“Where is it?” Micah demanded, his mind leaping ahead. With the armory, there might be a way to…

“I am not going to allow you to put the armory at risk, charging off to rescue our round-heeled queen,” Lord Bayar said bluntly.

Before Micah knew what he was doing, he was out of his chair, standing over his father, fists clenched to keep from taking hold of his amulet. “What? You can’t be serious.”

His father thrust out a hand. “Sit down.”

Seething, Micah sat.

“Don’t you see how perfect this is?” Lord Bayar said. “While we consolidate our power among the gifted, the southerners will finish off the Gray Wolf line. Our hands are perfectly clean. That opens the way for us to come back to power—on our own this time. We will establish a permanent line of gifted kings.”

“And queens,” Fiona put in, scowling at their father.

“And the copperheads?” Micah said. “What about them?”

“We don’t need them anymore,” Lord Bayar said, all but rubbing his hands together. “With any luck, they will choose to die defending our mixed-blood queen.”

Micah tried to swallow down the metallic taste on his tongue, the words that crowded up in his mouth, begging to be spoken.

No. It’s Raisa’s life, he thought. I have to find a way. To buy time, he rose, crossed to the sideboard, and poured again. Then he leaned his hips back against the bar and faced his father and sister. If he exhibited any sign of weakness, he was done.

“Do you think so?” Micah said, swirling the liquor in his glass. “Do you think the southerners will finish the Gray Wolf line? Or will Gerard Montaigne marry in, like he proposed to do back at midsummer? That will buy him a legitimate claim to the throne, and it might win over the Valefolk.”

“Do you think our headstrong queen will marry Montaigne after she refused to marry you?” His father shook his head. “She’d cut her own throat first.”

Probably, Micah thought, but didn’t speak it aloud. “You would be surprised how practical Raisa can be when the situation demands it.”

Not practical enough to marry you, a voice said in his head. But that could change.

“If Montaigne marries Raisa, who knows what the copperheads will do?” Micah said. “They trade with the southerners, and they both like the idea of wizards in collars. Copperheads were the ones who came up with the idea in the first place. I’ll bet they’re willing to make more.”

Micah paused, letting his words sink in. He was making headway with his father—he could tell from the storm clouds on his face.

“I haven’t seen the armory,” Micah said, “but I’ll take your word that it’s a fabulous asset. It may win all of the gifted to your side, but it won’t be enough.”