“You haven’t told her anything?” He jerked his head up toward the second level where my mother was presumably still abed, keeping an eye on the cook while he did it.

“Are you mad?” I hissed. “Of course I haven’t. Telling her anything would be as good as telling the whole Isle. All she knows is that I got cold feet and spent the summer in the south. Nothing more.” And she never pried into the details. I wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t care, or if her own secret-keeping tendencies caused her to respect mine. Either way, it worked in my favor.

“That’s good. She’s a way of using information to her advantage.” His eyes were distant. “Though it might be better if the whole damned Isle did know.”

Tension sang down my spine. “Fred, you promised to keep it between us.”

“I know.” He tracked the cook as she moved behind me. “But I don’t like it. I think we should do something. Go on the offensive when they aren’t expecting it.”

I winced. “You wouldn’t have a chance against them. How many times must I explain this to you?” I glanced over my shoulder. “They’ve got magic,” I mouthed.

He snorted, his lips pinching together. “Something else then. Cut them off. Starve them.” He leaned closer to me. “I’ve met the Regent’s son, Lord Aiden. He’s young, not more than a few years older than me, and he’s a man of action. He often walks with the men. He’d grant my request to speak privately, and I could tell him…”

“No!” I heard the cook stop moving, so I lowered my voice. “No, Fred. You can’t. Most of them are good, decent folk. They don’t deserve that. And there’s…”

“Tristan?”

It was strange hearing his name on my brother’s lips. I looked away. “Yes.”

Fred’s hands clenched where they rested on the table. “Him I’d like to have a word or two with. Stealing my little sister and performing godless magic so that I don’t dare strike at him for fear of hurting you. Bastard!”

The cook made a comment under her breath about soldiers and foul language, making Fred’s scowl deepen.

“Well, then, there you have it,” I whispered. “Fine if you have no care for starving innocent people, but at least have a care for your own sister’s life.”

He gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re an idiot and a fool when it comes to judging character, Cécile. Always have been. Refusing to see the black side of folk even when it’s right in front of your eyes.”

Was this about the trolls or our mother?

I pressed my palms against the table, and met his gaze. “You don’t know them, Fred. You don’t know him.”

“I don’t have to!” He stood up, knocking the table hard. “I can’t listen to this. I need to go.”

Fred started to go to the door, but then came back and enveloped me in a fierce bear hug. “I love you, Im-be-Cécile,” he mumbled into my hair. “But you’re blind when it comes to those you love. You need to open your eyes.”