Aside from the shield tithe, she’d found nothing else useful. Akeylah had started a list of second and third cousins, with Lexana’s name at the top, but no one else stood out.

Zofi wondered whether she ought to stoop to the heir’s level. “The Vulgar Arts are not to be taken lightly,” Zofi’s mother used to say, “but they’re like any other weapon. There can be a time and a place where they’re proper.” Zofi had never worked the Vulgar Arts, but she’d been to the sorts of festivals where curseworkers plied their wares.

Was it possible to curse someone she didn’t know? More than that, could she?

It didn’t matter. Zofi didn’t have time to ride around looking for a curseworker. And even if she found one, the thought of doing that, of tithing into someone else’s bloodstream, leaving a permanent scar on her own body, made Zofi’s skin crawl.

She didn’t have the stomach to curse someone. Even her worst enemy.

Deep in thought, she barely noticed the footsteps behind her in the hall. Didn’t register the sound of leather on leather, instead of the usual swish of satin the nobility preferred. That should have been her first clue.

Instead, assuming the footfall belonged to a passing servant, Zofi kept walking, eyes fixed on her chambers ahead. Right up until a firm hand clamped around her biceps. Even then, she didn’t put up her defenses. She whirled to find Vidal at her side and smiled, on instinct.

Until she registered the dread in his eyes. I’m sorry, he mouthed.

The rest of the hallway swam into focus. A full contingent of Talons surrounded her. Eight, armed to the teeth. Their swords remained sheathed, at least, though their fingers lingered on the hilts.

“What’s happened?” Zofi straightened, her posture mimicking theirs. “Is everyone all right?” Her thoughts raced to Ren, Akeylah, her father.

“I’m going to have to ask you to come with us, Lady Zofi,” said the lead Talon, a captain Zofi recognized from the practice fields.

She frowned. “Why?”

“King’s orders, my lady.” His expression was stoic. “I don’t know anything more.”

Zofi didn’t like his tone. Or the words king’s orders. If Father wanted a simple visit with his daughter, he wouldn’t send eight armed men to fetch her. Zofi glanced over her shoulder. Her chamber door was only a few paces away. Should she run? From her chambers, she could jump over the balcony, climb to the ground floor.…“Can I have a minute to dress for the king?”

“Certainly, my lady.” The Talon raised a fist. Three other Talons—all women—stepped forward. “My compatriots will accompany you while you prepare.”

Zofi’s chest tightened. Vidal avoided her eye.