Page 13 of Sharpest Court

“I see no emblem,” I said, slightly breathless.

“It’s easily missed. But look again, please. Right here.”

I frowned, about to repeat my claim . . . Then I saw it. The symbol I’d never noticed. The tiny emblem swirling at the hilt, wedged between the lattice grooves.

“It’s a rose,” I croaked, my skin bristling.

“Is it really?” Arun withdrew the weapon. “The rose is the symbol of Daradon, no? From my understanding, it marks many palace-issued items. Is this a palace-issued knife, Miss Summers?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“I suppose it was given to you, then. Just as these rings were allegedly given to you.”

“Arun,” Valeria warned. “That’s enough.”

“Miss Summers may possess information that could help us.”

“What kind of information?” Zeke asked, voicing my own internal question.

Arun set the knife down, self-satisfied. “Two days before your ship’s departure, the king of Daradon was attacked in his palace.”

I tensed, stopping myself from looking at the knife.

“Though seriously injured, King Erik survived. The authorities suspect that the assault came from within the palace, from someone who could facilitate an ambush. On one front, however, King Erik has been certain . . . His attack was orchestrated by Wielders.”

The memory flashed through my mind: Erik’s body, slumped in the wreckage of my spectral eruption. Then his fist around my skirts, his lips against my ear: I will find you, Little Thorn.

My hands began trembling again.

“We’re aware that many who arrived tonight possess ties to Daradon’s underground networks. That you may have previously worked with sympathizers, fellow Wielders . . . even rebels.” Arun’s eyes slid to the knife, and my stomach swooped. “Some of you might even possess information about that night’s attack.”

“So what if we did?” Zeke snapped. He’d gone pale and wide-eyed in alarm. “You would really send us back to Daradon?”

“You misunderstand,” Arun said, all patient composure. “We don’t intend to send anyone back to a prison from which they escaped. We only wish to unearth any information that would save an innocent life.”

My specter rippled to the surface in hot waves, my ears ringing—because I knew where this was going. I understood why the refugees were being searched and questioned.

“You see,” Arun said, “our sources have stumbled upon intelligence the king has been concealing. Evidently, the attack on King Erik was not the only crime committed that night. In an act of senseless cruelty, these Wielder rebels also abducted from the palace a young Wholeborn woman.”

Zeke straightened in his seat. Valeria looked away, scowling. My eyes prickled with the pressure of my rising dread.

“This woman was King Erik’s bride-to-be,” Arun said, his gaze landing on mine. “Though you might better know her as Lady Alissa of Vereen.”

4

There was a pounding in my head, a scalding thrum across my body. My specter throbbed around me, feverish and frantic, yet through the haze, a handful of certainties took form:

Erik had planted a false report about my kidnapping. Ansora’s Imperial Minister of Intelligence believed I had information regarding Lady Alissa’s whereabouts.

And I could not, under any circumstances, reveal the extent of that truth.

“You can appreciate,” Arun said, “why we must ask these questions of you. For now, Lady Alissa’s abduction has been kept secret. But who do you think shall suffer if the king cannot find his bride? It will be the Daradonian Wielders and sympathizers who were not fortunate enough to escape the kingdom as you have.”

“We don’t know anything about the attack,” Zeke bit out, surprising me.

“No?” Arun sat down on the chair behind the desk, bringing himself to our eye level. “And you, Miss Summers? You possess no connections to the palace?” He patted the handle of my knife. “No veins of information we might tap?”

I forced myself to meet Arun’s stare. “I have no information that could be helpful to you, Your Excellency.”