“On the contrary.” He pulled a cream-colored envelope from his breast pocket, on which the official royal seal, although broken, was stamped in silver wax: a full moon flanked by a waxing and waning crescent. Lowry extended the envelope to her. When she didn’t take it, he smiled like the slow bleed of a wound. “Ah, you silly, paranoid girl. You think there’s a catch. I’m a man of my word. All I ask is you attend the festivities, as there’s someone I’d like you to meet. After that, you’re free to go home. You and I will be in touch, of course, about political affairs.”

Lowry always honeyed his promises. Even if Isabel had approved her position, even if it was real, it was nothing but a gilded fetter. Marionette strings to dangle her from. She’d depend on Lowry and his mercurial favor for the rest of her life. What other horrors would he force her to endure to keep it? “And if I refuse this new position?”

“I withdraw my support of you,” he said simply, almost pleasantly. “I’ve been very patient, Ms. Southerland, even as you’ve broken my trust. Don’t push me any farther.”

A surge of heat tore through her. It darkened the corners of her vision, set her every nerve ablaze. Never had she felt something so powerful, so poisonous.

Hatred.

Wren took the envelope from him. “I understand.”

“Good.” He straightened his lapels. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. That corpse is going to cause quite a stir if I don’t move it.”

“I thought you liked scandal,” she muttered.

He looked affronted. “I do. But this, I’m afraid, requires a bit more subtlety than I’d otherwise like.”

He absently wound his golden key on its chain, tighter and tighter. As it spun, its surface reflected the light again and again. It would be so easy to reach out and take it.

But then what? Her magic lay still and quiet within her, and although Hal’s knife pressed cold against her thigh, she still was too much of a coward to use it. Her hands trembled with restraint, and when she lifted her eyes back to his face, he was studying her like she was a creature that might bite if he turned away.

“Until tomorrow,” she gritted out.

“Rest up,” he drawled. “You’ll need it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Wren made it to Hal’s room before she fell apart.

She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, her breaths coming hard and uneven. It was dark. It was always so dark in here. No amount of laughter echoing through the halls could lighten it. Between the heavy spill of the draperies, the moon was a gray disc outlined with thread-thin silver. The mountains had never felt more like a cage, solid black shadows against a solid black sky.