“This is Lord Deryn, the Duke of Bardyllis,” the countess said. “And this is Aaron Wolfe, the most renowned smith in the province, as well as Olivette’s father.”

“Miss Neven,” the duke greeted me with a languid smile. “A pleasure, as always.”

“Your Grace.” I curtsied, and then looked at Olivette’s father. “Mr. Wolfe.”

“I shall leave the three of you,” the countess said suddenly, as if it had been her task all along to deposit me at the duke’s feet. And perhaps it had been, I thought irritably as I watched her stride across the room.

“Were the shields a success, Miss Neven?” Mr. Wolfe asked. His face and voice were so carefully guarded that I couldn’t tell if he was surprised to see me here tonight.

“Yes, Mr. Wolfe. Thank you.”

The smith nodded, and there was an awkward lull until he glanced at the duke and said, “I should go say hello to my daughter.”

I wanted to beg him to stay, to not leave me alone with the duke, but I held my tongue. When Lord Deryn stepped closer to me, I flinched.

“I trust you received my letter today,” the duke said in a low voice, offering me his arm.

I hesitated, but only for a breath. I rested my hand in the crook of his elbow and permitted him to slowly walk me around the edges of the room.

“Yes, Your Grace. I apologize that I have not had time to write a response.”

“You saw the knight’s face?”

“I did.”

“Can you describe him to me?”

I envisioned my father’s face. The words rose to illustrate him, but I couldn’t speak them. Even with his betrayal, I couldn’t find the desire to expose him. “No, Your Grace. I fear it was a dark night. It would be impossible for me to describe it in detail to you.”

“Then we are in luck,” the duke said, coming to a stop.

I glanced up at him, but his gaze was elsewhere, cutting across the room.

“Did the knight perhaps look like that man?” he asked, indicating a new dinner guest.

I turned to see who he spoke of, and the hair rose on my arms.

My father stood just within the ballroom, speaking to the countess. Clean, his beard trimmed, his hair slicked back. He was not a miner but the magician I had always known him to be. He wore a top hat and white waistcoat and black jacket with a rose in his lapel. On his arm was my mother, dressed in a bloodred gown overlaid with a net of black stones. And trailing them was none other than Imonie, wearing a blue dress with lace sleeves, her steel-blond hair swept up in a loose bun.

I froze, but my mind flooded with anger, shock, a multitude of questions.

What were they doing here?

My silence was answer enough for the duke.