17

DARLING

Dinner is an awkward affair, to say the least. Once we reach the dining room, I try to return the blade to Vivian, but she refuses. “Caspian may be an old friend, but he is still Prince Regent. His word is law. And when he gets like this, there is nothing to be done for it,” she says while tearing into a small roasted bird. “Keep it. But perhaps when next we meet, House Sphinx would see fit to return it as a gesture of goodwill.”

The meaning is clear, and I incline my head in gratitude at her speaking so very plainly that I don’t have to wonder at the layers of meaning in her speech. Not all of these royals are so blunt.

After we eat, I flee to my room. The Knife of Scholarship is warm in my hand, like a living thing, and there is something about the blade that makes me yearn to soar through the sky. It’s a silly feeling, and when I place it in the case Marjorie brings me, I am sad to part with it.

“Could you find me a sheath that will fit the blade?” I ask, stroking the handle one last time. I understand why Vivian was so angry. It really is a beautiful blade. But it’s also a chance to show that House Sphinx will not be shamed, that we will demand retribution for the wrongs done to us. The rage I felt at knowing that House Gryphon played a part in the murder of my family, of everyone I knew, took me by surprise. But it was also justified.

Plus, I may not know much, but I know how to deal with bullies. After Leonetti saved me from the sewers of Nakumba, I was moved in with the rest of his war orphans: children adopted into House Kraken either because they had no parents left or because their families had fled the violence and no longer had the means to care for them. It had been a strange transition from my previous life, and my damaged eyes had been cause for much teasing. At least until I made it clear that anyone who tried to pick a fight with me would end up the worse for it.

I’m starting to think that politics is very much the same way.

Once the dagger is tucked away, Andra returns to help me dress for bed. I’ve just stepped out of the gown when Marjorie enters with a frown, a slip of paper in her hand.

“Someone just slipped this under the door,” she says, handing it to me. I don’t recognize the wax seal on the letter, but I rip it open anyway.

Meet me in the center of the maze.

We have much to discuss. R, L, R, R, L, R.

I don’t recognize the handwriting, and I frown at Marjorie. “Did you see who left it?”

“No, my quill,” she says. “Should I get the guard?”

“No,” I say. It could be from Gavin. I don’t like the way we left our last conversation, and maybe he and Adelaide have realized that I can be more useful away from these Dragons and back with my Barbs. It’s a feeble hope, but after the scene earlier tonight I am anxious to get some distance from Caspian and his mercurial moods. “But this requires different clothing.”

I dress quickly in something more suited for skulking about in the night: black trousers and a fitted black top that is meant to go under a traveling dress made of a sheer material. My boots go back on, and I find a dark-colored scarf to tie back my curls.

I have no weapons, the Knife of Scholarship has been put away and I don’t think I’ll need it, but I put on a swipe of the Kiss of Death at the last moment. I’m not sure why. Maybe because Gavin’s opinion means too much to me.

Andra and Marjorie watch me go with identical expressions of disapproval, but I ignore them. I am far more comfortable in the shadows than at a fine dining table, and I am pleased to find that the boonlamps have been lowered in the hallways out of respect for the late hour. I tuck my goggles into a pocket on the side of my trousers and enjoy the freedom from smoked lenses and leather straps. Despite my earlier ire Vivian has been nothing but kind, and I truly believe that had she been regent at the time, House Sphinx would still stand.

Not that it matters much in the scheme of things.

I pass a few guards, both Dragon and Gryphon, but they just give me a nod and go back to their duties. It’s strange, and I wonder if this is what it means to be a noble: even though I should clearly be sleeping, the guards would rather look the other way than accidentally invoke my wrath.

It saddens me to know I now have a bit more in common with the nobles than I do with regular soldiers. Especially since it’s very likely that one day soon we will face each other once more on a battlefield.

I have been at war too long to believe in Caspian’s tenuous peace. Even if I want to.

I find the gardens easily enough, despite the twisting corridors, and the night air is cool on my face as I step into the grass. The fragrance of everblooms, heady and cloying, scents the air, and moonlight silvers the landscape, carving out everbloom bushes and climbing drake’s breath in shadows and bright. Something in me loosens, and I relax into the beauty of the night. This is my domain, gloom and moonlight, not galas and fine dinners.

The maze is easy to navigate, especially since I have the directions in the missive Gavin sent. It makes me wonder just how long he’s been prowling the grounds here. Somehow I had the impression that he was stowing away with us in the caravan among the luggage and liveried servants of our retinues, but now I doubt that. Surely Adelaide has Gavin up to more than just keeping tabs on me. If it were me, I would have had Gavin kill Caspian and Talon. It makes me wonder why Adelaide hasn’t just used Gavin in such a way. He has as much reason to want the Dragons dead as any of us. After all, they killed his father.

So why hasn’t Adelaide let Gavin have his revenge? It’s a question I should’ve wondered about earlier, but I’ve been so unbalanced over being thrust into this new life that I haven’t let myself wonder overly long at the strangeness of it all. He could just as easily slip into Caspian’s chambers as he did mine. Is it because she wants plausible deniability if a Dragon is murdered, or is it because she fears the Dragons would kill Leonetti in retaliation? Which makes it even more strange that Gavin and Miranda would ask me to poison the Dragon princes.

I stop suddenly, in a courtyard with a series of spilling fountains, only halfway to my destination. The tumbling water provides a nice counterpoint to the chaos of my thoughts. Or could it be that Gavin is using me for his own devices? That feels right, more so than Adelaide being in on some poison plot. I hadn’t thought too hard about being asked to kill the Dragon princes. We Barbs have spent many an evening around the fire talking about what we would do if we had the chance to take out one of them, ending the war once and for all. But never have we discussed poisoning.

So who exactly is asking me to kill the Dragon princes? Adelaide Seabreak, scion and future regent of House Kraken, or Gavin Swiftblade, disgraced Dragon and current House Kraken assassin?

When I see the boy, I plan to find out.

Annoyance, at my too-trusting self, at being trapped playing a role I don’t want, at my lack of choice, hurries my steps, so that I make the rest of the trip in a fraction of the time, arriving at the center of the maze in a huff. This courtyard is larger than the others I passed through, the pavers wide and made of a pale stone that seems to reflect the moonlight. Everbloom bushes line the outside, and a deep pond takes up the center, luminescent fish darting in the shallows beneath lily pads and other water plants. It’s a gorgeous space, and it reminds me of the courtyard where I spent the last moment of my childhood.

A pond with golden fish, the sound of a stringed instrument, and the soft laughter of men and women enjoying a late evening meal. And the shouts of soldiers as they interrupted it all.

“Am I dreaming?”

I turn, the man behind me making my breath catch. It’s not Gavin, but Talon, looking rumpled and entirely too appealing. His hair is askew and his tunic is unbuttoned. He wears no shoes, and he is decidedly unsteady on his feet.

The War Prince is very clearly drunk.

All of my annoyance and questions for Gavin flee, leaving me standing there a bit dumbfounded. Talon’s expression is completely unguarded, and the lopsided grin he gives me steals my breath. “Darling,” he says as he steps toward me out of the shadows. “Chaos is mocking me.”

“Chaos makes fools of us all, but I think in this case it is Caspian who bears the responsibility for your state,” I say. The two of them disappeared after the incident in the library, so the guess is not a wild one.

“Ah, I believe you are correct, my quill,” he says, sketching an elegant bow. “My brother has gotten me drunk and lost in the Gryphon maze.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s a good thing I have the directions out,” I say.

He raises a brow in my direction. “Are you sure you would not rather duel? To the death?”

I laugh. He is surprisingly steady on his feet, but his eyes are wine bright and he has no weapon. He keeps smiling at me, and I like this version of Talon.

The thought is a splash of cold water on my good mood. I cannot afford to like Talon. I have sworn to kill him and his brother. And while I am not certain about House Sphinx, House Kraken stands by its word. “Perhaps some other time. Let’s get you to bed, War Prince.”

Talon holds out his hand and bows to me deeply. “Then we must dance instead.”

I blink. “What?”

“Caspian told me that we were coming to the maze to dance. And I want to dance.” He leans in, his breath warm on my ear. “There is no dancing at war, but there is quite a bit of dancing at court. The only good thing about being at court, honestly.”

I’m surprised to find that Talon enjoys dancing, but I’m also not surprised. He is naturally good at it, so I bow to him as well. “Fine, then. A dance and then we take ourselves to bed.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize they could be easily misconstrued, and Talon’s slow grin means he is thinking the more debauched meaning. “To sleep,” I clarify.

“If you say so” is his tepid response, but the heated look he gives me liquifies my insides.

I take Talon’s outstretched hand, and he begins to twirl me around the garden in a simple harvest dance, a step-turn-step-turn that is completely unlike the court dances I’ve learned or the dances we shared back at the gala. This is simply our bodies pressed tight against each other as we twirl and step around the pond. No extravagant leaps or turns, just two people enjoying the night.

It feels so much more salacious than it is, and something begins to flutter in my middle. Whether panic or excitement, I’m not quite certain. But I do know that I have no desire to go to sleep.

Talon begins to sing as we move, his voice low and steady, an old ballad about a woman gone off to war and the husband and children she has left behind. I stare at him.

“You know the ‘Ballad of Jessamyn,’ ” I say, emotion flattening my voice.

“Of course,” he says, murmuring next to my ear, the sensation maddening in the best sort of way. “I am surprised you know it as well.”

I know the melody because Leonetti used to sing it to me when I first came to his household, a feral child too used to fighting and not used to kindness. The song is about a woman who leaves her home to fight in a war—which war is never stated—and the ballad doesn’t disclose the tragedy until the last stanza, when it’s revealed that the children and husband Jessamyn misses are in their graves, not their beds.

“ ‘Tucked away, tucked away, holding her heart,’ ” Talon sings, his voice deepening and slowing as he approaches the final stanza. “You are so beautiful,” Talon finally says. “Fierce and proud despite everything we have done to you.”

I stop and pull away. “Talon—” I begin.

He sweeps me back into his arms, holding me too close. “It’s such a short time since we met, but I’ve been looking at you my whole life, in those paintings. I’ve known you as long as I can remember. Except you never had eyes, and I didn’t know what it meant. And now that you’re real, here”—he tightens his hold, his bright green gaze drilling into me as he murmurs—“your eyes are still so mysterious. I look in them, and it feels like Chaos is looking back. I can’t pull away, Darling. Tell me that’s your boon, to enchant with those dark eyes of yours.”

“It’s not,” I say, my breath hitching in my chest. “And you are drunk.”

“Through wine lies the truth,” he says, his face searching mine. “I don’t know what to do with you, and what Caspian wants from you. From us. But I want to know; I want to know you. It isn’t Caspian with a connection to you. I’m the one who’s been looking for you my entire life.”

I swallow hard. Because I know what he means. Too well. I’ve come to appreciate and even enjoy his company, sharp words and all. There is something heady about fighting with Talon. About being held in his arms. He sees me. Me.

Talon leans toward me. He is going to kiss me, and I very much want that. I’m not playing at seduction, and yet I’ve somehow ended up in a moonlit garden with a beautiful boy after all.

That is when I remember the Kiss of Death that I swiped across my lips.

I move quickly, stepping backward. Only we are at the edge of the pond, our dance bringing us closer to the stones that line the edge than I was expecting, so that my heel catches. Our arms are entwined, and Talon’s eyes widen in shock as we fall into the water.

I surface, sputtering. Talon stands as well, climbing out of the pond. There is a lily pad on his head, and he plucks it off, dropping it into the water. He offers me a hand, but I ignore it and clamber out on my own, shaking a bit from the shock of the chilly water and the almost kiss.

“I suppose that is Chaos reminding us we have an early morning tomorrow.” He’s stiffly polite, the cold water apparently chasing away his wine haze, and I give a short nod.

“You know the way out of the maze?” he says.

“I do.”

He gestures for me to precede him. I grit my teeth and reverse the instructions in that mystery letter. It’s quick—but silent and awkward—work making our way free of the hedges.

Talon bows politely. “I will bid you good night. Sleep well, scion,” he says, and does not give me a chance to reply before departing, his long strides quicker than necessary. I watch him go, wondering what in Chaos’s name is wrong with me. I’m wishing I’d never worn the stupid Kiss of Death. Yet, I could have kissed Talon and been done with it. So why didn’t I?

As I head back to my warm, dry bed, my thoughts aren’t on having failed to kill Talon. They’re wondering what it would be like to kiss him for real.

The thought is entirely too appealing, and I curse myself for a fool. I cannot have romantic feelings for the War Prince. It is more than madness.

It would be a death sentence.