Page 110 of The Court of Venus

“We have information the Roets and Guildfords do not,” I said.

Oliver frowned. “You do have something, don’t you? And time is running short?”

Roland stabbed a finger across the table. “Temper your thoughts.”

He laughed to see Roland so affected. “Can I not admire her boldness? I could easily tell the king your whereabouts and collect my coin.”

“Ah, but you’ve already helped us once before. You are implicated in our plotting, I’m afraid,” Roland said. “Bianca has the memories to prove it. The Book of Hours … the blood cipher … I’m sure the king would love to know his new private secretary has aided a traitor to the Crown. Several times, in fact.”

Oliver knew words spoken under the cover of darkness frightened the king more than any sword. Just then, a cloaked figure entered the tavern, their face tilted into shadow. “Our second guest has arrived,” I said.

The figure took their time weaving through the crowd, pushing the bodies aside to carve out a wake of fear. They were small, but when their eyes flashed the drunk merchants and lawyers and students all stumbled back.

Miranda flicked back her hood and settled in the booth beside a visibly startled Oliver. The sharp planes of her face flickered in the candlelight. “So. It is you. Dare to seek me out again, Moonborn, and I’ll cut you into pieces and feed you, still moaning in agony, to Guildford’s hounds. I’ve come only to tell you that.” The rasp of her voice scraped my spine.

Roland studied her. “No, not only that.” A slow shake of his head. “You’d like to know what you might gain.”

She glared at him. “How do I address you, now that you’ve been stripped of your titles?”

“Your Grace will do.”

I squeezed his hand beneath the table. “Miranda is here because we are the chaos now. We are the ones raising our fists to strike. This is the side a Marsborn prefers to be on, is it not?”

Those carmine eyes shimmered like light on a pool of blood. “You do not know me. Do not speak as though you do.”

“Clearly, you are dissatisfied, or you wouldn’t betray your master to hear us out.” I eyed the trail of her scar. “At the Tomb, I felt loneliness in you. And enduring pain. Roland said they hurt you. So I will ask you a single question, then: Is your loyalty to your own kind?”

She had no immediate answer to that. The four of us had been thrown into a tournament to fight, our magic made into spectacle. The idea being, if we grappled for power, if we tore into each other, we would never think to pool our strength.

“Oliver, can you bind us together now? If Roland and I reveal our plans to both of you, whatever is or has been spoken at this table cannot be repeated, written, or passed along in any way to another living soul.”

Oliver sighed. “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

Roland smiled pleasantly. “No. And if you have any desire to trick us, I’ll sense it.”

“Agreed?” I stared at Miranda until her frown deepened and she nodded, her curiosity piqued.

“Yes, fine,” Oliver snapped. “I so swear.” We all repeated after him. Symbols gathered in the air, swirled around us. The oath traveled through our bodies and up our throats, singeing our mouths with the promise.

Now, we could begin.

“Good.” Roland leaned forward. “In two days, Bianca believes the king will die. Fulke Roet will inherit. He will surely name his own magician, Jasper, Lord Chancellor. Unless…” He drew a circle with the tip of his finger. “We prove the Guildfords and the Roets are traitors before the entire court and the king. Miranda, you can even be the one to kill Charles. Would you like that?”

He’d struck true. A part of her danced.

“I have been bound to him since I was a twelve-year-old apprentice.” Her eyes shifted between me and Roland. “I cannot kill him. I was forced to swear a Mercurian oath to serve his house.”

“Yes, those cannot be undone,” said Oliver. It was the same magic we were bound by in our oaths to the king, the same magic tying us all together now.

“How about … a public execution?” Roland offered. “And you can watch at the very front of the crowd.”

“Charles has an heir,” Miranda said. “When Charles dies, my allegiance shifts to Tom. He is far worse than his father. When I was a girl, he would bring me children to hurt. If they bullied him, or whispered about him, I was to make them regret it. I was forged in cruelty, Your Grace.”

I remembered, suddenly, her sharp kick against my ribs.

“Tom and his father will both be sent to the Tomb, if all goes according to plan,” I promised her.

She sat back, folding her hands together. “I still cannot harm a Guildford. I am sworn.”