Thane leaned in, his mouth too close to my ear, exactly how I hated it. And he knew it. “You can do better than that, you ass. I’m embarrassed for you.”

I shoved him back with an elbow to the chest. The prince coughed and laughed, rubbing the ache off his stitched doublet.

The corners of her lips curled. Lyra made quick work of gathering a silver plate and topping it with strips of roasted pheasant, boiled spiced roots, and a pudding made of star plums. When it was positioned in front of me, she handed me a horn and tipped the ewer. “Tell me when to stop, Sentry.”

I would never.

Thane groaned. “Gods, I should not have helped you find your words, they’re mortifying.”

Lyra topped off the drinking horn, then slid close enough our legs brushed. “You say that often, Prince. What do you mean you helped him find words?”

“Has he not told you? I’m appalled. It is one of my grandest achievements.”

I shook my head. This was the prince’s favorite boast.

“Roark’s injury robbed him of his voice, but we started communicating with a few gestures. It inspired pages and pages of signals and words we memorized together those first seasons. We’d add or adjust if we pleased.”

“Thane,” Yrsa said with a small grin. “You told me you had tomes from the healers on hand speak and you took it from there.”

He likes to pretend he invented a new language, I added.

“Begging all of your wretched pardons”—Thane feigned disgust—“those previous writings were mere inspiration to my brilliance. It was meant to be made of secret signals for myself and Roark to cause a great deal of angst in these walls. For the most part, we’ve succeeded, but you, Lyra Bien, have picked up on it rather quickly. I’m curious how. Most Stav Guard take months and still aren’t as fluent as you.”

“I’ve taught myself since coming here, but after a few days, I realized each gesture is almost burned in my memory. I know it sounds impossible, but once I see them, the words are felt more than understood. I simply know them. Doesn’t make sense, I know.”

“Almost like something wants you to hear him. How fascinating.” Emi raised one brow, staring at me over the rim of her horn.

I responded with a frown, and stifled the urge to kick her shin under the table.

“It is interesting,” Thane said. “Maybe a unique trait of a melder. But I don’t recall Fadey being the same.”

Fadey hated me and would rather cut off my hands than listen to them, I insisted.

Thane tilted his drinking horn my way. “Well, you hated Fadey.”

“Why did you hate the last melder so much?” Lyra’s eyes glistened.

He was a pompous ass.