Chapter 17

Tristan

The sharp stab of pain made me jump in surprise, the motion noticeable enough that my father looked up from the reports the Miners’ Guild had delivered that morning. “What?” he demanded, fixing me with a piercing stare. “Cécile?”

I gave a slight nod, and rose to my feet. Judging from Cécile’s mood, the injury did not seem grievous, but I wanted to go make sure. “By your leave…” I started to say, when the door swung in, interrupting me.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness.” The troll bowed low, and I recognized him as one of my father’s men.

My father grunted and leaned forward on his desk, fingers interlocked in front of him. “What has she done this time?”

The troll cleared his throat. “The lady Cécile is currently quarreling with Dowager Duchesse d’Angoulême, Your Grace.”

Rubbing one eye, my father glanced my direction. “That’s new. I thought she only quarreled with you.”

I shrugged. “We are all wrong from time to time, Father. Even you.” Looking to the messenger, I asked, “What was the nature of the argument; and importantly, who instigated it?”

“It was regarding Her Grace’s abuse of a servant, my lord. And it is a matter of opinion as to who instigated the confrontation.”

My father leaned back in his chair. “Explain.”

By the time the messenger finished his tale of the events with “…and the Dowager Duchesse requested the Comte open the labyrinth so she could dispose of the servant,” sweat was trickling down my spine. It was made all the worse by the knowledge that Cécile was coming in our direction. Which meant she intended to ask me to thwart the blasted old woman’s plans to dispose of her servant, no doubt entirely unaware that she had been set up. And by falling for the ploy, had set me up.

“Cécile is coming this way,” I said abruptly. There was no point in hiding the knowledge.

My father shook his head wryly. “If she intends to ask me to make an exception, she will be sorely disappointed. I don’t make laws for the purposes of breaking them at the whim of a human girl.” He turned in his chair to look at me. “Unless, perhaps, you are feeling benevolent today.”

I kept my face still. “I don’t make a practice of countering your decrees unnecessarily.” Picking up my glass of water, I stared into its depths and contemplated how best this situation might be resolved. “Did you happen to notice,” I said to the messenger, “the identity of the servant in question?”

The messenger coughed uncomfortably and I instantly knew. “It was Miss Lessa,” he said, voice hoarse.

The desk exploded away from my father, smashing against the far wall. He was on his feet in the blink of an eye. “That bloody manipulative old hag!” he shouted, the air growing hot and the pressure of the room building until my ears popped.

“Get out,” I said to the messenger, and breaking courtesy, he turned and bolted.