“Please be quiet. I could still have you beheaded. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about why I said what I said. Yes, I believed that my father had contempt for your heritage and your sex. But why should I tell you? To torture you? To see what you’d do? To have you rage at me, so that I’d feel justified in ruining your life? To see confirmation that you were really the ruthless warmonger I believed you to be?” She shook her head and sighed. “If I were to tell any of my father’s commanders that they had been wrong about something, they’d be polite to my face—I’m a princess, after all—but they’d rage. None of them know how to be wrong. You know how to be wrong, Scratch. And how to listen to the people who might be right.”

“Thank you?”

The princess nodded brusquely. “You’re welcome. I’m not sure what I’ll do with you, but your ability to adapt is a mark in your favor.” The princess made to stand, then stopped. “Anything else we should discuss?”

“Not at this moment.”

“Very well. You may go.”

“Thank you, Highness.” Scratch rose. Mercifully, her legs had regained a bit of strength, and she found she could stand without getting dizzy. Frances stood before her, a young princess with Scratch’s entire future in her neat little hands. It struck her then that they had both gone on the same journey. Had Frances been enchanted by the magic of the Between? Had she seen into Maisie’s dreams? Had Maisie trespassed in the dreams of a princess?

Questions for another day perhaps. Scratch nodded farewell and walked carefully to the door, not stumbling once.

“You’re still a prisoner, Scratch,” the princess called after her, a laugh in her voice. “But I’ll send you all a nice dinner, all right?”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Her Hand.” Brella lay against the rug, languorously stretching her long limbs. “When you defect, sweetheart, you do defect hard.”

She was whispering, trying not to disturb the heavily sleeping Vel and James. The lads had pleaded exhaustion after mowing through the food and wine Frances had sent up for a late supper. Knowing James, the early bedtime had likely been a ploy to claim the room’s only bed before Scratch and Brella had the chance.

“I never claimed to be anything other than the best.” Scratch grinned over her nearly empty goblet. “You oughtn’t be surprised.”

“Nothing you do surprises me anymore.” Brella yawned, nearly spilling her wine. She wasn’t wearing her apron for once, and it hung forlornly over the side of a nearby divan. Now, Scratch could see that the inscrutable embroidered plants were from the Between, mystical little shoots and saplings dotted with blue balls of magic. “What if she says no?”