“What is it you want?” he finally asked.

“We want him punished,” Tips said, slamming the bottom of his crutch against the marble floor. The rest of the half-bloods in the room crowed their agreement until my father made some motion to silence them.

“Should I throw him back in prison and leave him there to rot?” my father asked. “Or is that not extreme enough? Should I take off his head and put an end to his traitorous ways once and for all?”

“A sweet revenge for many,” Tips said. “But some of us are less rash. He’s no good to us dead or in prison.”

“How is he good to you at all?” A question to which my father dearly wanted an answer.

I heard Tips swallow hard and I held my breath. This was the moment of reckoning.

“Prince Tristan undid in a night’s work what it took us three months to complete,” Tips said. “If you really want to see Trollus free from its dependence on magic, then you’ll best punish him by making him use his research and plans to fulfill your vision. That is what we want as reparations for the hurt we have suffered. Order Prince Tristan to build the stone tree for us. And make him promise to do it right.”

Stunned silence filled the throne room. No one had expected Tips to demand that. Not the aristocracy or the bourgeoisie, and certainly, certainly, not the half-bloods. My heart thundered in my chest, and sweat coated my palms. Please let it work.

My father began to laugh. At first, only a soft chuckle, but the sound gathered and grew until it filled the long hall. “What a pragmatic request, miner,” he finally said, his voice still shaking with mirth. “I cannot say I expected it.”

He nudged me with one foot and the weight of the magic holding me lifted. “Get up.”

I climbed warily to my feet, not taking my eyes off him for a second. His expression terrified me. He knew I had tricked him, knew that I was plotting against him. But he looked pleased.

Which didn’t make any sense. He had no clear way out of the trap I’d set for him. He knew Tips was working with me, but he didn’t dare out the half-blood for his lies. He knew that commanding me to build the tree was what I wanted, but that if he didn’t, he’d be all but confessing to the thousands of angry half-bloods outside the palace that he’d duped them. The half-bloods he wrongly believed I’d already recruited back to my leadership, when in actuality, they probably all hated me more than they ever hated him.

He’d figure my trick out eventually, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that right here, right now, he believed the majority of the city followed my orders.

Say something. My skin alternated hot and cold. Everyone in the room faded away; the sound of the mob barely a whisper in my ear. All that mattered was my father.