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News such as the execution of Queen Cettina’s brother-in-law would have spread wide and fast. Baldric should have heard of it.

The king hesitates.

Roger answers.

“He was no ordinary merchant. I believe,” he says, looking around the table, his gaze resting with the king, “it is time for you to learn Father Aiken’s true identity.”

He darts a look to Vanni, and then back to me.

I nod.

“And for you, Vanni d’Abella, my old friend, to be brought into the fold.”

20

Hilla

“I’m here to escort you to the hall, my lady,” a chambermaid says, opening the door to my bedchamber.

Since arriving at Castle d’Almerita, I’ve been offered every comfort imaginable in this beautiful setting. Further south, the colors are brighter, so many reds and oranges that it’s difficult not to smile as you walk through the gardens, a view of the Merian Sea nearly around every corner.

I’ve not seen Aiken since arriving last eve, nor have I spoken to the king. He did, however, send a lady’s maid to me, who has offered me the opportunity to dine in the hall this eve, where I am bound to see them both.

But I have not been left to sit bored and idle since I left the king’s solar last eve. Earlier today I enjoyed a tour of the grounds by the castle’s seneschal himself. Throughout the tour, whispers and stolen glances followed me everywhere, even as I tried to ignore them. . . .

Just a year ago, I’d have had a different reception here. Before the attack on Saitford and the Oryan’s sinking, tensions remained as high as they had throughout the Isle’s long history, since the kingdoms split. Even so, when Cettina, and my father before her, had treated with the king’s representatives, they had been cordial.

And then, the attack on Saitford changed everything.

Now, I am an enemy to the Merians. And anxious to leave this place to return home.

“I will escort the lady.”

I freeze at the voice coming from behind the maid.

Aiken.

“Very good, Father.”

He steps inside, not hiding his appraisal of me.

Another gown had appeared this morn, the most beautiful one yet. It came with no note, nor explanation. But the maid seemed to know of its presence. She made her way to the trunk and immediately, as the sun rose, began to assist me in preparing for the day.

Like many of the gowns here, it is a lighter shade than I am accustomed to wearing. A pale-yellow silk surcoat over the finest cream linen I’ve ever worn. Whoever procured this gown was wealthy indeed. The king, I assume? A most-kind gesture given our relationship.

“You look . . . lovely.”

“A compliment. Why, thank you, Father,” I say, pretending my heart doesn’t speed up at his words.

Aiken wears his robes, as expected, his cowl lowered, although something is not quite right. Tis the absence of his sword.

Aiken’s jaw ticks at my words. As ever, it seems to annoy him when I use his title.

“A gift from the king, I presume,” I say, lifting the fine material up for his inspection. “I will admit to some surprise at my reception.”

Aiken doesn’t react to that.

“I would speak to you before supper, Hilla.”