Arsen looked down to find the functionary—old Dahlman, a minor palace servant from an insignificant house—clutching his ankle with a grip like steel.

It wasn’t for Aeslinn’s sake; Arsen knew that. No words were exchanged, but there didn’t have to be. The man’s eyes, so mild and subservient a moment ago, were now sharp and bright and pleading.

You die, they said, and you leave us at his mercy. You die, and you leave us as your parents left you—bereft and alone. You die… and we may as well die with you, for who else is there?

A boy as power mad as his father? A wife, vengeful and sullen and half crazed from abuse? A court too cowed to do anything, and riddled with his servants?

You die, and what happens to us?

Arsen said nothing, although a thousand words bunched in his throat. Dahlman took that as acquiescence, or maybe just as an opportunity. Because he scrambled back to his feet, faster than I’d have thought possible for someone of his age.

“Or—or we could go with my first plan, Your Grace,” Dahlman said, getting to his feet and swiftly turning, to keep Arsen behind him.

“Your first plan?” The king turned as well, his forehead wrinkling. “Oh, you mean the woman?”

“Yes, Your Grace. It will take some time, and it will be expensive. But success is almost guaranteed.”

Aeslinn frowned. But he seemed to want his outcome more than he wanted to provoke his noble, because after a moment, he sighed. “Very well. But on your life—do not fail me again.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

Give her another!” I felt a slap across my face, hard enough to rock my head back. It caused the throne room to go swimmy, and to give me a dim view of tree trunks imposed over top of it.

No, I thought. Damn it, no! Not now!

I’d wanted out just a few minutes ago, but that was before I realized that this might be more than some random sightseeing. I knew so little about Faerie, and had seen such a small amount of it, that I’d gotten carried away on the grand tour. But right now, it felt like I was on the verge of something—something important—and so of course someone was trying to—

Shit, it was Guinn.

“Are you awake or not?” she all but yelled, while Rhea tried to shush her from over her shoulder.

“I’m awake, but I shouldn’t be,” I slurred. “Aeslinn is after Pritkin again. He’s remembered and I think… I think he tried something, a while ago, but it didn’t work, so he’s plotting something—”

My fumbled explanation did not appear to impress Guinn, judging by the fact that she slapped me again.

“Goddamit! I’m awake!” I said, grabbing her hand.

“And you’d best stay that way!”