“What if Trina’s the one who told the Keepish importers about Monsea’s zilfium in the first place?” said Giddon. “And the Council is how she got into Monsea—what if she’s told the Keepish about the Council too? Secrets like that leave Monsea vulnerable. And it sounds like she has a price.”

Hava started up the steps.

“Hava!” said Giddon, the name bursting out of his mouth for the fourth time today.

“Oh, who cares?” she cried out, spinning back to him. “Who cares anymore if Estill declares war on Monsea?”

“Bitterblue would care, deeply!”

“Bitterblue is dead!”

“She would want us to care about her people!”

“Well, I don’t care about them. I care about her.”

“I don’t believe you don’t care,” said Giddon stubbornly.

“Well, good for you, for being so big and noble and sanctimonious,” she said, throwing the words like daggers. Turning back, she ran up the stairs.

Sanctimonious? thought Giddon, following her.

Chapter Twelve

Bitterblue woke to a shriek that frightened her, then resolved into wind.

She also woke to a strange thought: It would be best not to tell anyone about the fox.

“What?” she said blearily, fighting against confusion, trying to figure out why so many things were happening. It was still daytime; the small rectangle of blue in the window had grown brighter. Paper crinkled under her. The paper with the drawing of Bitterblue City with Estillan and Keepish flags that she’d carried back to the bed.

Someone declares war on Monsea and you fall asleep? she said to herself. Well done.

Across the room, near the baseboards, gold eyes flashed. Bitterblue yelped. Then a small, dark fox took shape, pressing itself into a corner.

Right, Bitterblue thought, remembering. Winterkeep has telepathic foxes. Her mind reached for the details she’d read in the reports Mikka had sent home. They’re called blue foxes, though only the kits are blue. It could be bonded to someone to whom it can talk telepathically. It might even be talking to that person now.

“Are you my guard?” she asked the fox, with a hard stare. “My jailer?”

There was no response, of course.

“I know how to close my mind, you know,” she added hotly. “I have more practice than you can possibly imagine.”

She realized then that she was talking to this tiny, quivering animal as if it were her father, the monster king, who’d ruined a kingdom with the power of his mind. She relented, slightly. From what she remembered, blue foxes only read minds if they were bonded to a person, and once bonded, they were friendly and obedient. This fox might be guarding her on behalf of someone powerful and cruel, but the fox itself was probably not much of a villain.

Still, she knew how to close her mind—she’d had a lot of practice with Gracelings—and she did so now. It was a force of habit.