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“You think I would accept a gift from you?”
“That is up to you, but if you do not, you will regret it.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Why don’t you find out?” She held up the key.
His eyes narrowed at her. The fizz of an Anthrian spell made the hair on Cassia’s arms stand on end. Kassandra gave the mage a cold smile, but did not so much as flinch.
“An utterly unmagical, harmless trifle,” the Dexion declared. “What is it even a key to?”
“That is for you to discover on your own. Don’t you want to know?”
“I do want to know what game you are playing with me. Do not doubt for a moment I will find out.” He snatched the key from her hand.
Cassia had the distinct feeling the mage had just taken bait Kassandra had carefully placed for him. Cassia could only wonder at what long game an oracle might play, and she longed to know.
“Tychon,” Kassandra said.
The apprentice’s only answer was to cross his arms and maintain his post at his master’s elbow.
Kassandra reached for a nearby pitchfork and tossed it to Tychon. He caught it in both hands to prevent it from braining him. He flushed the deep red of humiliation from forehead to collar.
“You don’t want to need that, do you?” Kassandra asked. “But you will, if you do not learn to help others dig their way out alongside you, rather than burying them to raise yourself up.”
“I will not listen to your poison words.” Tychon threw the pitchfork down onto the deck with a clang.
“But you have heard them,” said Kassandra.
“Do tell me you have something for me.” Skleros’s rasping voice oozed mockery.
“Not a thing,” Kassandra replied. “You are beyond help.”
He laughed. “And I worked hard to get here.”
“You are unfit to receive the gift of my prophecy. You would not heed it, and even if you did, nothing will spare you in the end.”
Skleros smiled. “No one will be spared in the end.”
“Thorns remain in the desert, and roses rise from the ash.” Kassandra turned from him. “Now, for Lady Cassia. I have something very special to give the royal representative.”
Cassia stepped closer to Kassandra. “That is very kind of you, Elder Firstblood.”
Kassandra bent and opened a different trunk. There was only one object inside. It appeared to be a length of fabric of some kind, rolled around a wooden pole. Kassandra lifted it in both hands and unfurled it.
Cassia took a step back. She wanted to look away. But she was the royal representative. She had to pretend she was glad to see a banner depicting the Tenebran royal coat of arms.
“What a tribute to my father’s kingdom,” she forced herself to say. “How generous of the crafters of Orthros to devote their time to such a thing.”
“We did not make it,” Kassandra said. “Look closer.”
Because it was Kassandra who asked, Cassia tried to see past the glare of the king’s sun in her eyes. Her heart still pounded, and she still had to hide her fists in her skirts. But she wondered how she could have missed the details she now noticed.
The banner was no new creation of Orthros silk. It was tough Tenebran weave, and old. She could see that its tattered edges had been mended many times with meticulous care and its stains thoroughly cleaned. But there remained the faint mark of dirt—and blood.
Knight was sniffing the air in the banner’s direction, his ears and tail alert with eagerness. Whatever he smelled, he did not consider it a threat. Perhaps the scent of the blood excited old instincts.
“This has seen battle.” Cassia studied the emblem, and a thrill of surprise traveled through her. “This is a different version of the royal arms—perhaps an older rendition from an earlier era? This must be a historical artifact.”
