for a second, and Zomo smirks. “If I can sense it, you know the others will. Rein yourself in, Your Highness. A few hours’ rest will do you some good.”

Lark sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. I don’t know what to do. Ophelia isn’t even here? What if they don’t bring her to this… ball tonight? And how are we supposed to sneak her out of there when everyone’s watching?

“Is there somewhere we can rest?” Grant asks. He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives Zomo an easy smile, but there’s some tension in his expression that wasn’t there before.

“We have prepared your previous chambers,” Zomo says to Lark, “and work will begin on your parents’ former rooms whenever you wish it. We did not expect you would bring… guests.”

“There should be another room nearby,” Lark says. He sounds tired. “Ronan’s, perhaps?”

Zomo rears back, looking between Lark and Grant. “You would—”

“My brother has not been in need of them for almost two decades,” Lark interrupts. “We could use Iagan’s, if you would prefer. That might be enough to lure him back here, too.”

Zomo drops her eyes. “No, we—I’ll have them prepared. Your pet?”

Lark reaches over and his hand lands, heavy, on the back of my neck. I freeze. His skin is warm, and he strokes his thumb just behind my ear like he wants to soothe me. “He remains with me.”

“Very well. Allow me—”

“You’ve done enough,” Lark says. “I know the way. Send someone when the rooms are prepared for our guest.”

There’s enough emphasis on the word our that I figure Zomo might take things seriously. She nods again and Lark gently applies pressure, propelling me forward. Grant follows, and we exit the entry hall, walking down an empty corridor that leads to a sweeping staircase. Lark doesn’t let go of me. I hear my pulse in my ears. Grant says something, but I assume not to me, so I don’t try to listen.

Lark barely replies, though. He seems to be lost in thoughts of his own, his movements almost automatic as he leads us down another corridor. The doors at the end are grand, already open, though when we step into the room, Lark finally lets go of me to close them behind us.

Cold strokes over my skin, replacing his touch. I shiver and look around.

This first room is fancy enough, more a sitting room than anything else. It has to be the size of Ophelia’s and my flat on its own, and there’s a set of double doors that leads out onto a balcony. They’re open too, a gentle breeze making the fragile lace curtains flutter.

“We need to be more careful than that,” Lark says to Grant, who is standing in the centre of the room, looking at it just like I am.

“What do you mean?”

“You lied to her.”

Grant shrugs. “Of course I did.”

“And when she finds out the truth?”

Grant’s gaze cuts to me. “What, about Dante? Why would she? Besides, it won’t occur to her. It never does.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, the fae in London are pretty good at it, but most of them can’t tell when we’re telling a lie. I guess if it were completely obvious… They don’t have to. You saw her earlier. They don’t always tell the truth, but they can’t tell a lie.”

“No, I know that,” I say. “But what if she does find out that I—” I glance at the doors, then back at him. “Who I am?”

“She’ll assume I said something else. That I agreed with what she was saying, more than anything else. We should be long gone by then, though, right?”

“Right,” I say. The word sounds hollow, and Grant raises his eyebrows like he hears it.