I see Balekin move from speaking with a woman I don’t recognize. She’s wearing a gown of woven seaweed and a collar of pearls. Her black hair is tied to a crown festooned with more pearls, appearing like webbing above her head. It takes me a moment to puzzle out who she must be—Queen Orlagh, Nicasia’s mother. Balekin leaves her and crosses the room toward us with purpose.
Cardan catches sight of Balekin and steers us in the direction of the wine. Bottles and carafes of it—pale green, yellow as gold, the dark purple-red of my heart’s own blood. They are redolent of roses, of dandelions, of crushed herbs and currants. The smell alone nearly makes my head spin.
“Little brother,” Balekin says to Cardan. He is dressed head to toe in black and silver, the velvet of his doublet so thickly embroidered with patterns of crowns and birds that it looks as heavy as armor. He wears a silver circlet on his brow, matching his eyes. It’s not the crown, but it is a crown. “I’ve sought high and low for you.”
“Doubtless so.” Cardan smiles like the villain I’ve always believed him to be. “I turned out to be useful after all. What a terrible surprise.”
Prince Balekin smiles back as though their smiles could duel without the rest of them even being involved. I am sure he wishes he could rail at Cardan, could beat him into doing what he wants, but since the rest of their family died at swordpoint, Balekin must have learned his lesson about needing a willing participant in a coronation.
For the moment, Cardan’s presence is enough to reassure people that Balekin will soon be the High King. If Balekin calls for guards or grabs him, that illusion will dissipate.
“And you,” Balekin says, turning his gaze to me, viciousness lighting his eyes. “What have you to do with this? Leave us.”
“Jude,” Madoc says, striding up to stand beside Prince Balekin, who immediately seems to realize I might have something to do with this after all.
Madoc looks displeased but not alarmed. I am sure he is thinking me a fool who expects to get a pat on the head for finding the missing prince and cursing himself for not making it more clear that he wanted Cardan brought to him and not to Balekin. I give him my best blithe smile, like a girl who thinks she has solved everyone’s problems.
How frustrating it must be to come so close to your goal, to have Oak and the crown in one place, to have the lords and ladies of Faerie assembled. And then your first wife’s bastard throws a spanner in the works by handing the one person most likely to put the crown on Oak’s head to your rival.
I note the evaluating look he’s giving Cardan, however. He’s replanning.
He rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You found him.” He turns to Balekin. “I hope you’re intending to reward my daughter. I am sure it took no small amount of persuasion to bring him here.”
Cardan gives Madoc an odd look. I remember what he said about it bothering him that Madoc treated me so well when Eldred barely acknowledged him. But the way he’s looking, I wonder if it’s just weird to see us together, redcap general and human girl.
“I will give her anything she asks for and more,” Balekin promises extravagantly. I see Madoc frown, and I give him a quick smile, pouring two glasses of wine—one light and the other dark. I am careful with them, sly-fingered. I do not spill a drop.
Instead of handing one to Cardan, I offer them both up for Madoc to choose between. Smiling, he takes the one the color of heart’s blood. I take the other.
“To the future of Faerie,” I say, tapping the globes together, making the glass ring like bells. We drink. Immediately, I feel the effects—a kind of floatiness, as though I am swimming through air. I don’t want to even look at Cardan. He will laugh and laugh if he thinks I can’t handle a few sips of wine.
Cardan pours his own glass and throws it back.
“Take the bottle,” Balekin says. “I am prepared to be very generous. Let us discuss what you’d like, whatever you’d like.”
“There’s no hurry, is there?” Cardan asks lazily.
Balekin gives him the hard stare of someone barely holding himself back from violence. “I think everyone would like to see the matter settled.”
“Nonetheless,” Cardan says, taking the bottle of wine and drinking directly from the neck. “We have all night.”
“The power is in your hands,” Balekin tells him in a clipped way that leaves the “for now” heavily implied.
I see a muscle twitch in Cardan’s jaw. I am sure Balekin is imagining how he will punish Cardan for any delay. It weighs down his every word.
Madoc, by contrast, is taking in the situation, evaluating, no doubt, what he can offer Cardan. When he smiles at me and takes another swig of his wine, it’s a real smile. Toothy and relieved. I can see he’s thinking that Cardan will be easier to manipulate than Balekin ever would have been.
I am suddenly certain that if we went into the other room, Balekin would find Madoc’s sword buried in his chest.
“After dinner, I will tell you my terms,” Cardan says. “But until then, I am going to enjoy the party.”
“I do not have endless patience,” Balekin growls.
“Cultivate it,” Cardan says, and with a small bow, he navigates us away from Balekin and Madoc.
I leave my glass of wine near a platter of sparrow hearts, pierced through with long silver pins, and weave through the crowd with him.
Nicasia stops us with a long-fingered hand against Cardan’s chest, her cerulean hair bright against her bronze gown.
“Where have you been?” Nicasia asks with a glance at our linked arms. She wrinkles her delicate nose, but panic underlines her words. She is feigning calm, like the rest of us.
I am sure that she thought Cardan had to be dead, or worse. There must be many things she wants to ask him, all of which she cannot do in front of me.
“Jude here made me her prisoner,” he says, and I have to fight down the urge to step heavily on his foot. “She ties very tight knots.”
Nicasia clearly doesn’t know whether to laugh. I almost sympathize. I don’t know, either.
“Good thing you finally managed to slip her bonds,” Nicasia decides on.
He raises both brows. “Did I?” he asks with a haughty condescension, as though she has shown herself to be less clever than he had hoped.
“Must you be like this, even now?” she asks, clearly deciding to throw caution to the wind. Her hand goes to his arm.
His face softens in a way that I am entirely unused to seeing. “Nicasia,” he says, pulling himself free. “Stay away from me tonight. For your own sake.”
It stings a little, that he has that kindness in him. I don’t want to see it.
She gives me a look, doubtlessly trying to decide why his pronouncement doesn’t apply to me. But then Cardan is moving away from her, and I go with him. I see Taryn across the room, Locke beside her. Her eyes widen, taking in whom I am standing with. Something passes over her face, and it looks a lot like resentment.
She has Locke, but I am here with a prince.
That’s not fair. I cannot know she is thinking that from just one look.
“Part one completed,” I say, looking away from her. Speaking to Cardan under my breath. “We got here, got in, and are not yet in chains.”