“What happened to the child?”

Angoulême’s face went purple with fury. “Unlike your father,” he spat, “I do not suffer such abominations to live.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the impostor jerk as if she’d been slapped.

The puzzle pieces fell into place, and in that instant, I knew who’d stolen Anaïs’s life.

Chapter 16

Tristan

Lessa.

“Anaïs, come!” Angoulême turned on his heel and stalked away, not waiting to see if she and Roland followed.

I bowed low again to my brother, forcing a hint of irritation onto my face to hide my astonishment. How had our father convinced her to play this part? As far as I knew, she hated him. He’d abandoned her to the law and fate without a second thought – letting her live a life of servitude while the rest of her blood were served. But perhaps she hated Angoulême even more? His views on the half-bloods made my father’s look moderate, and she’d lived in his household for almost her entire life. Perhaps what my father had offered her was a chance for revenge?

Were there no limits to his power? Even now, after everything that had happened, the extent of my father’s machinations still amazed me. He seemed able to predict every move that not only I, but everyone else made. He had a plan for every possible circumstance, and the strategies he had in place seemed endless. He had an endgame for every game, and the entire city, perhaps even the entire Isle dancing to his tune. If I didn’t hate him so much, I’d almost admire his genius.

I watched the auction with glazed eyes, half my mind noting the half-bloods being marched across the stage and sold to the highest bidder, while the other half puzzled through my problems, all of which affected those who mattered to me most. No matter how I laid the puzzles out, I could not seem to solve a single one. No allegiance was certain. No motivation obvious. And at the center of everything was my father, and it seemed to me that in order to solve any of these puzzles, I needed to solve him.

And to do that, I would need help.

“I was wondering when you’d bother to visit. Seems to me you’ve been too busy learning to boil eggs and darn socks than to visit your poor old aunt.”

“It is good to see you too,” I said, waiting for the Duchesse Sylvie’s guard – who had reluctantly announced me – to leave. “And you are neither old nor poor.”

One of her eyebrows rose. “Dear, then?”

“Dear to me,” I replied, bowing low. “But it would seem I have fallen out of your favor if you have knowingly left me to dine on the results of my scavengings. It is I who am the poor one.”

“Still a smart mouth on you. Élise!” She shouted the half-blood’s name at the top of her lungs, despite the fact the girl stood only a few paces away. I had been relieved to see she was well and that my aunt had taken her back under her wing after my ill-fated coup.