Mellony’s hand snaked out and caught hold of Raisa’s wrist. “That’s Micah’s ring,” she said, pulling it close. “His signet ring. Isn’t it?”

Raisa nodded.

“What does this mean?” Mellony said, her lower lip trembling. “You’ve exchanged rings?”

“It means we are betrothed,” Raisa said. “I have agreed to marry him.”

Mellony’s eyes widened. “But…but you don’t even love him! You told me you didn’t. Or was that a lie?”

“It wasn’t a lie. I meant what I said. I don’t love him.” All of the bitterness of the choice she’d been forced to make welled up in Raisa. “You wanted to be queen, didn’t you? Well, this is what it’s like. You don’t get to marry for love.”

“But…but…you’re using him! You’re using him for your own selfish reasons. You just want him to risk his life to break the siege. And that’s wrong!”

Guilt sharpened Raisa’s tongue. “Don’t be naive, Mellony. Everybody uses everyone. That’s the way the world is. I didn’t make it.”

“What about Father?” Mellony demanded. “Does he know about this?”

“No, he doesn’t know yet,” Raisa said. “How would he?” Collecting herself, she took Mellony’s hands in hers. “It’s important that we keep this a secret for now, because some in the clans won’t understand why I’ve made this decision.”

Mellony yanked back her hands. “I don’t understand it, either. If Father were here, I would tell him right away. He would stop this.”

“Mellony, don’t you see? It’s important that we work together if we’re to have any chance of—”

“Don’t lecture me!” Mellony interrupted, her voice as cold and hard as We’enhaven marble. “We can work together as long as you give the orders. Your lover Lord Alister is dead and so now you’ve decided to take Micah away from me!”

“Mellony, you’re fourteen,” Raisa snapped. “You don’t know anything about love.”

“And you do?” Mellony spat. She stood, drawing herself up to her full height. “I’m grown up, Raisa—old enough to marry. When are you going to notice that? Why did you have to be the older sister?”

She turned on her heel and walked out.

C H A P T E R  F O R T Y - S E V E N

TRADER

Bird and Dancer were waiting for Han at Lucius Frowsley’s cabin. It was just past sunrise, the light still frail and slanting, the dew heavy on the grasses.

“Thank the Lady,” Bird said, when Han emerged from the trees, brushing aside shrubbery.

“What’s wrong?” Dancer said, studying him. “Didn’t you find it?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Han said. He hadn’t realized that his street face had slipped. He slapped the heavy carry bag. “I have it. See?”