The duke was not making a suggestion; he was giving me an order. I thought about the places I knew the knight had appeared: Months ago, on Phelan’s first new moon as a warden. Hereswith, the night before Phelan had arrived. And then again on one of Phelan’s streets, this October new moon. This didn’t feel random to me; it felt like the knight was after Phelan, and it chilled me.

“If the knight arrives on this upcoming new moon, then I will find a way to do that, Your Grace.”

“And you will come to me at once with the description, Miss Neven.”

I nodded, although my mind was whirling, remembering how the knight had almost beheaded me and sliced Phelan open.

“You have a concern, Miss Neven?”

I met the duke’s gaze. “Yes. The knight is a formidable opponent, immune to magic and blades. I don’t know how Phelan and I will manage to remove his helm without suffering damage to ourselves.”

Lord Deryn steepled his fingers together and pressed them to his lips. “If magic and weapons are useless against the knight’s armor, that must mean the armor was forged by a deviah magician.”

That hadn’t crossed my mind. But now that it had, other pieces began to fall into place. Wild speculations. I wondered if the card game of Seven Wraiths somehow influenced the ability of the knight’s armor. If both of them were tied to nightmares, and both of them made by deviah magicians . . . perhaps they were linked, somehow.

“There is a smith not far from here,” Lord Deryn continued. “He is one of the best in the province. A deviah who can layer enchantment into steel. I will have him forge something that will help you both.”

“If it’s armor, it will be more of a hindrance than a help, Your Grace. It will only slow us down, and we must be swift.”

“It is not armor, Miss Neven,” the duke said, rising from the chair. “I will put the order in, but the smith will most likely want to meet with you about measurements.”

“Very well, Your Grace. And what shall I tell Phelan about where this gift arrived from?”

“Tell him it is from me.” He fell silent, pensive. But his gaze remained on me. “Phelan speaks of you often, Miss Neven.” And I didn’t know why he would say such a thing until the duke shocked me further by adding, “Would you want to be a duchess?”

“No.”

“A reflexive answer, Miss Neven. As if you have contemplated it before.”

The truth was I had never thought about it, but the duke was making me anxious. What I did know was the last thing I wanted was to be a pawn in a noble’s game.

“If I ever became a duchess,” I said, “it would be by my own choice and merit, and not by marriage.”