Head down and lips pressed together, Cordelia took her empty seat next to Connall and prepared to avoid every ominously looming storm cloud. She’d just get through a nice, quiet dinner, and then—

Beaming, Rosalind waved her soup spoon at the rest of the family. She was still dressed in the plain green tunic and woolen leggings that she’d worn for her fighting practice earlier, and her short black hair stuck up around her head in cheerful tufts. “Isn’t it absolutely marvelous? We’re under siege! Surrounded by invaders! I can’t wait to start boiling oil to pour down on them the next time they attack.”

Cordelia exchanged a look of pure agony across the table with Giles. Would their bullish triplet never develop any sensitivity?

Their older brother opened his mouth, wincing, but it was too late for even Connall to turn this storm.

“It is not a siege!” Mother slammed one hand onto the table with a thud that echoed through the hall. “I refuse to dignify those cockroaches outside with that term.”

This time, Alys winced. “Kathryn, do remember that one of those ‘cockroaches’ is my brother.”

Which one? Cordelia mouthed at Giles.

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

Alys didn’t look bearish or wolfish to Cordelia. She was just … Alys, who took turns with Mother in feeding the family, ordering them all around, and ruthlessly trimming Cordelia’s long hair whenever it grew too tangled for her to bear the sight of it any longer. She managed all of the nonmagical practicalities in the castle and was as steady and sensible as a rock.

Cordelia had never realized that she was hiding secrets of her own, too.

Connall said, “Perhaps we could find a way to convince—”

“No.” Mother scooped up her silver goblet and took a long swallow. “I refuse to spend any more of my day discussing those creatures. They can sit outside and rot for the rest of their lives. Eventually, they’ll tire of it and leave or else they’ll die of old age. Either one is fine by me!”

No. Cordelia’s fingers clenched around her soup spoon as her chest squeezed tight.

She couldn’t stay locked inside forever. She couldn’t.

But—as usual—no one was asking for her opinion.

“Kathryn …” Alys sighed, her face softening as she looked across the table. “We’ve spent the last twelve years in hiding. You know I thought it the wisest solution, too—but it hasn’t worked after all. They haven’t given up—and today, our refuge grew so much smaller and more vulnerable. At least Arden and Lune want the children alive, unlike the duchess of Solenne or the dukes of Breville or Mordaunt. For all we know, they might arrive next. Don’t you think it’s finally time to compromise?”