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Sigurd’s mouth parted. Most days I’d revel over his stun, but we didn’t have time.
“We’re not here to speak of our vows.” I invaded Sigurd’s space. “You knew she lived. It isn’t possible you haven’t heard talk of the memory thief.”
Sigurd gave a swift nod. “I’d hoped the tales were of Malin, but I heard nothing of what became of her after the Masque av Aska.”
Malin tilted her head. “Ansel did not tell you?”
“Malin, I have not seen nor heard from Ansel since the Black Palace overtook House Strom.”
Unease prickled on the back of my neck. What game was Ivar playing? Malin’s fear for the stable master grew potent, until I had to rub my chest to squelch the burn of my mesmer.
“The way I see it, steelman,” I said. “You have a choice to make. The memory thief is the enemy of the Black Palace, but not for an assassination. It is because she is the fated queen.”
When Sigurd went a little pale, Malin was quick to give him a shortened version of events that took place after the Masque av Aska.
By the time she finished, Sigurd slumped in a chair. “You’re starting a damn war against the Black Palace.” The steelman dragged his fingers through his hair and leaned onto his elbows over his knees.
“Yes,” Malin said. “But we are not hopeless. We have allies.”
Valen tossed back his hood as did his brother and the others.
“Fae?” Sigurd arched his brows.
“Night Folk,” I said. “This is the Northern King.”
“A king? In my bleeding shop?”
“We won our land with the help of the Guild of Kryv,” Valen said. His voice was low, deep. Commanding. In the turns with the crown, he’d become a force that demanded respect. “Now, we plan to fight for them.”
“I am with you, Malin. I’ve always stood with the dog kicked beneath the boots of the powerful. But knowing a king is with you is good motivation.” Sigurd blew out a long breath. “What . . . what do you need from me?”
“What is happening at the Black Palace?” Malin asked.
“Nothing. After a skirmish in Jagged Grove, Ivar seems to have disappeared. All notices and directives are given through the Heir Magnate.”
“A skirmish?” Malin’s eyes met mine.
“Yes. The grove was overtaken by Southern fae folk.” Sigurd swallowed with unease. “The unseemly sort. Prisons are full of peaceful crooks from the grove, and those without a piece of penge to their names. Now Jagged Grove is filled with frightful fae who’ve aligned with the Black Palace.”
A gnawing in my gut wouldn’t let up. Things had shifted in Klockglas, in the entire kingdom. The Black Palace would not give up their control without a fight, that much I knew. Niall was plotting something, and it left me feeling rather violent that I did not know his moves.
“Do you know why the Black Palace placed the fae in the grove?” I asked.
Sigurd shook his head. “No. It happened quickly. Skydguard, fae, they all guard the place like a bleeding war fort. If I had to guess, it was to keep watch for you lot seeing how the grove sheltered you once.”
Could be. But there was a sharp bite of something out of place. I did not know if it was mesmer, or an innate ability, but I was the Nightrender partly due to my talent in knowing when something felt off.
There was more to this move than clearing out criminals that might support the Guild of Kryv and the memory thief.
“Are you with us?” My voice was harsh and sharp, more than a friendly question.
Sigurd narrowed his gaze. “Have I ever given you reason to think I am not?”
“Then find out about the changes in Jagged Grove.”
“Kase,” Malin whispered. “What are you thinking?”
“We came here because the steelman is inconspicuous in Mörplatts,” I explained, my gaze still locked on Sigurd. “You can ask questions, be our eyes. Find out what the Black Palace is scheming, or hiding out there, and help us find a way to break them.”
