Maralinde’s father, though, probably wants a break on taxes or the like—something he can plead most successfully when there’s no one else around to object. Unfortunately, his family’s holdings being as small as they are, and his power among the other lords as paltry as it is, Mother is unlikely to offer him any concessions. No matter how little his taxes might mean to her, the other lords would be displeased not to have received a concession as well.

Maralinde, eyeing me sideways, laughs. “I didn’t think it would work either. Poor Father.”

“It might,” I venture. “She’s allowed concessions before.”

“Mmm, and the two of us might become the darlings of the court overnight.”

“Well, with fewer people here, it’s more likely.”

She coughs another laugh. “Always optimistic, aren’t you? It’s all right. I don’t mind being largely ignored, and I rather think you prefer it.”

“Easier that way,” I agree.

Maralinde grins and switches subjects. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your lessons right now?”

“I was late—my brother kept me. By the time I got there . . .” I shrug. Arriving to find your tutor has given up on you is never a good thing. I’d taken the time to write an apology painstakingly composed in Faransi, the language of one of our neighboring lands, and sent it by page to my tutor, but I doubt it will win his forgiveness.

“Do you think he’ll mention it to your mother? She won’t be pleased.”

“I know.” I sigh. “Why don’t we go down to the hall?” I suggest, rising to my feet. “It’s nearly lunch.”

Maralinde allows this with a knowing look. I fall into step with her as we enter the hallway, grateful for her friendship, for the questions she asks and the answers she doesn’t push for.

Most of the girls our age flock to Valka and follow her lead in treating me like a sweet but rather useless child. I would like to think that I am something better than that, but the truth is, I don’t have the coldness that politicking seems to require. I’d rather be sweet and useless than sharp and dangerous.

In the hallway below, we step to the side to allow Valka’s father, Lord Daerilin, past. He’s a large man with a wide belly and thick hands, and the most valuable lands in our kingdom.

“Ah, Alyrra, good to see you. And who is this? Little Maraleen, isn’t it?”

It isn’t and he knows it. Maralinde dips her head, her jaw tight.

“We’re just going to the hall for lunch,” I say.

“Very good.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll sit with Valka there, won’t you, Alyrra? She considers you such a friend of hers.”